Once again Scott has conned the pilots into position and manipulated the cable so that the basket is just ten feet from Drew and JP. Drew makes his move, dragging the survivor with a burst of renewed energy, knowing he has to get JP into the basket before they are carried to a wave crest. This time his free hand grabs hold of one of the metal bars surrounding the cage. He feels the seconds ticking by: The worst scenario would be if only half of JP’s body is in the basket when a wave drops out from under them. The slack in the cable will instantly snap taut, and without water to support the basket, any number of injuries can befall JP, including getting his neck broken by the abrupt motion.
Drew pivots to pull JP up to the side bar of the basket and, continuing that motion, gets the semiconscious survivor’s torso inside. He feels a wave lifting them up. The rescue swimmer puts one arm under JP’s legs and heaves upward with all his might. He’s got two thirds of JP inside the basket, and he quickly picks up the survivor’s dangling legs and jams them inside as well. Not wasting a moment, he holds on to the side bar with one hand and begins to use the other to give the thumbs-up signal to Scott. But as he’s doing so, a jagged wave crest passes beneath them. The basket is ripped from Drew’s grip, and he looks up to see JP and the basket go shooting skyward as if ejected from a cannon.
Up above, Scott sees the whole episode play out, holding his breath as the basket jerks violently at the end of the cable. Damn, he curses to himself, we’re killing the survivor before we even rescue him.
The burly flight mechanic is on his knees at the open doorway, retracting the cable as fast as it will go to pull the survivor up. When the basket is at the door, Scott leans out and uses each of his hands to grab different bails. JP’s back is to Scott, and he is slumped in an awkward reclining position, with his knees fully bent. It looks like he has been stuffed into the basket and then forcibly jammed down. Scott has no idea whether JP is dead or alive. The survivor’s head is underneath a yellow inflatable PFD that has risen and, instead of being around his chest and neck, is wrapped around his face.
For better traction, Scott lifts his left leg so that his foot is on the floor, and then he muscles the steel cage partway into the aircraft, giving JP a real jolt. Then Scott pulls straight back and slides the basket toward the rear of the cabin.
Suddenly, like Lazarus rising from the dead, JP lifts an arm, then struggles to sit up straight. Scott, still kneeling behind JP, grabs him under the arms and starts lifting while JP pushes with his feet, raising his butt from the bottom of the basket. Incredibly, JP arches his back so that it is on the side of the basket, and then he rolls out. The broken ribs take a real pounding, but so many of JP’s senses are awakening at once that he barely feels it. His mind is slowly starting to process his surroundings. I’m not dead. Someone is helping me.
Scott helps the survivor toward a bench opposite the open doorway, and JP sits. Part of his ashen face is now showing above his PFD, and he looks like a zombie. His expression is dazed, and his eyes stare blankly. The noise from the helicopter is deafening, and it seems to cause JP to come out of shock. He looks around and realizes he is inside a helicopter.
As JP’s brain kicks into full consciousness, his first thought is: Where are the others? They can’t be gone, they can’t be dead.
• • •
In the cockpit, Aaron feels a bit of relief that one survivor is in the cabin, but now his concern is directed at Drew. Compared to the life raft, Drew is a mere speck in the ocean, a much smaller visual target. Aaron repositions the helo closer to Drew. The rescue swimmer is down in a trough and can barely be seen. If we lose sight of him, we will never find him.
Nevada hurriedly shouts, “Large wave approaching!”
Aaron quickly nudges up the power to climb out of danger. He then watches as the colossal roller sweeps up the rescue swimmer and carries him skyward. Drew is lifted so high, he is almost at the same level as Aaron. Man, I can see his face! thinks Aaron. The copilot is sitting stock-still; one would never know his pulse is racing. His mind is galloping ahead as well, trying to visualize the next steps. We’re going to be damned lucky if we can get him back . . . and even luckier if we get those remaining on the raft.
Aaron considers asking Nevada if he thinks they can successfully hoist the swimmer back. He wants reassurance. But he says nothing, telling himself, Now is not the time.
Down in the cauldron, Drew is winded. His heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his dry suit. After being lifted by the big wave toward the nose of the helo, he’s now being pushed aft of the aircraft and directly behind it. Thinking he’s in a blind spot, he swims forward and out to the two o’clock position. Another wave pushes him back, this one dunking and spinning him. He surfaces quickly and looks skyward. The helicopter is gone. Just a few seconds ago he felt like he could reach out and grab its landing gear, and now, walled in between two waves, the swimmer can see only a small patch of empty sky overhead. Nor can he hear the rotors amid the wind roaring and waves crashing. Briefly, he thinks the helicopter might have crashed, then he tells himself to stay positive. You’ve got the best pilots up there. Craning his neck, he tries to see more sky and less wave, but no sight of the aircraft. He’s not sure which way to swim, so he floats and tries to catch his breath. The enormousness of the waves and the seriousness of his predicament fully dawn on him. What did I get myself into?
• • •
Scott is back at his perch by the cabin door. He had a brief view of Drew, but now he’s nowhere to be seen. “Back fifty feet,” he commands through his headset. The flight mechanic lies down on his stomach and shimmies the upper part of his body as far out as he dares, looking beneath the aircraft. “I see the swimmer! Go back ten more feet.”
JP is anxiously watching Scott. He isn’t sure what’s going on, but he knows it’s not good. He doesn’t have a headset on, so he didn’t hear Scott say that he saw Drew. Even though the door is open, the helicopter is warmer than the water, and JP is thinking a bit more clearly. They can’t find the swimmer or the raft. He can feel panic rising, yet there is not a damn thing he can do.
“Lowering the hook for swimmer,” announces Scott. It would be nice if I could actually see the swimmer longer than a second or two. Instead of lowering the strop, Scott is lowering the bare hook for less wind resistance.
• • •
As the helicopter finally comes into Drew’s field of vision, he thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He’s so elated, so focused on the hook coming down, that he gets blindsided by a wave breaking directly on him. He’s underwater longer than the last time he was buried, and his body is screaming that it needs air. Not sure which way is up, he starts to kick with his flippers, hoping he’s heading in the right direction.
About three seconds later, his head clears the surface, and he immediately sucks in a deep breath through his snorkel. He’s rewarded with a mouth full of seawater and starts choking. Kicking hard with his flippers, he gets his head above the foam and finally grabs a bite of air. He feels nauseated, spent. Being in a dry suit isn’t helping matters—he feels like he’s swimming inside it, not from seawater but from his own sweat. The water temperature is 70 degrees, but it could easily have been in the upper 50s if they were just a few miles away, outside the Gulf Stream eddy. If he can’t get safely back on the helicopter, the dry suit just might save his life.
Earlier he and Scott decided that once the first survivor was safely aboard, Drew would be “air-taxied” back to the raft instead of being hoisted into the helicopter. This would be quicker than another redeployment. Now Drew is having second thoughts. He’s thinking about the way JP shot up into the air on the basket and wonders if the strop is the way to go for the next rescue. Maybe I should talk to Scott. He’s also thinking that being in the helo for a minute will allow him to breathe real air, not foam and mist. He needs to get his wind back, but he doesn’t want to leave the men in the raft any longer than he has to. I’ll decide once I’m airborne.
In an effort to reduce the gyrations of the cable, the pilots are keeping the helicopter low, just ninety feet above the wave trough. Still, the hook is a moving target. When the hook is ten feet away, Drew swims to it. Grabbing it is difficult; one minute it is five feet above him and out of reach, and the next it is underwater. He’s leery about snatching the cable itself, worried that it might shred his hand if a wave drops out from under him. Finally, in the relative safety of a trough, he grabs hold of the hook.
Drew is wearing a body harness with straps that wrap around the waist, under the legs, up the back, and over the shoulders, then down the chest to reconnect at the waist. He quickly attaches the hook to a point on his waist and gives the thumbs-up sign, relieved to be connected to the aircraft.
Scott announces, “Swimmer is on the hook.” He retracts some line so that Drew is just above the wave tops. “Swimmer is one-third up. We can air-taxi him to the raft.” Scott has no idea where the raft is but assumes the pilots can either see it or will start searching downwind.
Aaron eases off the power, allowing the wind to push back the helicopter. The wind blows it too hard, making it lurch, and the copilot struggles to stabilize it and slow the speed.
Down below, Drew is skimming just over the wave tops at the end of the hoist line. He makes up his mind that he needs to talk to Scott, and he pats the top of his head, which is the signal to be brought in. Immediately, the cable starts lifting him, though the blasts of wind push Drew in long arcing swings like the pendulum of a clock, making the rescue swimmer dizzy.
Nevada’s head is in constant motion. One second he is looking ahead to call out any really large waves, and the next he’s watching the cabin door, eager for Drew to appear on the hook. When the swimmer is up and inside, Nevada clenches and pumps his fist with pride. He likens this rescue to a boxing match, with Drew as the fighter who has just gotten through round one. Instead of sitting in his corner of the ring, Drew is sitting on the floor, completely out of breath. He hears Scott say, “Are you okay?” Drew nods and then pukes on the cabin floor.
If Drew is the fighter, Scott is the trainer, and he’s watching his man closely, making sure he is a “go” for the next round. “Are you sure you can do this?” he asks.
Catching his breath, Drew says to Scott, “I’ll be fine. What do you think about using the strop for the next rescue?”
Scott pauses, thinking how the wave fell out from under the basket just as JP was stuffed in it. “I don’t think the strop will be any different. You and the survivor could be jerked even harder on the strop. It would save time, but the more I think about it, the more I think it’s too risky.”
Drew nods, deferring to Scott, since the flight mechanic will be the one managing the hoist.
Nevada can hear Scott’s side of the conversation, knows what they are talking about, and agrees. He turns forward and assists Aaron in searching for the raft. “How you holding up?” he asks.
“Good. But this is unreal. I don’t see the raft anywhere.”
“Well, it was drifting faster than I’ve ever seen a raft or a boat drift.”
“Let’s hope it’s still afloat.”