Christmas In The Cove. Carol Ross
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AUBREY TAPPED A rhythm with her foot as the song “Respect” played inside her head. The words sounded as clear and pure as if Aretha herself was strapped in the helicopter’s seat beside her.
The copilot, Lieutenant Jensen, interrupted her mid-verse. “Three minutes.”
Signaling that she heard, she resumed her internal checklist. Not the equipment list every Coast Guard Rescue Swimmer is always prepared with—mask, fins, knife, radio, beacon and assorted supplies. She’d already done that one about fifty times. No, Aubrey was executing her “mental prep.” Breathing deeply, she imagined blood flowing to the furthest reaches of her body from her heart to her liver and all the way to the tips of her toes, while she silently sang Aretha Franklin’s classic tune over and over again. Was this weird? Maybe. She had no idea. But she knew other rescue swimmers who had their rituals, too. So, in that regard, she assumed it was normal. She didn’t really care one way or the other. It was her normal.
“Almost there.” Jensen spoke into her ear again.
She had noted the change in airspeed as they’d approached the coordinates. They were now moving slowly, searching. She embraced the surge of adrenaline that kicked in as she prepared for the task at hand. There could be literally anywhere, she mused as she looked out at the vast grayness beyond the rain-splattered windshield of the Jayhawk helicopter.
The emergency call had reported that the Respite, a forty-foot fishing boat with a crew of three, was in immediate distress. The captain of the vessel had relayed that the engine was dead, they were taking on water in the high seas and the bilge pumps could not keep up. The latest communication had confirmed they were abandoning ship. Time was of the essence. She shot an impatient glance at Oliver.
The flight mechanic and hoist operator, Petty Officer Terrence “Osprey” Oliver, opened the helicopter door. Looking out, she assessed the situation as well as the conditions permitted. She could make out the floundering vessel and the spreading debris field, but couldn’t see anything in the water that looked remotely like a human. As they circled the scene, her eyes scanned, the fog thinned...and there! Splashes of orange. Survivors in life jackets waving their arms. She looked at Oliver. She could tell he’d seen them, too, which was no surprise as Osprey had earned his nickname for a reason. She’d seen him spot survivors at distances that would make a real bird jealous.
She was anxious to get into the water now.
He signaled for her to get ready.
She quickly unbuckled from her flight seat and began to add the rest of her water deployment ensemble. Already outfitted in her dry suit, she removed the onboard communications, or ICS, and adjusted her swim helmet. For the duration of the rescue she would rely mostly on hand signals to communicate with her crew.
She waited some more. It was only a minute, but still, slower than usual and she felt a surge of anxiety as the seconds ticked by. This delay was not typical. What was going on?
Oliver signaled for her to slip her ICS back on.
Lieutenant Jensen spoke. “We’re experiencing mechanical difficulties. Returning to base.”
“Wait, no!”
“We don’t have any choice, Wynn.”
“Yes, we do. Let me drop.”
“Negative. We’re not leaving you without an exit.”
“The forty-seven is at least thirty minutes out.” Aubrey was referring to the forty-seven-foot motorboat that would have to be deployed from Station Cape Disappointment and the time it would take for it to arrive on scene. She didn’t have to add that the survivors might not last that long.
“Another helo will have to—Hold on.”
A delay could mean the difference between life or death. The least she could do is get them into a life raft and provide some comfort during the wait.
She knew the pilot, Lieutenant Commander Vincent, was going to give her an order. She needed to make a last-ditch argument in an effort to save three lives. She could get to the survivors, at least, do what she could to give them comfort and keep them alive until help arrived. She would risk the censure. So Others May Live was the Coast Guard’s Rescue Swimmers’ motto, and that’s what she did. That’s what she would do. Always.
“Sir, I can—”
“Stop talking, Wynn. We’ve got another chopper en route. It’s on a recon mission and is only minutes out. If you’re willing, you’ve got the go-ahead to deploy. They will execute the recovery.”
“Yes, of course I’m willing.”
“Lieutenant Commander Holmes is piloting the aircraft. Petty Officer Johnston is the flight mechanic,” Oliver added. “The two new guys are also on board. You’re all set. Go save some lives.”
She hadn’t met the new guys yet, but she had a ton of respect for Lt. Cdr. Holmes. And Jay Johnston was a friend, someone she flew with regularly and trusted. He was also an excellent hoist operator and Aubrey was glad to hear he was part of the crew.
She secured her equipment bag, put the mask and snorkel on her forehead, and pulled on her fins. Still wearing the requisite gunner’s belt, she moved forward and seated herself in the doorway of the chopper, gripping the handholds situated on either side. From this vantage point she could now see that the boat was lying very low and listing heavily to starboard. Swamped. She could hear nothing but the scream of the helicopter combined with the roar of the wind and the ocean. The sound fueled her determination. Ready, she signaled. Oliver gave her a firm tap on the chest to indicate she could proceed.
The helo moved right and dipped as Lieutenant Vincent lowered it into position. She released the gunner’s belt, positioned the mask on her face and, after one last equipment check, gave him a thumbs-up. Three more taps to her shoulder indicated she was good to go on his end.
She could never deploy without thoughts of her childhood “Coastie friends” Eli and Alex flashing through her mind. Their dads had served together and were the best of friends. That connection had brought their kids together, too, but a mutual love of adventure, the beach and water in any form had sealed the bond into their own solid, unwavering friendship.
The three of them would practice rescue jumping for hours on end: slight bend in the knees, fins pointing up, one hand on the mask and the other across the chest. Just like she did now. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath, timed her free fall to catch the top of a big swell, and dropped into the ocean.
She surfaced, her mind now fully in rescue mode. Raising her arm high into the air, she positioned her palm up and out in the “I am all right” signal, and swam to the first survivor.
* * *
LIEUTENANT COMMANDER, COAST GUARD pilot and rescue swimmer, Eli Pelletier wasn’t technically doing either of those jobs today. Rather, he was enjoying his ride as a passenger touring the Pacific Northwest’s coastline. His friend and fellow pilot, Lieutenant Commander Gale Kohen, was in the helicopter seat beside him, also taking in the view.
He and Gale had only arrived in Pacific Cove the day before and reported for duty at Air Station Astoria in Warrenton, Oregon, early that morning. They’d been transferred to District 13, also known as Sector Columbia River, under the auspices of performing an evaluation of the base’s search-and-rescue operations.