Not in my bay.

Charlie took a last look across the bay. It was a perfect day, the sun and gentle breeze conspiring to set the wavelets glittering as if they were topped with sequins. The summer sun warmed the bright colours of the villas lining the hillside above the main beach. For a moment he watched the white sails gliding across the water, sharing the town side with the jet-skiers and paragliders. Beautiful. Idyllic even.

But hot in his wetsuit.

Charlie pulled the mask down over his face, checked the regulator and air gauge one more time, then leaned backwards over the side of the inflatable into the water. Righting himself expertly from his tumble, he kicked straight toward the shallow bottom. The sunlight streaming down made ever-changing fractal patterns over the rocks and sand, glinting off pyrites and quartz, alternately hiding and highlighting the colourful fish and drab but majestic rays.

Charlie swam efficiently, aware of his surroundings but not really taking them in. It was a long way across the bay, but he was in good shape and had a fresh tank. No hurry. The bottom fell away into the main channel, but Charlie kept his depth, kept swimming.

When he finally swam into shadow he turned toward the surface. He swam up until he reached the grey expanse above his head. Putting one hand against the curving mass to steady himself, he reached into the string bag slung from his weight belt and took out a fist-sized lump of metal. Reaching up he attached the magnetic mine to the armor of the warship overhead.

Seven minutes. He turned and kicked off the hull. Not in my bay.