Saving Cascadia

by John J. Nance

  She stuck her head back in the limo, out of the stiff, cold wind.

  “Get back to the hotel, please, and the second any of my crewmembers come out, bring them here! Also, call your operations and tell them I need several ground crewmen or I can’t take off.”

  He nodded and burned away as soon as she had the door closed.

  There were safety tethers holding each end of the rotor blades and she quickly removed and stowed them before sliding into the command seat and running the start sequence. Even sitting idle with the blades not in motion, the Dauphin was being shoved and jerked around by the high winds, and she knew well that taking off safely was not guaranteed in such conditions.

  Her phone rang again with Norm on the other end and the news that the other pilot and one of the nurses were on the way out, but Sven wasn’t answering the hotel room or cell phone.

  “Norm, call Cascadia Operations, have them give you everything I need in the way of location and what’s happening. We can’t pluck a hundred people off a sinking ship, but maybe I can find a way to get the worst injured off. They did tell me there were serious injuries. And find out what the Coast Guard is sending.”

  They rang off and she concentrated on the preflight checklist as the lights of the limo came into view again and Gail Grisham tumbled out with her flight nurse, Ben Marcus. They started sprinting for the Dauphin.

  “I need you both with me.”

  “Okay. Where? Copilot seat?” Gail asked.

  Jennifer nodded. “Depending on what we find out there, I may need both of you to handle the hoist. We’re going to have to make this up as we go along.”

  Gail was already climbing in and Ben had started throwing compartments open in the rear, searching out the lines and buckles he would need for a hoisted pickup. With all Nightingale’s flight nurses trained in parajumper duties, he had everything from the emergency kit in place within two minutes and slid the door shut as he buckled himself in. Jennifer pulled the start trigger on the collective and waited for the first engine’s rpm’s to wind up. When both power plants were on line and the rotors at speed, she verified they had an aggressive thumbs-up signal from the ground crewman before turning her full attention to getting the helicopter off the ground without crashing.

  Chapter 20

  ABOARD THE MV QUAALATCH 6:40 P.M.

  Bill Harper, director of emergency services for the state of Washington, realized the ferry was probably going to capsize.

  He looked up from his kneeling position next to a gravely injured woman and tried to focus. He’d pulled on a life vest, but he knew it would be all but useless if he or anyone on the boat ended up in the water for more than a half hour. Hypothermia—a slow descent into unconsciousness and eventual death from dropping body temperature—was inevitable in forty-degree waters, even if they could swim clear of the wreckage.

  The deck angle was getting steeper to the left and forward where the boat had slammed into the pilings, and a very small number of crewmembers were dashing back and forth and beginning the process of loading the lifeboats and launching them. Two boats were safely away carrying over forty people each, one of the lifeboats had been destroyed in the collision, and the last boat could carry the remainder of the passengers if everyone could walk.

  But there were at least a half dozen too seriously injured to move on their own.

  The physician kneeling on the other side of the woman was working as fast as he could to stop the severe bleeding from her mangled left leg. She was in shock, and he could tell at least four others were in similar condition.

  There had been a beautiful couch in the forward left side area of the passenger deck and it had been full of guests when flying shards of disintegrating metal began cutting through the hull ripping the couch to shreds.

  One of the crewmen—a young man who was wearing first-officer stripes—was bellowing at everyone to get aboard the last lifeboat. The physician Bill Harper was helping looked up and fixed the young man with an angry stare.

  “Hey! You! Get over here!”

  The young officer complied.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Are you out of your mind? Look how many serious injuries we have in here. They can’t walk to the goddamn boat, can they?”

  “I… I’m just trying to save as many as…” His voice trailed off as the meaning crystallized in all their minds.

  The doctor swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay, get the able-bodied loaded, but don’t leave us until we’ve brought you as many as we can transport. Are there any other rafts?”

  “Yes, sir. Several of them. And if I don’t launch this last boat before we capsize, it’ll be too late.”

  The first officer moved quickly toward the raised rear of the sinking vessel as the sound of a helicopter began to make itself known over the sounds of wind and confusion.

  From the cockpit of the Dauphin, the sight of the mangled ferry heeled over on its port bow and drifting northward was sickening. Even if the boat had been level and in calm seas there wasn’t enough room to land on the upper deck, but now, with its right stern sticking partially out of the water and a deck angle of fifteen degrees, Jennifer was going to have a battle getting close enough to pull anyone off.

  She could see the remaining lifeboat on the ferry, and she could see people boarding it.

  Whatever they did was going to be dangerous. Nighttime sea rescues were always treacherous, even for veteran helicopter pilots, but the black-hole effect could kill. There were enough lights, however, along the coastal highway and the communities there to form a horizon, and the lights from Cascadia Island were bright as well. Between the two of them—as long as she kept pointing south—there was enough of a horizon line to prevent spatial disorientation.

  She turned to Ben, who was standing just behind and between the pilot seats.

  “Can you go down on the sling and triage the situation?” He nodded without hesitation.

  “I’ll take the basket. If there’s no one who needs it, I’ll ride it back up. Can you hold her steady?”

  “We’ll be gyrating and it won’t be a pretty hover.”

  He waved it away, knowing what he had to do trumped any fear. “Let me get ready. Two minutes, and I’ll use the remote control from the basket to let myself down.”

  Gail was already climbing out of the left seat. “I’ll back you up on the winch controls. You have your handheld and headset?”

  “In place,” Ben replied, tapping his helmet. Jennifer switched on the intercom and verified they could talk to each other.

  He made the final adjustments before climbing into the basket and belting himself in place. Gail helped him swing the pivoted winch arm out far enough to clear the body of the helicopter, and he started motoring himself downward.

  In the cockpit, Jennifer set up her hover by reference to the horizon, using her peripheral vision to track the pitching ferry below. She held the Dauphin into the wind as she approached from the right side of the boat.

  The winds had to be nearly forty knots, and Ben and the basket were being blown out partially behind the Dauphin and twisting slightly. But it was steady enough, and as he descended almost to deck height, she moved him in over the edge of the rear deck and felt the winch whine once again as he plopped the basket aboard, grounding it before clambering out and quickly releasing the hook. Gail motored the line part-way back in while Jennifer took the Dauphin backward, downwind, gaining a few feet of altitude and waiting. She’d lost awareness of the fact that her hands and feet were in constant motion adjusting the controls. It was simply a part of her, and the biggest problem was simply seeing where she wanted the machine to stay, not keeping it there. Flying into a stiff wind was actually simpler than hovering in still air. It was as if she were flying in formation with the boat below.

  On the sloping, slippery deck below, Ben raced inside with the young officer who’d been waving them in. He went from victim to victim, spoke quickly to the physician, and then punched his radio.

/>   “Okay, we’ve got six critical injuries, two of whom appear unstable… at least two…” He echoed the physician’s warning. “I’m going to start strapping the first one in and send her up. They’re telling me the Coast Guard can’t send any helicopters. I think we’re on our own.”

  “I hadn’t heard,” Jennifer replied, feeling the increase in pressure. They were the only game in town. “Let’s get these two unstable ones to shore and come back for the others. They’re supposed to have the ambulance ready back at the helipad.”

  With the officer’s help, Ben lifted the worst of the injured into the basket, strapping her down as tightly as he dared. They retraced their steps to the tilted upper deck, Ben losing his footing twice before getting the basket positioned and punching his transmit button.

  They had the line winched in and the patient aboard within two minutes as Ben disappeared inside for the next litter.

  Jennifer glanced over her left shoulder, aware of Gail using the training they’d all received as emergency medics. She had started oxygen and was hanging an IV and administering morphine, but it was obvious the victim needed a surgeon’s immediate attention.

  With Ben in position with the second patient, Jennifer held the Dauphin as steady as possible as Gail began winching the basket up. The winds had been mostly steady and her control of the helicopter had been aided by that, but a patch of turbulence had begun to roil the air the Dauphin was flying in and Jennifer’s control movements became more pronounced and sporadic as she fought to stay in the same position relative to the pitching deck of the crippled boat below.

  Ben was holding on to the rescue litter as it rose, trying to minimize its tendency to twist and turn, but the boat suddenly fell out from beneath his feet in a wave trough and instinct caused him to hold on to the basket a second too long. He let go and dropped about two feet to the slippery, angled deck, but his feet slid out from under him and he began flailing toward the edge of the boat. Gail watched him hang for a split second as he grabbed at the ferry’s rail, but his grip faltered and he went over the side.

  “Shit! Jennifer, Ben’s overboard!”

  “Where? Do you see him?”

  “Not yet. Let me get this patient in…”

  Jennifer moved the Dauphin aft of the ship, working the Night Sun searchlight around toward the stern. The high waves and spray were difficult to see through, and she had to keep raising her head to reestablish where the horizon was to keep from flying into the ship or the water, but finally a head appeared and she could see Ben on the surface, behind the ferry, bobbing in what were now nearly twenty-five-foot seas.

  “I see him,” she called. “Ben, can you hear me?”

  There was no reply for a few seconds and she wondered if the new radios weren’t waterproof after all, but the transmitter was keyed and Ben’s strained voice came over the frequency.

  “I’m here! I’m here… behind the ship.”

  “We see you. Hang on. We’ll get the patient in and lower the basket.”

  “I’m here behind the boat,” he said again. “I say again… I’m here behind the boat.”

  “I don’t think he hears you, Jen,” Gail said. The sound of the winch was audible through her headset and Jennifer dared a quick glance around to see Gail struggling to pull the basket inside. Within a minute the basket was free and out of the cabin again and on its way down, but without the weight of a person inside, it was swinging wildly.

  “Drop it in and drag it to him. I’ll guide you!” Gail said.

  “Roger.”

  “I have him… don’t worry. Stay on this heading, keep coming forward slowly. The basket’s almost down. Okay, it’s in the water, keep coming… you’re twenty feet away from him… right twenty degrees now and keep coming… fifteen feet to go… keep coming… ten feet… Ben, if you can hear me, turn around! The basket is behind you!”

  “Does he see it coming?”

  “I don’t think so… five feet, slow down, Jen.”

  “How’s my altitude?”

  “Fine but slow your forward speed. Slow down! Oh, Christ, we hit him.”

  “What do you mean?” Jennifer called. “What do you mean?”

  “The basket hit him from behind. God, he’s facedown. I’ve gotta go in.”

  “Gail, no!”

  “He’s unconscious. Get me lower!”

  “I’m coming down… I’ll take us to wave top.”

  “I’m bringing the basket up. I’m going to ride the line down to get him.”

  Moving faster than she ever thought she could, Gail yanked the empty rescue basket in and unsnapped it, substituting the hook on the harness she’d wiggled into. She snapped an empty harness to the same hook and pushed away from the helicopter.

  “Okay, Jen, use the cockpit winch control and take me down.”

  The wave tops were barely five feet beneath them and she took the first crest head-on, her helmet filling with water as she fought to see where Ben had gone.

  “Gail? Status?” Jennifer was calling.

  “That’s good right there! Now, lift the whole chopper a few feet and come forward. I can’t see him!”

  “I’m coming up ten feet,” Jennifer said, frightened of the disorienting effect of being at wave height with the powerful searchlight bouncing off every wave. She desperately needed to see the horizon line to maintain contact with the lights on shore and on the island. Otherwise it would be too easy to roll off and dig the rotor into the water, killing them all.

  In still air, pivoting a helicopter around 360 degrees was a small challenge, but doing the same thing in the teeth of a forty-five-mile-an-hour gale and sitting a few feet above a mountainous sea state was impossible. She’d have to back up.

  “There! There he is, at our nine o’clock… our nine o’clock… sidestep left!”

  “I’m doing it.”

  “Stop! I’m there… winch me down three feet or so.”

  Gail plunked into the water and reached for Ben, grabbing enough of his jacket to pull him to her. His harness was secure and she snapped the safety line to hers and tried to keep his head out of the water, but every other wave seemed mountainous and she was swallowing a lot of seawater involuntarily.

  “I’ve got him!” she managed to say. “Bring us up.”

  Jennifer brought the Dauphin up slowly, moving her left hand from the collective to the winch and back as fast as possible, until the welcome news reached her that they were aboard.

  “How is he?”

  “He’s waking up! I think he’ll be okay.”

  “And the patients?”

  “Don’t know. I’m working on it.”

  “We’re headed back to the island, Gail. There’s supposed to be an emergency team waiting.”

  She heard the big doors being closed in the rear, and the roar of the rotor blades and the sea subsided. The lights of the island and even the beacon on the heliport were clearly visible some two miles away and she made the inbound radio call as she pitched the Dauphin forward smartly and accelerated.

  CASCADIA ISLAND CASINO

  Nothing quite irritated Frank O’Brien like a state trooper handing him a cell phone he didn’t care to answer. There was a party about to start with a lot of people looking forward to fawning over him and the last thing he needed was some bureaucratic distraction. He rather fancied himself a chairman of the board of the corporation called Washington, and chairmen hired chief operating officers to take care of the minutiae.

  Usually the men who guarded the governor went to great lengths to avoid the ass-chewing that always followed an unwanted call, but this time it was clearly unavoidable, since the voice on the other end belonged to the chief of the State Patrol.

  O’Brien rolled his eyes as he gave in and took the proffered handset. He barked a none-too-friendly hello while the first lady pretended not to hear.

  “What the hell is it, Tom?”

  “Governor, I’ve got to get your approval on a few things for this Stage Two alert you o
rdered.”

  “What alert?”

  “The… message I just got from the Emergency Communications Center that we’ve activated a Stage Two alert for all coastal areas of Washington and may go to a Stage One evacuation, because of an impending great quake.”

  “What? I didn’t order any alert!”

  “Well… it’s an official communication…”

  “From whom, for God’s sake?”

  “I told you, sir. The Emergency Communications Center, which would mean the director, Bill Harper. I mean, I’m assuming it came from him.”

  “And you assumed I ordered it?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s part of the plan.”

  “Well, you assumed wrong, Tom. I didn’t order a damned alert. In fact, I am completely unconvinced we’ve got an emergency here.”

  “Sir, we’ve had big damage in Bellingham, as you know, and moderate damage in Port Angeles about thirty minutes ago, and my troopers are working a wild array of accidents all over western Washington that we strongly suspect resulted from the roads shaking. We’ve got roads out in a few places and I’m already calling in some of my reserves. We’ve also got a suspect bridge on I-5 near Fort Lewis that may have to be closed, shutting all north-south traffic down. So if there’s a chance in hell a big one could hit, I’ve got a major battle plan to put together and I’d rather err on the side of caution and start now.”

  “Jesus, Tom! Are you sure you’re not overreacting?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sure.”

  “Okay, go ahead and do whatever you think you need to while I track down Harper and fire his ass.”

  “So, are we at a Stage Two, then?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I’m only the goddamned governor, and apparently I don’t have a need to know, or a right to dissent. Ask Harper.”

  He refolded the phone and lateraled it back to the worried-looking trooper, pulled out his own cell phone, then thought better of it and put it away. The problem could sort itself out. He’d chew out Harper later.