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The ship had been at Flight Quarters Condition Three (Modified) since 02:00 to prepare for rapid turn-up and launch of the embarked MH-60T helicopter. Firefighting and rescue equipment were readied and laid out. The flight deck crew were attired in their color-coded flash-protection gear, and the Helicopter Control Station was manned. The helicopter crew had “cocked” the aircraft on the flight deck, pre-flighted the airframe, removed all engine and sensor covers, and taken off all tie-downs other than the primary chocks and chains.
The aircraft commander, Lieutenant Commander Stephanie Becker, was in Thetis’s Combat Information Center, following the latest information on the mission and keeping a keen eye on the weather. Her crew was lounging by the aircraft parked on the flight deck, ready to jump in and complete an expedited start at a moment’s notice.
The rainstorms providing a welcome sanctuary for Kauai during her approach had proven quite a challenge for Thetis. Her flight deck was barely broad and long enough to support the landing of the MH-60, and her hangar was far too small to house the large helicopter. With a vulnerable aircraft parked on the open air of her flight deck, Thetis had to be kept clear of thunderstorms, with their powerful shearing winds and lightning. Occasionally, an anxious OOD had to pour on full speed to dodge a rapidly building storm.
Becker was about ready to call it a day. Reports from the cutter involved in the mission, callsign Orchid, showed a few minor wounds in action, nothing justifying the risks of a helicopter hoist and long flight back to the States. She was gathering up her charts and kneeboard when an urgent call came over the command net: “Thetis, this is Orchid, request immediate assistance. Require MEDEVAC for one patient with traumatic brain injury and one medical attendant, over.”
So much for calling it a day. Becker quickly jotted down the latitude, longitude, course, and speed of the cutter and headed back to the flight deck as the announcement to set Flight Quarters Condition One reverberated through the ship. By the time she reached the aircraft, Holmgren had already started the APU, a small jet engine providing power to start the main engines and run the electronics, and was carrying out the pre-flight checks. The flight crew had reached an agreement with the ship’s captain that they could start the APU independently without waiting for the ship’s fire parties to man up fully during an emergency launch like this.
When Thetis reached full readiness at all flight quarters stations, the yellow-shirted Landing Signal Officer, or LSO, gave the pilots a thumbs up. Holmgren keyed his radio. “Thetis, Six-Zero-Two-Three, request permission to start engines and engage rotors.”
“Six-Zero-Two-Three, Thetis, permission granted to start engines and engage rotors. Amber deck.”
“Six-Zero-Two-Three, roger.”
After starting the two main engines and getting the rotors up to full speed, Becker and Holmgren completed the last cockpit checks, called for a takeoff, and received a reply. “Six-Zero-Two-Three, Thetis, cleared for takeoff to port, take signals from the LSO. Green deck.”
Holmgren gave the “remove tie-downs” hand signal to the LSO, who dispatched the aircraft’s tiedown crew. They removed the wheel chocks and tiedown chains from the helicopter and scurried forward clear of the flight deck. The LSO kneeled for one last visual check, then stood, waved his hand in a circle, and pointed off to the ship’s port side. Becker lifted the helicopter into a brief hover over the flight deck, then slid left clear of the ship and began an acceleration and climb. Once clear and climbing, Holmgren keyed the radio again. “Thetis, Six-Zero-Two-Three, flight operations normal, over.”
“Six-Zero-Two-Three, Thetis, roger, maintain guard with me for now. Good luck. Out.” Becker glanced at the aircraft’s clock: 06:30, thirteen minutes from callout to airborne, very respectable, especially considering the shipboard launch.
The flight from Thetis to Kauai’s position was a short nine minutes. In the last five, the cutter’s officer of the deck discussed the operation with Holmgren to complete plans and decrease the helicopter’s time overhead. There would be two hoists: the first of the cutter’s health services technician, the medical attendant for the flight, then the litter containing the patient. On arrival, Becker slowed the helicopter and said, “Complete rescue checklist part one for direct delivery of the rescue strop.” Harris slid the cabin door open and attached the strop to the hoist hook.
“Rescue check part one complete,” Harris announced. She keyed the intercom again as the helicopter pulled into a hover alongside Kauai. “Holy Shit! Look at the boat!” A large black smudge stretched across most of the rear of Kauai’s superstructure, the boat crane’s arm was severed, and the tubes on the RHIB were shredded and deflated.
“OK, let’s stick to business. Complete rescue check part two,” Becker responded.
Harris snapped out of her awe and completed the check. “Rescue check part two complete.”
“Orchid, Six-Zero-Two-Three, ready for hoist.”
“Two-Three, Orchid, cleared to hoist.”
The medical technician and his go-bag came up first. Once he and it were safely aboard, Harris and Daniels hauled out the litter and sent it down. After a minute, the patient was positioned in the litter and hoisted aboard. Harris shut the cabin door, and as the helicopter climbed and accelerated away, Daniels handed the medical technician a flight helmet and plugged it into an intercom cord.
“Can you hear me?” Daniels asked after the technician had put on the helmet.
“Loud and clear,” the technician responded.
“I’m Greg, and this is Mikita,” Daniels said. “Anything we can do to help?”
“Not right now, thanks. The name’s Mike Bryant.”
“OK. What’s in the bag?”
“Two IV bags, two units of O-negative, medical disposal bags, and a lot of towels.”
“Towels? You expecting rain?” Daniels quipped.
“No, blood. A lot.”
“What the hell?”
“The patient has a brain bleed. The surgeon made a burr hole and installed a drain. I have to keep it clear until they get him to surgery, or he’ll die. So, we’re going to have bleeding.
“Shit, what happened down there?”
“Sorry, that’s classified.”
“Did he get it when the boat was hit?”
“Again, sorry. Can’t discuss it.”
“OK.” Bryant’s reticence would have probably put off the average person, but Daniels was not to be denied and said, “Who is he, anyway?”
“He’s our XO.”
“Oh, well, you guys won’t have to worry about shoeshines and haircuts for a while.”
Becker cringed and was about to put a stop to the conversation when Daniels hurriedly said, apparently to a reaction from Bryant, “Hey, I’m kidding!”
“Kid about something else, asshole!” Bryant shouted.
“Daniels, how about you stick to business and give everyone a break?” Becker interrupted. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daniels said contritely. “Sorry, man.”
“Forget about it,” Bryant said. “Can you give me a hand with the towels here?”
“You’ve got it.”
“We have a report from Orchid, sir,” Commander Keener called on the intercom.
“Bring it in, please,” Pennington responded. After realizing that he was thoroughly demoralizing his staff by hovering in the situation room, Pennington had confined himself to his office. His relief on hearing that both Kauai and Carlos Rojas had cleared Barbello harbor and were en route to the dump point with only three casualties was immense. None of the wounded required medevac, even better. He was happy to be proven wrong, even if it was by that callous DIA asshat.
There was a knock on the door, and then Keener came in holding a clipboard with a TOP SECRET cover on it, closing the door behind him. “Here it is, sir.”
“Read it.” Pennington took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He had gotten about five hours of sleep in the last three days and could barely see his desk, much less read message text.
“Carlos Rojas sunk at 10:12 Zulu and gives a position.” He paused with his mouth open.
Pennington looked up with concern. “What is it?”
“Revised casualty list, sir. There was a Salinas stowaway on the Carlos Rojas, and he opened fire as the boarding party was gathering to disembark.” He paused again.
“Well?”
“One killed, Dominguez, DEA agent. One serious injury, Lieutenant J.G. Wyporek. He’s just been hoisted from Kauai. His condition is listed as an epidural hematoma. It’s some kind of traumatic brain injury.”
Pennington pressed his palms against his eyes. They punched through that gauntlet of machine guns and RPGs and then got blindsided by a nut job with an AK? How does that make sense? “Where is the helo going?”
“Miami. He’ll need a neurosurgeon and a trauma center, sir.”
“We know which one?”
“Um. No, sir.”
Pennington took his hands from his eyes and put on his glasses. “What do you mean, no? Do you expect them to make arrangements via INMARSAT? For God’s sake, Dan, give them some help. I don’t care which one it is, but I want a top-flight neurosurgeon scrubbed and ready to cut when that helo touches down. Get on it! If I need to bust Fred Brown’s or General Miller’s balls to make that happen, you tell me! Move!”
“Yes, sir!” Keener said, then fled the room.
Pennington stared at the door after it closed. Ben, we’ll get you right if I have to chew up every commander, captain, admiral, or general from here to DC. We owe you and your crew that much!
Victoria was walking on air as she made her way to the office. She only had a few hours of sleep, excited as she was after her phone call with Benjamin the previous evening. This would have left her tired, grumpy, and unproductive on a typical day. Not today. She felt like she could solve P versus NP if she put her mind to it. After locking up her bag and cellphone, she cheerfully presented her badge and almost skipped through the metal detector at the security checkpoint. It was just a short walk to the Data Analysis Division and her cubicle.
Debbie was away from her desk, which was typical, as she usually had administrative housekeeping tasks piled up at the start of each day. Victoria sat in her cubicle, booted her computer, and started the login process. A knock on the wall behind her startled her. She turned and smiled when she saw it was Debbie—she couldn’t wait to tell her about the phone call. The smile quickly faded. Something was wrong. Mr. Fletcher, the office director, was standing behind Debbie, and they both looked.... What? Her brain searched for the correct term. Grim. Yes, that was it. She must have done something very wrong.
“Dear, could you come with us, please? There’s something we need to talk to you about,” Debbie said.
“Yes,” Victoria said, standing up. The situation was alarming. So much so that she almost left her Common Access Card plugged into her computer, which would have been a serious security violation on top of whatever faux pas she had committed. She followed them silently into Mr. Fletcher’s office and sat down at the table next to Debbie while Mr. Fletcher sat on the edge of his desk.
“Victoria, this is about that young Coast Guard officer you’ve been seeing. His name is Ben Wyporek, is that right?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
I cannot be in trouble for that, can I? Benjamin is a commissioned officer with the highest security clearance, not a foreigner. “Yes, Mr. Fletcher. Is there a report I should have submitted for that?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I..., I just....”
“Sir, may I, please,” Debbie interrupted on seeing his distress. At his nod, she continued. “Dear, I got a call from Peter Simmons this morning right after I got to work.”
“Yes?” Victoria was confused. What did Peter have to do with this?
Debbie reached over and took her hand. “He was with Ben last night. I don’t know how to say this, but Ben was badly hurt.”
Her vision seemed to close into a tunnel centered on Debbie’s face, and the sound echoed in her head. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and squeezed Debbie’s hand. All that came out was, “No. No, no, no. He’s not...not....”
“He’s not dead, Victoria, but he was badly hurt. They have taken him off his ship by helicopter, and he is on the way to a hospital in Miami. He should arrive there around one o’clock.”
“Miami?” Her brain was spinning, but math quickly took hold. Over six hours by helicopter, average speed one-hundred-fifty miles per hour, eight hundred miles. They would bring him to the closest hospital trauma center in the US, so eight hundred miles from Miami. “What was he doing in the Caribbean?”
Debbie and Mr. Fletcher looked at each other in surprise. “I’m sorry, dear, we don’t have that information,” she said.
“How was he hurt?”
“Peter said it was a head injury. Something called an epidural hematoma.”
“Oh, no!” An eidetic memory like Victoria’s could be a gift or a curse. Just now, it was the latter. She had read about epidural hematomas and knew that if Benjamin did not receive immediate neurosurgery, he could die or be permanently disabled. Five hours did not equal “immediate” in her mind. “I must go to him. Mr. Fletcher, I need to take leave. I am sorry. I know I am supposed to submit a request for leave two weeks in advance.”
Mr. Fletcher shook his head. “Victoria, that is not a problem. But are you sure you want to go right now? I’m told he could be unconscious...indefinitely with these things.”
“Mr. Fletcher, he will either wake up in one to two days, or he will die.” She nodded firmly. “I need to be there when he wakes up.” Victoria knew Mr. Fletcher was right. She did not bring any knowledge or skills to bear that could influence the outcome in the slightest. However, as irrational as it seemed, while Benjamin’s life hung in the balance, she was determined to be with him. She turned to Debbie. “Can you help me find a flight to Miami? I do not have time to learn how.”
“Yes, I’d be happy to, dear,” Debbie replied with tears in her eyes.
“I’ll see if we have anyone headed down that way who can escort you,” Mr. Fletcher added.
“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher. I will go in any case, but having someone I can trust along would be very helpful.”
“Good. I’ll let you two move along to make arrangements while I make some phone calls. Victoria, I’m very sorry about Ben, and I pray he will be OK. If there is anything we can do, I hope you will call us.”
“I certainly will. Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”
Sam looked across the messdeck at Simmons as he sat, head down, staring at his hands resting on the table. Sam’s attitude toward the DIA man had fluctuated considerably since their first meeting almost three months ago. What started as a wary acceptance and understanding of a man with an enormous challenge had ended in white-hot anger when Simmons had carelessly blundered into an ambush and dragged Ben with him. At the end of the last mission, he had told Captain Mercier in no uncertain terms that there would be a reckoning if he and Simmons ever crossed paths again.
That moment had come. The anger had faded in the interval, but the distrust and dislike remained. That Ben had a cordial, almost friendly attitude toward the man who had so flippantly risked his life was a great mystery to Sam and one of the few issues on which he and Ben disagreed. He supposed you could not stand under fire with another man without developing some attachment. There was also Simmons’s young protégé, admittedly quite beautiful, and with whom Ben was utterly smitten.
Sam had to admit that the current crisis was not a result of anything Simmons had done. They had all performed their duty, took appropriate actions, and did their best to minimize the risks. Ben’s injury was a matter of bad luck, not recklessness this time. Sam swallowed hard and walked over to the table. “Doctor, are you alright?”
Simmons looked up at Sam, who was surprised to see actual pain in the man’s face. “No, Captain, I’m really not. For the second time in three months, I’ve set events in motion that may finish, if not kill, the finest man I’ve ever known. I just made a call up to Bethesda so Victoria’s boss can share with her the wonderful news that the man she loves may die today. How can I possibly be alright?”
“Doctor, you know I’m not your biggest fan. So, you can believe me completely when I say that this situation is not your fault. Even I am good enough at math to know the butterfly effect theory is bullshit. No act of yours long ago and thousands of miles away had any influence on events here. And, by the way, Ben is not finished yet. Roberts says all the factors line up on his side.”
“Yes, sir. I hear what you’re saying, but I’d like to continue to wallow in self-contempt for a time, if you don’t mind. At least until we get some good news.”
“Suit yourself. I’m not here to console you, but I need to use your satellite phone to arrange for my wife to see to things back in Miami. I will, of course, pay for any charges incurred.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Captain. I will not bill you for that.”
“Yes, you will. I want no favors from you, and I won’t have any pencil-necks hanging an ethics charge on me down the road.”
“OK,” Simmons said, pulling the phone out of his bag. “Do you know how to use one of these?”
Joana Mendez Powell was juggling three balls this morning. Her two children, Robbie and Danni, were, naturally, her most important and demanding ball. Fortunately, new birthday toys from Robbie’s namesake, Sam’s mentor, Bobby Moore, held their attention for a while. The second demand on her time was working up the chain to find someone who knew something about the household goods move coming up in a couple of weeks. It drove her crazy that a move of two hundred miles from Miami to Patrick Air Force Base proved more difficult than one of five thousand miles from Honolulu to Miami! How her parents managed eight of these during her father’s navy career and kept their sanity was a wonder to her. The final and least urgent was the book cover she had contracted to design for a self-published author. She still had a couple of weeks to finish that, but he was nice, and she wanted to deliver early, if possible.
Joana hit save on her computer when the phone rang, grabbed it, and moved to a position where she could monitor the kids while she talked. She had learned that at least one sensor had to be trained on the children continuously, or mayhem would shortly ensue. The caller ID simply said INMARSAT Unk—it was probably from Sam. Who else would call using the International Maritime Satellite service? “Hello?”
“Hi, sailor.”
“Well, my beloved captain, to what do I owe the surprise of an INMARSAT call? Did you forget my birthday or something?”
“Jo, I...”
Joana’s blood went cold. This was going to be bad. “OK, darling, let’s have it.”
“It’s Ben. We just medevac-ed him. He’s on the way to Miami now and should get there about one o’clock.”
“Oh, My God! How bad is it?”
“Very. He has a head injury, a kind of brain bleed.”
Tears welled up, and her hands shook. Ben was not just another shipmate for Sam, but his closest friend and the brother he never had. And it didn’t end with Sam. Joana was closer to Ben than her brother Eddie in many respects. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “Is he going to make it?”
“Jo, I want to tell you yes in the worst way. I don’t know. The doc we have with us says he has the best shot we can give him, but there’s just no way to tell with this sort of thing.
She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “OK, what do I need to do? Do you want me to call his parents?”
“No. Ben and I discussed this situation as a possibility when we took the new job. He didn’t want them freaked out when there was nothing they could do. The service has to do the notifications anyway—protocol.
“I need you to be at the hospital when Ben gets there. The JIATF guys are working on it and will call you when they get one locked in. Mike Bryant is attending him on the flight and could use some help. Also, Ben’s girl has been contacted by her people and is probably on the way down.”
Oh, God! The math geek? What can I say to her? “OK, I’ll do my best. Is anyone else hurt? You damn well better not be holding out on me that you’re bleeding somewhere!”
“No, my love, I’m fine except for an acute case of the guilts. We had one other guy catch a hit, Brian Jenkins, but he’ll be OK.”
As hard as it was for her, she knew the responsibility factor would crush Sam. He would normally lean on Ben for help with that, but now Ben was the one in danger. “I wish I was there to hold you. Promise me you’ll get Emilia to help you. And don’t worry about anything here; I’ve got it covered.”
“Jo, I... I don’t have the words.”
“Don’t worry, my captain, I’m an artist; I know all the words.”
“I love you, querida. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Come home safe, mi amor.”
The call disconnected, and she put the phone down. Robbie had come over and was looking up at her with the most profound concern a three-year-old could conjure.
“You’re crying, Mommy. Do you have an owey?”
She picked him up and hugged him tightly as she blinked away the tears. “I’ll be OK. Thank you, my little man!”
Drake stepped onto the Bridge and walked over to Lee. “You got the OOD?”
“Yes, COB.”
“How’s he doing?” Drake said, nodding toward Sam, sitting in his captain’s chair.
“Don’t know. He hasn’t said a word since I reported the relief.” If he’s anything like me, he’s a wreck. Lee had been frightened when the towline had broken, but the urgency of cutting away that loose end had pushed back the fear. But that had been nothing compared to the horror she felt when Mr. W suddenly just collapsed in front of her, writhing in pain on the deck.
The relief Lee experienced on hearing that he was OK after being shot had been overpowering. She had almost hugged him when he stumbled back aboard, getting hold of herself at the last second and firing off a salute instead. Mere minutes later, John carried him into the medical station while she was doing all she could not to scream.
“OK.” Drake nodded. then walked behind Sam’s chair and said, “Captain?”
Sam turned slowly to him. “Yes, COB?”
“Sir, we have set up a makeshift ward for the wounded in the forward port berthing area. We’ve cleaned up the messdeck and cleared it out sufficiently for Chef to maneuver. He would like permission to resume normal meal preparation.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.” Sam nodded. “We have almost twice the compliment on board. Can he prepare enough food for everyone?”
“I think he’s got gumbo and primavera planned for the next two meals. They should stretch OK.”
“That’s fine. Make it so.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned to leave, then hesitated. “You know, the XO will be OK, sir.”
Sam turned to him and said, “Yes, he will.”
Drake nodded, turned, and departed. A minute later, Roberts came through the door. “Permission to enter the Bridge? I would like to talk to the captain, please.”
“Permission granted, sir,” Lee said. She didn’t know if she was supposed to listen to the conversation, but she would stay close enough to hear unless the captain told her to get lost. She stepped over to the FC3 console next to the captain’s chair and pretended to concentrate on the navigation and radar screens.
Roberts walked over to Sam, who stood up to greet him. As Sam extended his hand, he said, “Doctor, I can’t thank you enough for your work today.”
“All part of the job. Heard anything from the helo?”
“Not from them, which I’m hoping is good or, at least, not bad news. The guys at JIATF South lined up a surgeon at Dadeland Hospital in Miami. Ben should go straight in.”
Roberts nodded. “That’s good. I’m pretty sure he’ll make it to Miami. After that, it’s up to them. And Dadeland’s one of the best.”
“Good to hear. And how are your other patients? Do I need to arrange another airlift?”
“No, they’re stable where they are. Getting knocked around in a helo hoist would do more harm than good at this point. They can hold out fine until we pull into Key West.”
“OK. May I ask what you were doing with that wand when I came into the surgery this morning?”
“That ‘wand,’ as you call it, is an ultrasound transducer. I was mapping the hematoma to find the best location for the burr hole.”
“I thought you needed MRIs or CAT scans to treat these things.”
“You do, and he’ll get one first thing in Miami. Understand, Captain, I wasn’t fixing anything this morning. I was applying the neurosurgical equivalent of a tourniquet.”
“Yes. I’m impressed you’d have tools available for this sort of thing.”
“It’s a different environment in combat medicine now. Twenty years ago, we didn’t have a lot of injuries like that. That bullet would have gone straight through the helmet and killed him on the spot. The good news with the new materials is fewer immediate deaths; the bad news is more traumatic injuries. We found out quick that head bangs can be as deadly as bullet wounds, so I added a craniotome to the kit.”
“I see. What are Ben’s chances?”
“You can never tell with the brain; everyone’s different. I wish he’d come to me as soon as he got on board. He had a huge bleed, which is why his symptoms progressed so quickly. That said, all the risk factors and medical resources coming in are on his side. If I had to make a bet, I’d say he’ll be fine if there are no other issues on the way.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad you were with us on this trip. If you or your guys need anything, let me know.”
“Will do. Thanks, Captain.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
After Roberts had departed, Sam stepped over to Lee. “Lee, I’m heading below. Before I go, I just wanted to say what you did last night was one for the books. We probably wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you.”
Lee blushed and looked down. “Just doing my job, Captain.” After a second, she looked up at Sam with an almost pleading expression. “Mr. Wyporek will be alright, won’t he, sir?”
Sam smiled and lightly patted her shoulder. “Like the doctor just said, I’d bet on it. Have a good watch.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lee watched Sam leave, then walked to the windows for a visual scan outside. I don’t know if we can rely on what that army guy said, but it picked the captain up a bit, Thank God.
Hopkins was sitting in her stateroom, just completing a good fifteen-minute cry. She was utterly drained by the intense cycling of emotions since yesterday evening, starting with the fear of the extreme danger facing the crew. The battle itself was a fog except for that moment of sheer terror when the towline parted, and it seemed they were all lost. Then the relief of getting through, followed by the devastating report the XO had been shot, then he was OK, then at death’s door again.
Hopkins thought the world of Ben Wyporek. He and the captain had come in together and turned what was a complete shitstorm into not just the best unit she had ever been assigned, but the best she’d ever heard of. They were both good, kind, and professional men she admired. Thank God she hugged the XO before he departed. It was the second time she had done that; the first was the mission back in January when that bastard Simmons almost got him killed. It was a serious breach of protocol for an enlisted member to hug an officer, but screw it. She never forgave herself for failing to hug her husband Brad before he left on the day he was killed on a search and rescue case. They had had a ridiculous snit that morning over something she couldn’t even remember. She would not make that mistake again with someone special to her.
She looked at the picture on the wall of her two sons, with her and Fritz standing behind them. It was a Soccer Saturday from a couple of months ago, and Fritz was down from Cape Cod on a two-week leave. Fritz was a wonderful addition to her life. A tall Avionics Electrical Technician First Class stationed at Coast Guard Air Station Cape Cod, Massachusetts, Erich “Fritz” Deffler was a master Unmanned Aerial Vehicle pilot who had deployed with them briefly last January.
Hopkins had vowed never to get involved with another Coast Guardsman after her husband’s tragic death. Yet, she found herself drawn to Fritz during their time together on the deployment, and they arranged to see each other afterward. He was a divorced father of two young girls living with their mother in Hawaii and had immediately clicked with her two pre-teen sons. She loved his quiet confidence and sense of humor; he was one of the few people she knew who could regularly make her laugh aloud. Her smile faded, and the pain returned when she remembered that Ben Wyporek was another of those very few people. God, I wish I could talk to Fritz right now, just to hear his voice.
The knock on the door startled her. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes?”
“Emilia, it’s me,” came Drake’s deep baritone voice. “Got a minute?”
“Sure, come in, Jim.”
The door opened, and Drake stuck in his head. “I was just passing by and thought I’d ask how you are holding up.”
“Maintaining an even strain, thank you. Just needed to pop in here for a minute to re-cage the gyros.”
“I get it. This getting banged-up shit is becoming a regular thing with the XO. You and I ought to sit him down and straighten him out when he gets back,” he said with a sad smile.
“Yeah, junior officers. What are we going to do with them?”
“Don’t know. This is one of the few times I don’t know a guy to see about the problem. Look, if you’re up to it, I was hoping you could join me on a walkabout. I sense the kids are reeling after everything that’s happened. We should help take some of the load off the skipper.”
“I’m with you.” She stood. “You know, it’s ironic. The XO was just joking with me yesterday that me and you were soooo mom and dad.”
Her tears welled up again, and Drake stepped in, shut the door, and hugged her. “He’s going to be alright. Believe that.”
After a few moments, she nodded and said, “I’m OK. Let’s go.”
Becker loosened her restraint harness and lifted herself slightly out of her seat. The slight pain in her upper thighs shifted to a much sharper pain in her coccyx. Being a pilot of a helicopter held several advantages over being a crewmember. As a commissioned officer, you were much better paid, of course. Then there was the matter of control—you drove in front and rode in the back. One significant disadvantage was that you were planted in a seat built for survival rather than comfort for hours at a time. The crewmen could get up and move around during the flight, but not so the pilots. Becker had what she called a “four-hour ass,” meaning things really started to ache about four hours into a sortie. She was four and a half into this one, with two hours to go. Ouch.
The refueling operation aboard the Cutter Northland had gone without a hitch. Northland was a sister ship of the Thetis, and the similar configurations and procedures made the approach and landing easier. They employed “hot refueling” on this visit, accepting a slightly higher risk to save time and avoid the chance of problems during shutdown and start. The fuel hose was laid out along the deck edge before the helicopter arrived. After the landing and applying chocks and tie-downs, a refueling crew appeared and hooked up the single-point fueling nozzle to the aircraft. The process was reversed after pumping in enough fuel to top off all tanks. The crew disconnected the fuel hose, removed the chocks and tie-downs, and the helicopter was once more on its way to Miami, a mere twenty-two minutes after landing. They now had ample fuel to reach Dadeland Memorial Hospital in Miami, perhaps even enough to continue all the way home to Clearwater without refueling again after dropping off the patient. They would decide on that later.
There were no repeats of Bryant and Daniels’s earlier hostility; the latter had learned his lesson for this trip. Neither was there much conversation, which was fine as far as Becker was concerned. Even in the relatively quiet long en route segments like this one, the crew should have their heads in the game and eyes outside looking for trouble. This was doubly true of Daniels—he was a good man and an excellent rescue swimmer. Still, he was also one of the most empathically dyslexic individuals she had ever known. It wasn’t the first time she had to intervene to prevent an actual fight in the cabin because of his mouth. She made a mental note to talk with his chief about it when they returned to Clearwater.
Victoria appreciated the minor miracle that Debbie and Mr. Fletcher had achieved this morning. She was sitting in Seat A of the last row of the Airbus A319, her sometimes teammate Lashon Bell was seated in Seat C, and Seat B was empty. No one was sitting behind her, kicking or jostling her seat, and no stranger was seated next to her, touching her throughout the flight. There were two exit doors directly behind her, and Lashon was steady enough to handle any emergency. It was a direct, non-stop flight, so there were only two horror-filled airport terminals to deal with instead of three, and they would arrive only fifteen minutes after Benjamin was scheduled to land at the hospital. It would take them at least an hour to deplane, get the rental car and drive over, but at least she would be nearby. Anyway, she was sure Benjamin would be rushed in for an MRI and from there into surgery—it would be several hours before she could see him, even if she were at the hospital when he arrived.
Bell focused on reading a book he had brought, his eyes coming up and scanning the cabin at regular intervals. Victoria knew Lashon was very reticent and would be content to go the entire flight without speaking. She respected that and tried to keep herself occupied by reading the latest data science literature on her tablet, but she could not get her mind to focus. Victoria was still reeling from this morning’s emotional upheaval of going from as happy as she could ever recall to this terrible fear of losing everything. She finally gave up and pulled up the two pictures of Benjamin from their day together, along with the others he had sent of his shipboard friends, and looped through them on her tablet. Each one told a wonderful story in her mind that pushed back some fear, at least a little.
Victoria never had a family or close friends in the conventional sense. Her parents were killed in an automobile accident when she was eight years old. Her sister Julie had raised her through high school and the beginnings of college. When her genius and autism revealed themselves after her parents’ deaths, it became too difficult for her to interact with other children. So, she turned inward, focusing on her studies, which sped her through school but left her lonely. When Julie died, she thought her world had ended, but Julie’s fiancé Peter came to the rescue. She completed her schooling with his help and was soon a vital part of the DIA team, but still without family or anyone she could call a friend, except Debbie. When Victoria saw the faces in Ben’s pictures, even she could read the affection and trust they had for each other. His stories connecting those images were warm and funny, and she lived her dreams of a family vicariously through them. They were a great comfort to her just now.
About an hour later, they began their approach to Miami and Victoria raised the window’s shade. Usually, she kept the shade open since seeing the outside helped her deal with the aircraft cabin’s confined space. But with the sun on that side of the aircraft, she needed to reduce the glare on her tablet. Victoria was fascinated by the processes that went into flight and watched intently through the window as the wing’s high-lift devices deployed, and they wallowed in to a soft touchdown on the runway. She could easily do the math of airfoils in her head. Still, it was a wonder to her that mere differences in the air’s speed above and below the wings could support the weight of a sixty-three-ton plane. She was curious why the pilot retracted the flaps and slats after landing when they would be used again for the next takeoff. Benjamin’s father is an airline pilot; I can ask him when we meet. Then reality retook hold, and she fought back the urge to cry. If we meet.
As they were waiting for the other passengers to deplane, Victoria turned on her phone and checked her voice mail and text messages. There was no news of Benjamin’s condition, but Debbie had sent a text message that he would go to Dadeland Memorial Hospital and provided an address. She showed it to Bell, who nodded and typed it into his phone to use for navigation after they rented the car. The trip through the terminal was loud and terrifying, and Victoria hung tightly onto Lashon’s arm throughout the long walk and the wait in the car rental line. She did not mind being thought of as “clingy” today.
Finally, they were through the line, driving to the hospital. The weather was pleasant, sunny, and warm. The traffic was moderately heavy for mid-day. Benjamin had mentioned that traffic here was among the worst he had seen, although he admitted he had never driven around DC during rush hour. It took the better part of an hour to drive the ten miles from the airport to the hospital in University Park. As Victoria walked to the door with the stoic Bell, her apprehension increased with every step. She had never been in a hospital waiting room before but was sure it would be frightening and very lonely.
