Navy Rescue Swimmer Push: When Your Buddy’s a Blue Falcon

Petty Officer Mike “Fish” Hawkins was used to getting wet. It came with the territory of being a Navy Rescue Swimmer. He was the guy you called when things went sideways at sea—people overboard, sinking ships, or the occasional yacht captain with more money than brains. But, sometimes, even the guys who jump into danger need a little push. And sometimes, that push comes from a buddy who’s a Blue Falcon, aka a “Buddy F#*&er.”

It was a typical day in the middle of the Pacific, the helicopter humming along nicely, when the call came in: a distress signal from a fishing vessel caught in a storm. The crew was bailing water faster than a sailor on his first weekend of shore leave. Naturally, Fish was ready to roll. But there was one small problem: Aircrewman Specialist Rick “Falcon” Gonzales was on the bird that day.

Now, for those who don’t know, Falcon earned his nickname for a reason. He had a special talent for screwing you over in a way that somehow left him looking like a hero and you like an idiot. If there was a wrong time to “help” you, Falcon was there, grinning like a kid who just TP’d the school principal’s house.

As the helicopter approached the storm-tossed waters, Fish prepped his gear. He knew the drill—wait for the signal, then leap into the chaos below to do his job. Except, today, things were feeling extra chaotic. The storm wasn’t just a drizzle; it was like Mother Nature decided to shake a snow globe filled with angry waves. And, of course, the ocean beneath them looked as inviting as a frat house bathroom on Sunday morning.

Fish looked over at Falcon, who was grinning his usual “Oh, this is gonna be good” grin.

“Alright, Fish, you ready?” Falcon asked, a little too casually.

Fish tightened his harness and gave a nod. “Always ready. Let’s do this.”

The helicopter circled the stricken vessel below, and Fish could already see the fishermen flailing around like they were auditioning for a disaster movie. The waves were ridiculous—massive, white-capped beasts that seemed to reach up for the bird like they had a personal vendetta against Navy rescue swimmers.

“On your signal, Fish,” the pilot called through the comms.

Fish took a deep breath and waited for the green light. But just as the go-ahead came through, Falcon struck.

With zero warning, Falcon gave Fish a not-so-gentle nudge—a full-on shove, actually—right out of the helicopter door. There was no time to react. One moment Fish was inside, the next he was free-falling into a wet hell, cursing Falcon’s name and contemplating how many ways he could file an “accidental push” on a buddy.

Splashdown was hard. The stormy ocean hit like a wall of bricks, knocking the wind out of him for a second. Fish surfaced, sputtering, only to be greeted by a towering wave crashing down on him. Fantastic.

He quickly righted himself and checked his gear. As much as he wanted to swim back up there and strangle Falcon, he had a job to do. Through the mist and the madness, he spotted the capsizing fishing boat about 100 yards away.

Focus, Fish, he told himself, swimming toward the vessel like a shark that had just smelled blood in the water.

The fishermen weren’t exactly helping matters. One of them was trying to cling to the boat, which was about as helpful as using a napkin to stop a flood. Another was flailing so wildly Fish thought the guy might just save himself through sheer chaotic energy. But no, this was his moment.

“Calm down! I’m here to help!” Fish yelled, though the wind and waves made it sound more like, “Blah blah! Blah blah blah!” The fisherman just kept screaming, so Fish grabbed him by the collar and started hauling him toward safety.

Meanwhile, back in the helicopter, Falcon was watching like he was at some kind of amusement park show. “Nice dive, Fish!” came Falcon’s voice over the radio. “10 outta 10 on the landing!”

Fish mentally filed that under “Reasons Falcon Will Pay for This Later.” But there was no time to dwell on revenge. He dragged the fisherman back through the churning water, secured him to the rescue basket, and gave the signal to the chopper. Up the guy went, screaming the whole way like a kid on a roller coaster who didn’t realize the safety bar wasn’t latched.

Fish barely had time to catch his breath before the next wave nearly swallowed him whole. As if things couldn’t get worse, something brushed against his leg. Now, Fish had spent a lot of time in the ocean, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous about what lived beneath the waves. The ocean, after all, is a big, toothy mystery.

“Oh, no,” Fish muttered to himself, glancing nervously below the surface. “Please don’t be a shark. Please don’t be a shark.”

As if on cue, Falcon’s voice crackled in his ear. “You know, Fish, they say this area’s got a pretty high shark population. I’d swim fast if I were you.”

Fish clenched his teeth. “Falcon, when I get back up there—”

“Just saying, you might wanna hurry it up,” Falcon interrupted, in a tone that suggested he was enjoying this way too much.

Fish made a beeline for the second fisherman, who had now drifted dangerously far from the boat. He could feel his heart racing, half from the effort, half from the growing fear that something was eyeing him like lunch.

The second rescue went faster—probably because the threat of being eaten alive tends to speed things up. Fish secured the final fisherman, signaled for the lift, and watched as the guy ascended to safety.

Finally, it was Fish’s turn. He hooked himself to the line, gave the signal, and felt the sweet, sweet pull of the helicopter hoisting him out of the angry sea. As he rose, he glanced down at the water, and, sure enough, there was a fin slicing through the waves below.

Back in the bird, soaking wet and glaring at Falcon, Fish ripped off his helmet. “You pushed me!”

Falcon shrugged innocently, though the smug grin on his face betrayed him. “Hey, I thought you needed a little extra motivation. And look, you made it! You’re welcome.”

Fish wanted to strangle him. Instead, he slumped into his seat, exhausted and dripping, and muttered, “You’re buying the beers tonight, Falcon. And every night for the next month.”

Falcon chuckled. “Deal. But seriously, Fish—great rescue. Couldn’t have done it without you… literally.”

Fish glared, but deep down he knew that was just Falcon’s way. Sure, he’d gotten shoved into shark-infested waters, but hey—at least the job got done. And next time? Well, Fish would just make sure to be the one standing behind Falcon when the time came to jump.