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1
Rescue swimmer, Caleb Meyer, leaned out of the open side door of the MH-60 Jayhawk Coast Guard rescue helicopter, his eyes stinging as the horizontal sleet lashed his face. The familiar tang of saltwater filled his nostrils. He tightened his grip on the handrail, his gloved fingers pressing into the cold metal as he scanned the turbulent sky, searching for a break in the dirt-gray clouds that seemed to suffocate any hint of light.
The Jayhawk shuddered, its rotors fighting against the relentless wind as it lurched through an air pocket above the stricken Seraphim. Caleb's gaze zeroed in on the luxury craft, its forty-foot frame tossed about like a child's toy in the unforgiving grasp of the Bering Sea. The once-pristine white hull was now marred by angry waves, the vessel's estimated nine-ton weight seemingly insignificant against the raw power of nature.
Knowledge of the terrified passengers trapped aboard the stricken vessel sent a surge of adrenalin coursing through his veins, sharpening his focus and steeling his resolve.
The voice of Ben Bishop, rescue pilot, crackled through the intercom, barely audible over the howling wind. "Ready to deploy, Meyer? We don't have much time.”
“Copy that, Bishop. Finishing checks.” Caleb inspected the carabiners and lines for the final time, ensuring everything was secure. He donned his helmet, the familiar weight settling on his head as he adjusted the visor which provided a crucial barrier against the unrelenting elements.
He leaned back out the door, assessing. “I’ve seen seagulls position better than this, Bishop. You want me to come up there and show you how it’s done?”
Bishop jabbed his extended forefinger above his shoulder and raised his voice above the thump of the rotors. “You’re welcome to come up here and keep Sandra steady. Oops, I forgot you have to go swimming. In cold water.”
Caleb shook his head at Bishop’s pet name for the Mohawk and swung out into the blustery weather, bracing his feet on the door rim. “Henley?”
Jake Henley, Sandra’s chief mechanic, gave him a thumbs up.
“Caleb. Get a wiggle on.” Caleb’s brother, Ryder, their medic, checked his safety harness.“I’ve got a hot date tonight and a babysitter I can’t cancel.”
“Priorities.” Caleb stepped out into the furious energy of the storm.
The wind snatched the air from his lungs and, for an instant, there was only him and the vast expanse of churning indigo below.
“Swimmer entering the hot zone.” Henley’s voice was measured over the comms, a beacon of calm in the spitting fury.
“Copy that. Sandra holding steady,” Bishop confirmed.
The hoist dropped Caleb lower, toward the churning ocean swelling and cresting beneath his feet.
He lifted his face upward, savoring the biting cold against his skin. Below on the deck, two figures huddled against the helm, the remnants of a pleasure-seeking adventure, oblivious to the gravity of the weather warnings issued earlier today.
They were lucky to still be alive. It was his job to ensure they stayed that way, and to prevent the past from repeating itself. A pale face stretched tight with fear flashed across his mind’s eye. Too young to die. Caleb wiped the spray from his visor. That was then, not now.
His boots hit the deck, and he disengaged his harness from the winch.
“Retrieving the hoist for medic.” The intercom hissed with Henley’s voice as Caleb carefully made his way over to the small huddle, his legs wide against the roll of the boat.
“Copy that. Tell my lazy-ass brother to hurry.” Caleb dropped to his haunches.
Two frightened faces turned to face him, a man and a woman, both in their fifties, he guessed.
Both of them were soaked, with their hair sticking to the bony edges of their skulls, their expensive clothes ruined. Tourists and pleasure sailors, thinking that money insured them against the reality of Mother Nature, made this a familiar sight at this time of year in Aurora Cove.
The man clutched his arm against his chest, his skin a greasy gray pallor. His hand hung at an unnatural angle. Caleb toggled his comms. “Ryder. Injuries sustained. Wrist, possibly broken.”
“Copy that.” Above, Ryder swung into the hungry wind, his dark form bathed in the orange glow of underbelly lighting.
Caleb rested his hand on the woman’s shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered closed briefly under his touch. “Ma’am. You okay?”
She nodded and inclined her head toward her companion. Caleb leaned in to hear before the wind snatched away her words.
“…Harry fell…he was trying to get me out…my fault…” She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes squeezing shut.
“We’ll worry about what happened later.I’m Caleb and my team is going to get you off this boat and somewhere a little less bouncy. How does that sound?”
The woman smiled despite the tremble in her lips. “Good.”
