Читать книгу Uncharted Waters - Linda Castillo - Страница 9

Navy search-and-rescue pilot Drew Evans stood ready at the hatch of the Sikorsky CH 60 Seahawk chopper and gazed down at the inferno blazing on a black sea fifty feet below. Next to him his best friend, Rick “Mako” Myers, a para jumper or “PJ” as they were known within the military search-and-rescue establishment, prepared to disembark.

“Hell of a drop zone,” Drew muttered into his headset communication gear.

“Kind of like dropping into hell.” Rick shot him a cocky grin. “Guess they don’t call us the shake-and-bake commandos for nothing.”

Slapping him on the back, Drew looked for signs of nerves on his friend’s face and was relieved when he didn’t find any. “Don’t stay too long,” he said.

“Hey, it’s the Super Bowl tomorrow. I’ve got to be around to relieve you of your twenty bucks.”

“I hate to break it to you, but the Titans are going to stomp St. Louis.”

“Twenty more says you’re dreaming.”

“You’re on.” Drew wasn’t much of a betting man, but he wanted to keep Rick’s spirits high. As hard as he’d been trying to ignore the prickle at the back of his neck, he had a feeling about this mission.

The stench of burning crude oil filled the air as the chopper approached the drop zone. Visibility was diminished because of the rain and smoke, but the spotlight mounted on the underside of the chopper made the situation all too clear. A tanker full of crude oil had collided with a passenger ship eighty miles off the Virginia coast in a winter storm. The passenger ship had caught fire, putting the crew and several dozen passengers into fifty-degree water—and imminent danger. The situation could turn out to be one of the worst maritime disasters in U.S. history if they didn’t get the people out of the water quickly. The Coast Guard had taken the initial call out, but they’d been so overwhelmed by the sheer number of people, they’d called in the Navy to assist.

Drew couldn’t think of a better team than the Navy’s search-and-rescue Squadron Eight Sea Rays to get in there quickly and get the job done, so he shook off the uneasiness scraping up his back and concentrated on the task at hand.

“Okay, boys and girls, hold on to your panties, we’re going to show the Coast Guard how it’s done in the Navy,” came Captain Joe Saratoga’s voice through the comm gear. “Ground zero coming up quick.”

Hanging on to the grip next to the portal, Drew looked over at Rick. “Try not to show them up too bad,” he said, referring to their Coast Guard counterparts. “I hear they take it real personal when they have to call in the Navy to save their sorry asses.”

Rick shot him another cocky grin as he jerked the safety vest tight around his wet suit. “You just get me back on board this flying heap and leave the showing up to us professionals.”

Drew laughed outright. “I’d have been flying this heap if it hadn’t been for an earache.”

“That was real convenient.”

“Screw you, Mako.”

Laughing, Rick moved his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx. “I’m saving that for later.”

Drew thought of Rick’s wife, Alison, and smiled. “Don’t go there, partner, or I might just leave you out here and take her for myself.”

“She’s too smart for the likes of you.”

Drew laughed because he knew it was true and gave the pilot a thumbs-up to signal that Rick was “RTG” or ready to go.

“PJ, prepare to disembark,” the captain said.

Drew shoved the hatch the rest of the way open and locked it in place. Rain and wind and smoke rushed into the cabin like an angry sea. Forty feet down, the tanker rocked in heavy surf, the fire burning uncontrolled on the fore deck. The spotlight illuminated a dozen people in the frigid water. Others stood on the deck of the passenger ship, which was listing severely to the port side. Drew figured neither vessel would be above water in another hour.

“What a mess,” he muttered and glanced over at Rick.

Their eyes met for an instant. Drew read all the things he’d felt himself in the eight years he’d been a Navy search-and-rescue pilot. Taut nerves. The heady zing of adrenaline. A thin layer of well-disguised fear. But every negative emotion was tempered with hard-earned experience and the unshakable knowledge that he was the best of the best.

“Two in the basket first go-round,” Drew shouted to be heard above the engines. “No more than that. You load ’em. I’ll crank ’em up, and we’re out of here.”

Rick gave him a thumbs-up. Then, lowering his mask and snorkel, he slipped over the edge of the hatch and into the raging sea below. Drew watched him drop into the water, knew from experience that the landing was good.

“He’s in,” he said into his headset. “Drop looks good.”

“Roger that.”

Engaging the winch’s electric motor that would lower the steel and mesh rescue cage with which they would bring the passengers on board, he shoved back the uneasiness that had been nagging at him since they’d received the call out just over an hour ago. Damn it, he didn’t have time to worry about some dumb premonition. He didn’t even believe in them.

He lowered the cage toward the water’s surface while the copilot operated the spotlight, keeping Rick in sight. In the distance, Drew could hear the whop-whop-whop of a second chopper. Coast Guard, more than likely. Hovering a safe distance away, ready to evacuate the next load of passengers. Everything was running as planned. This was a routine mission. Piece of cake, as Rick liked to say.

In the next instant, an orange fireball belched upward from directly below the chopper. Drew stared for a moment, shock slamming through him.

“Holy hell!” came the copilot’s voice through his comm gear. “What the—”

A split second later the concussion hit the chopper like a punch from hell. Drew felt the burn of air so hot, he swore the hairs inside his nose singed. The chopper shuddered, but the pilot held her steady. Drew looked down to locate Rick. He stared, numb, as flames rushed over the water, churning like hot lava. Yards away from where Rick had gone into the water, the tanker began to break apart, and the full horror of what was happening struck him.

“The tanker’s coming apart!” He heard the edge in his voice, felt the fear go through his body like a jolt of electricity. “The slick ignited! I’m bringing Mako up now!”

“Roger that,” came the pilot’s voice.

“Rick!” he shouted into his comm gear. “Rick!”

“I’m...here.”

Relief swept through Drew with such force that for a moment he couldn’t speak. “You okay?”

“Negative! I’ve got three in the basket. Get me the hell out of here.”

Three was two too many. For the cage. The cable and winch motor. For the chopper. But the people were in danger of burning. And Drew made a snap decision and slapped his fist down to engage the winch and raise the cage.

“What kinds of casualties?” came the medic’s voice through the comm gear.

“Burns and hypothermia.” Rick cursed. “We’ve got fuel everywhere. I’m overloaded as hell.”

“We got you, Mako. Just hang on. We’ll jettison some fuel later and compensate for the extra weight. We’ll be fine.” Drew looked over his shoulder at the young medic standing ready behind him, then turned his attention to the cage moving steadily toward the hatch and spoke to Rick. “You hurt?”

“That’s affirm. Burns... Damn.”

“Hang tight.”

Drew leaned out the hatch, anxious to get a look at his teammate. The cage was halfway up, hovering twenty feet above the blazing water, so close Drew could hear the screams of the people threatened by the inferno. He did a double take when he realized the cage had somehow snagged a huge piece of debris. Some type of steel pipe that had blown loose from the tanker during the explosion.

“Mako, any way you can lose that debris?”

“Negative... Can’t get over there.”

An instant later the cage arrived. Drew snagged it, tried to haul it into the chopper only to realize the debris was too large, preventing the cage from sliding into the fuselage. Damn it!

Three seriously injured subjects huddled inside the cage like frightened children, crying. Because there had been neither the time nor the room for Rick to squeeze into the cage with them, he clung to the outside. It wasn’t SOP, or standard operating procedure, but it wasn’t the first time Drew had seen a para jumper give up his own seat to save a life.

Drew quickly rigged a safety cable to secure the cage, then reached for the first passenger—a little girl, her clothes and face blackened from the fire. He smelled singed hair. The stink of crude oil. She was no more than ten years old and crying, a keening sound of terror that would haunt him for a very long time.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he told her. “We’re going to take care of you, okay?”

“I want my mommy.”

“There’s another team standing by, honey. See them over there?” He motioned toward the Coast Guard chopper. “They’re just waiting for us to get out of the way.”

Once she’d been relegated to the medic standing by, he reached for the next passenger, a young man who was quite verbal about the pain of what looked to be a broken arm and some minor burns. But Drew was barely aware of the young man as he hauled him out of the cage. He couldn’t take his eyes off Rick. Something was terribly wrong. He could feel the prickle of it on the back of his neck. He could see it in Rick’s eyes. “How bad are you hurt?” he asked.

“Bad...”

“Hang tight, partner. I’ll be right there.”

Cursing, Rick looped his arm over the mesh and sagged. “Drew... Damn it, I’m in trouble.”

Leaving the last rescue subject in the basket despite his shrill cries of fear and pain, Drew lunged around the cage to help his friend. Even before his fingertips came in contact with Rick’s wet suit, he could smell the burnt rubber. A slick, dirty stench strong enough to make his eyes sting.

Aware of the adrenaline cutting through him, Drew looked into Rick’s eyes. For the first time since he’d known him, he saw fear. Worse, Rick seemed to be having a difficult time hanging on to the mesh—and there wasn’t a damn thing separating him from the inferno blazing forty feet down.

Cursing between clenched teeth, Drew looped one arm around the mesh and reached for Rick with the other. “Grab my hand!”

Rick reached for Drew’s hand, but his grip was weak, the contact precarious because of the slippery oil. When Drew tried to pull him into the chopper, Rick’s hand slipped.

“Climb in!” he shouted. “Come on! Do it now!”

Rick was one of the most capable para jumpers Drew had ever known. He was strong, with a level head and the heart of a lion. More important, he never panicked. But not even the strongest of men could function when they were injured.

Leaning dangerously close to the edge of the hatch, vaguely aware that the medic behind him had relieved him of unloading the last passenger, Drew leaned farther out. “Give me your hand and we’ll ditch the cage.” He reached for Rick, his hand closing around the other man’s arm at the elbow.

“Bend your arm!” Drew shouted. “Loop it around mine! I’ll pull you in!”

Grimacing in pain, Rick obeyed. Drew lay belly down, with one arm looped around the mesh netting, the other looped around Rick’s arm at the elbow. It was a precarious position, one he couldn’t hold for long. But there was no way in hell Drew was going to let him go.

“Put your foot up on the mesh and get your ass in here!” he shouted.

But when Rick tried to move closer, his foot—hampered by the flipper of his wet suit—slipped completely off the mesh.

“Rick!” The other man’s weight nearly yanked Drew out of the chopper.

“Drew! Jesus! Don’t drop me, man.”

Sweat and rain streamed into Drew’s eyes. He could hear his labored breathing. The drum of a heart beating out of control. The slow-motion rat-tat-tat of the rotors cutting through the air. The cries of the passengers waiting to be rescued.

For several long seconds Rick dangled while Drew held on to him, trying desperately to figure out what to do next. He glanced down at the water. And he knew that even if Rick survived a fall, his injuries would seriously impede his chances of survival in such horrendous conditions.

Drew saw terror in the other man’s eyes. He saw the will to live in its rawest form. He saw pain and the knowledge that the situation had slipped out of their control.

“Rick! Damn it! Hold on! Don’t let go!” Drew looked behind him where the medic was working frantically to rig a safety line. “Get me a rope!” Drew screamed into his headset. “Damn it! I got a man down! I need help! Now!”

Vaguely, he was aware of someone moving behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the safety line fall short. He heard savage cursing. The pain in his arm from holding Rick was tremendous, but Drew swore he’d let his arm break before he let go.

The muscles in Drew’s arm quivered and cramped. He was vaguely aware of the smoke and wind and rain pummeling him. The roar of the engines punctuated by the whop-whop-whop of the rotors overhead. He could feel Rick’s wet suit slipping over his skin at his elbow and cursed the oil.

He looked into Rick’s eyes. “Don’t let go, damn it!”

“Drew! I can’t hold on!” Face contorted with the effort of holding on, Rick’s tortured eyes met his. “Take care...Alison and Kevin...”

Someone tossed a second safety line. When Rick reached for it, he unlooped his arm from Drew’s—and missed the safety line. Rick’s body jolted once, then plummeted down.

“Rick!” Horror and disbelief sent Drew scrambling to his feet. He stood at the hatch and stared down at the black water below. “Man down!” he shouted into his headset communication gear. “Man down!”

“Easy, Drew,” came the copilot’s voice. “I’m on the horn. There’s another chopper standing by. Rick’s got priority.”

Drew swallowed equal parts panic and bile that had gathered at the back of his throat. “I’m going down! Give me a damn suit! I’m going down to get him!”

The captain came out of the cockpit. “Lieutenant Evans!”

He looked up, found himself staring into the angry eyes of his captain. Joe “Domino” Saratoga was the size of a warhorse. Older. Experienced. He’d fought in Panama and the Gulf War. He’d paid his dues and Drew had always liked and respected him.

At the moment, he wanted to punch him.

“With all due respect, we can’t leave that man behind to die!” Drew flung open the aft cabinet in search of a wet suit and tank. He knew he was losing it. He could feel his control slipping the same way he’d felt Rick slip away just a few seconds earlier. But there was no way in hell he could stand by while they left Rick behind.

“Son, we’re following SOP. There’s a PJ RTG on the second chopper. He’s fresh and suited up.”

Through his communication gear, he heard the pilot receive the order to return to base. Because he couldn’t meet the other man’s gaze, he turned to lean against the cabinet.

The captain put his hand on his shoulder. “They’ll find him and bring him home.”

Drew opened his eyes only to realize his vision was blurred with tears. Tears of anger and frustration, but most of all grief. “Damn it!” He slammed his fist through the cabinet door.

Pain sang through his knuckles and up his arm, but Drew barely noticed. He heard Joe speaking to him, but couldn’t understand the words. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Couldn’t believe they were going to leave Rick behind. That he could be dead.

“He was burned,” he heard himself say.

“He’s strong.”

“I dropped him.”

“Don’t go there, Drew.”

“I let him go—” The next thing Drew knew, he was being spun around and shoved hard against the panel.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Joe said. “Now pull yourself together. We’ve got civilian casualties to tend.”

Giving him a final, hard look, Joe shoved away. Drew leaned against the aft panel for several long seconds, his head reeling, his heart feeling as if it were about to explode. Vaguely, he was aware of the medic getting one of the subjects into a litter and starting an IV drip. The crackle of the VHS radio coming through his headset comm gear. The rank smells of crude oil, singed hair and scorched clothing. The little girl crying for her mommy.

Numb with the remnants of adrenaline and horror and grief, he walked over to the hatch and looked out at the driving wind and rain and the churning, black water below. In the distance the fire lit up the horizon with unnatural yellow light. But it looked small and inconsequential from this far away.

He couldn’t believe Rick was still out there. Injured. Maybe dying. Drew closed his eyes against the brutal slice of pain. He thought of Rick’s wife and wondered who would tell her. He wondered if she would blame him. If she would hate him.

Responsibility for what had happened settled onto his shoulders with the weight of a Navy ship. The guilt that followed crushed him.

Sinking to his knees, Drew put his face in his hands and wept.