The Push

Ward and Jenkins stepped off the ferry and made their way toward the tourist docks. The pier bustled with visitors, most from mainland Japan, hauling snorkeling masks, fins, and dive gear. Beyond the docks, turquoise water broke into clear shallows, dark patches of coral visible beneath the surface.

Jenkins elbowed Ward and nodded ahead. “That’s who we’re meeting up with.”

Ward spotted a petite redhead dwarfed by Dicks’ huge frame. The two were practically glued together. Beside them, a blonde in a tiny string bikini chattered excitedly.

“This is the girl?” Ward asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“What? Her? No, that’s mine—yours is over there, by the shop.”

Ward turned—and froze.

She wore a red-and-white bikini that hugged her frame—practical in cut, but impossible to ignore. A lightweight sarong was knotted loosely at her hips, the breeze flicking the fabric and flashing warm, tan skin. Her hair was pulled back, strands catching the light. When she turned, amber eyes locked on his—as if she’d been expecting him all along.

“Kaplan?!” Ward blurted. Heat rushed up his neck.

“I told you not to stare,” Jenkins muttered, smirking. “She’s your type.”

“This is wrong.” Ward turned away just in time to see the ferry drifting off from the pier.

“Nah, you’ll be fine. You can technically be with her.”

Ward started to object, but Jenkins kept going. “You’ve got nothing to hide from her—and besides, she already turned me down.”

Ward’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists. “You what?”

“Relax.” Jenkins slapped his shoulder. “Told you she’s your type. You don’t act like that around anyone else. If you must know, I asked her out. She said no. I think she was testing you. You’re easy to wind up—and you need someone like you. Intense. So I told her you were coming snorkeling, and she should join us.”

Ward shifted his weight in the sand. Jenkins wasn’t wrong. That was the problem.

It would be nice to spend time with her. He did long for her—more than he wanted to admit. The beach run proved that he'd let the truth slip out in the quiet between breaths: he needed her. Not wanted—needed. She gave him something no one else could.

And he hated himself for it. For craving someone, again. He told himself he treated all his Marines the same, kept his distance, went it alone because that’s what good leaders did. But around her, the rules felt thin. Breakable.

Fuck. Ward couldn’t think of anything to say. He turned to Dicks. “Is this the girl from Anchors?”

Ward should have known. How had he not known one of his Marines was dating someone?

Dicks grinned. “Yeah, Sgt. Her name’s Cassandra.”

Ward felt the familiar warmth of Kaplan as she stepped beside him. He shifted a step closer without thinking.

“Wait, you’re the guy that went home with Andrea, you pig,” Cassandra said. “She’s married.”

The shame hit like a gut punch. He had to think fast. “Andrea? I don’t know any Andrea.” He shot Dicks a desperate look.

“Uh—no, Sgt was somewhere else. Looks like him, though. Bland,” Dicks said.

“Are you sure, honey?” Cassandra asked, glancing at Dicks.

“Oh no, he was with me,” Kaplan said smoothly, sliding her arm through Ward’s and pulling him in. “We were out, having fun.” She wasn’t covering for him, she was claiming him.

Ward’s arm moved on instinct, settling around her waist and pulling her closer. How does she know exactly what I want? He gave a small squeeze. “Yeah, we went out… some sushi place. Maybe we can go again.”

Cassandra’s suspicion softened. “Well, you look a lot like him.”

Ward held Kaplan’s hip a moment longer, savoring the contact. “I get that a lot.”

Reluctantly, he let his hand fall away. Kaplan’s arm slipped from his. The space between them felt colder than it should have.

The tour guides called everyone over. Ward followed Kaplan toward the boat.

“No, these tickets are for that boat there.” The tour guide pointed to a different boat. Ward saw Jenkins with a mischievous grin. That fucker.

“It’s the two of us,” Ward told Kaplan without looking. “We’ll have fun.”

She brushed his arm as they got onto the boat. Then, softer, “You might even enjoy yourself.”

As Ward sat down next to her, he tried to say something—anything—but all he could manage was, “You, uh… you like to swim?”

Kaplan took a sip from her drink, turned it around, and offered it to him. “Only with good company.” She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing his. Ward took the bottle without hesitation, drank from exactly where she had, and handed it back.

“Not bad. What is it?”

Kaplan studied him for a moment, her amber eyes unreadable. “Something you’re not ready for.” She took another sip from the same spot. He wasn’t sure if she meant the drink, the moment, or herself. But the way she looked at him—calm, knowing—made him wonder if she already knew the answer.

Ward frowned, confused. She didn’t explain. He let the silence settle between them as the boat pulled away from the dock. His hand drifted toward his hip, brushing against hers instead.

“You’re dif—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “You like Okinawa? It’s not so bad. A lot of Marines don’t like it, but it’s… it’s like being deployed.”

She said nothing, watching him.

“I mean—” He shifted again. “You’re always with Marines. You’re never really alone. Back in the States, people just go out by themselves, but here you’re always with someone.”

He couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He hated that. How could he clear a building alone? Life on the line—no, their lives—his and Smith’s—insurgents coming through the door. Just a kid. He’d had to shoot.

And here he was, can’t even talk to a girl. You’ve stacked bodies for God’s sake. People feared you.

His heart picked up, adrenaline spiking.

A hand settled on his knee. “Look—tobiuo,” she said softly. “Flying fish.”

Ward followed her gaze. A silver streak burst from the water and skimmed beside the boat, wings catching the sunlight. His breathing slowed. It was just a dumb fish, but he watched it anyway. His pulse eased. He brushed her hand away.

The boat began to slow. Ward couldn’t follow what the captain was saying, but he followed the group and began putting his gear on.

“I’m a pretty good swimmer. I’ll try not to leave you behind,” Ward said—more of a challenge than he intended.

“Are you now?” Kaplan stepped in front of him. “And just how good do you think you are?” She squared up to him, looking down.

“I mean, I did pass—” Ward never got to finish. Kaplan shoved him over the edge of the boat.

The cool water engulfed him. He swallowed a mouthful before surfacing. Mad. Excited. Disappointed when she wasn’t there.

Tourists called from the deck:

“あっ！落ちた！” (Ah! He fell!)

“あれ、彼女に押された？” (Wait, did she push him?)

“仲いいですね〜！” (You two are close, huh?)

Ward felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around. Kaplan was treading water next to him. An older woman grinned from the deck.

“愛の押し込みですか？” (A little push of love, maybe?)

そないなことやろかのぅ？ (Something like that.)

Then she turned to Ward. “You don’t look so fast to me. Catch me if you can.” She dove.

Ward dove after her. The hunt was on. He pushed as hard as he could, but she was always just ahead. Fish darted away in their wake. His lungs burned—but when he broke the surface, she was right there beside him.

“Fuck, you’re fast,” Ward gasped.

Kaplan gave him a smile; her movements were more like a dance than a swim. She turned in the water. “Follow me. There’s something I want to show you—” She glanced back over her shoulder, fox-bright eyes locking on his. “But you have to keep up.”

Ward forgot about the surface world — the obligations, the protocol, the weight of the rank on his collar. He followed her without hesitation.

She darted toward a small underwater arch, sunlight fractured into shifting ribbons across the coral. For a moment, her body vanished in the shadow beneath it.

He swam after her, the cool shade giving way to a wash of light on the other side. Colors felt sharper here — the stripes of a parrotfish glowed, silver shoals shimmered like glass.

When he broke the surface again, the boat was far away. The sky behind it was darker now, as if clouds had rolled in without warning. In the distance, faint lights bobbed on the horizon, rising and falling with an invisible tide. A subtle hum seemed to ride the waves, almost like whispers brushing his ears.

Kaplan floated a few feet away. “We’re far from the boat,” she said. “Just the two of us.”

This was his chance to say something real. Instead, he blurted, “How did you know?”

“Know what?” She cocked her head.

“You said I had a tell, when you were on duty. How did you know?” His smile faded, his face settling into a neutral mask.

She drifted closer, eyes never leaving his. “I watch you. And I’ve seen it before… with others.”

He frowned. He’d read her file — nothing about combat tours. “What do you mean? You know someone who… has a tell?” He shifted in the water, unable to meet her gaze. He felt exposed.

“No,” she said quietly. “I was with VMM-364, the Purple Foxes, when I was in Iraq.” She held his eyes. “We ran medevac missions. Pulling out wounded Marines so they could get help and back in the fight.”

Ward’s shoulders eased. “No shit. That’s who pulled me out when I was shot. Apparently I almost shot someone on the bird. I’d lost a lot of blood. Don’t remember much — just… reaching for my pistol. They had to take it away.”

“I saw a lot of that,” she said. “Not personally. I was always watching from the side. Marines still fighting a battle that was already over.”

Ward let himself smile. “Maybe you saw me. I hobbled around for a bit before they let me go back to my unit.” Ward’s smile lessens. “Too bad we didn’t meet then.”

Somewhere in the shifting quiet, he heard his name. Barely a whisper. It seemed to drift over the water, just beyond reach.

He turned his head toward the sound. “You hear that, Ka—”

Her finger pressed against his lips before he could finish. Her other hand guided his chin back toward her, eyes sharp now.

“No names. No ranks,” she whispered.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was that soft rain-like patter… but the longer Ward listened, the more it sounded like voices. Words just beyond understanding. His name again, low and urgent.

Kaplan’s gaze flicked past his shoulder, toward the dark horizon. She leaned closer, voice steady but quieter now. “Did you talk to anyone about what happened? Back home?”

“No. I didn’t. I don’t really have anyone to go back to. I’ve drifted from my family. And I didn’t have to tell anyone in my old unit — we all did similar things, just some of us got awards for it. There was no need… plus I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to get back into the fight, but they wouldn’t let me. They were right. I couldn’t carry any real weight on my leg, no matter how much I tried to hide it.”

He gave a humorless half-smile. “You understand. Don’t you feel more alive when you’re actually doing something, not just the bullshit work? Those are the moments I wait for.”

Ward studied her face. “You miss it too. Being deployed. You can see what you’re doing, not just ticking boxes. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Kaplan’s eyes held his for a long moment. “You’re not wrong. But it’s not the place I miss… it’s the feeling.”

Something brushed against his leg — not a fish. Too slow. Too deliberate. Ward glanced down, but Kaplan’s hand caught his arm.

The water seemed to pulse around them, almost breathing. The whispers thinned to a single thread, curling just over his shoulder. Kaplan’s hand touched his arm, gentle but firm. “Time to go back.”

Ward followed her. He felt heavier. The weight of duty returning to him. This is as good as it gets for me, he told himself.

Ward let the other tourists board first, then dropped into the seat beside Kaplan. He left a small gap between them, afraid to commit. His mind raced. What could I say? Could I move her to a different section? Maybe I could get her assigned as a coach on the rifle range…

If she weren’t in his chain of command, maybe then he could do something.

He shut down that thought fast. He couldn’t put his wants over the mission. His shoulders slumped.

A towel landed across them. He looked up—Kaplan was wrapping it around him, smiling.

“Thanks,” Ward muttered.

“You looked cold,” she said, opening a small snack from her bag. She used chopsticks to take a bite. “Why do you look so stressed?”

“Nothing. I’m always thinking about work—it’s hard to turn off.” Ward pulled the towel tighter.

Kaplan set the chopsticks down on the dish, then offered it to him. Ward took them and tried the snack. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the old woman from earlier leaning toward her husband.

「見て、若い恋人たち。」 (Look, young lovers.)

「俺たちも昔はそうだったな。」 (We used to be like that too.)

Kaplan smirked at the couple. Ward just kept eating before handing the dish back to her.

“Do you ever take a break?” Kaplan asked. “Just a moment of peace?”

“No, not really. I’ve been off base more this month than I have in the last two years.” Ward hesitated, then kept going—her eyes said she wanted him to.

“I was more relaxed at 2nd Recon. It was easier to focus there, to see the mission clearly—even out on patrol. You had that nervous energy, but you wanted to be there. You were making a difference.” He exhaled. “Here, it’s mostly readiness and paperwork. On a wild day, I send a junior Marine to swap out a broken keyboard.”

He caught himself. “I like us—” Ward’s stomach lurched. “—our section. I think we have a good group.”

Kaplan’s smile softened. She tapped the back of his hand with her fingertips—just once—before resting her hand lightly on the bench between them. She didn’t look down, didn’t move her hand away either.

Ward froze. The tap lingered in his mind like heat in his palm. He turned his gaze to the horizon, letting the hum of the engines and the salt in the air settle over him. He kept his hands to himself, but the thought wouldn’t leave. His fingers twitched toward his hip, a muscle memory of reaching for something he couldn’t have. He shifted his feet instead, fighting with himself the entire ride back to the docks.

He helped Kaplan off the boat. Their hands touched, just for a second. They walked side-by-side along the dock. The rest of their group was nowhere in sight.

Ward decided it was time to send the round downrange, take the shot. He reached for her hand. His fingertips brushed her palm—

“WARD! What are you doing?” The voice cracked across the dock like a whip.

Ward pulled his hand back and turned. Maj. Williams stood there, squared to him, a smug glint in his eye. Williams’ large, sculpted frame was built to be seen—polished, symmetrical, made for mirrors. Ward’s was lean and wiry, shaped by miles run in the dark and weight carried because it had to be. One for vanity, one for necessity.

“I just came back from—” Ward started.

“Bullshit.” Williams cut him off. “You need to shape up. Taking one of your Marines on a date? And you think you don’t have to give me the proper greeting just because you’re off base?” His voice carried, showboating for the small crowd nearby.

Ward spotted a local girl standing behind Williams, giggling, her eyes bright with awe.

“Sorry, sir,” Ward said evenly. “A group of us came out to go snorkeling.”

“Just stand there all relaxed, Ward.” Williams flicked a glance over his shoulder to see if the girl was still watching. Ward put his hands behind his back, at ease. He felt Kaplan do the same beside him.

“Looks like a pattern to me. First you’re her personal trainer, now this. You’d better cut this shit out, Ward.” Williams turned away, slipping his hand around the girl’s waist and leading her down the dock.

Ward hated being used. He hated that Williams was right. He shouldn’t have tried to hold Kaplan’s hand. They could both be punished for it—and worse, he wouldn’t be treating his Marines all the same.

A hand touched his back. He shook it off.

“I need to use the head,” he muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

He dumped his gear without looking and walked into the shop’s restroom. Alone in a stall, his hands shook with rage. He felt hollow. Empty. Wanting—no, needing—someone next to him. Someone who could listen.

He slammed his fists down onto his thighs, hard. The jolt of pain cut through the noise in his head for just a moment. His breathing slowed. His pulse evened out. But the relief was already slipping — thinner each time, more hollow. It didn’t help. Not really. It just fed the silence, the ache, the need for something worse. Something deeper. Something he didn’t want to name.

He stood, flushed the toilet for show, and went back to the group.