by Melody Anne
Walking back to the landing pad, he stopped, getting an odd sense of foreboding. Nick had the ability to feel trouble, and it was no different tonight. He took a diverted path up to the bridge, where it was already buzzing with activity. He could hear the crackling of a radio call coming over the speaker.
The unsteady and forlorn voice of a man rang out over the Ops Radio: Mayday, Mayday, Mayday . . . This is the Southern Belle . . . We are at 59 degrees . . . 10 minutes North . . . 146 . . . 47 degrees . . . This is the Southern Belle . . . Storm . . . High seas . . . taking on water . . . listing 40 degrees to starboard . . .
The young radio technician, Seaman Harper, hopped into action, keenly focused on his radio and notepad.
Harper was barely nineteen and fresh out of boot camp. As such, he was showing visible nerves as he responded to the Mayday call, his voice cracking.
“This is US Coast Guard Cutter Orca on 121.5 Southern Belle. Need to know if you are in need of assistance? Over.”
“Absolutely! We are going down!”
“Roger. This is the US Coast Guard, understand you are going down, requesting number of persons on board? Over.”
Following the last transmission of the Coast Guard dispatcher, the radios fell silent, a sure sign the Southern Belle had succumbed to the storm that was still increasing in intensity over the Bering Sea. Harper finished typing all of the information into the Coast Guard computer, which fed information to the rest of the fleet.
The ship’s captain sat still, calm, and quiet, with very little emotion on his face. He glanced over at Nick standing in the bridge doorway and spoke in a low Texas drawl. “Go give ‘em hell, Nick.”
With the slap of his palm on a big red button on the wall, the general alarm sounded on the Cutter. The alarm rang out with a sound akin to some old World War II siren, the type of alarm you would expect to hear if a nuclear bomb had gone off.
“I guess that’s me,” Nick said with a smile, his adrenaline already pumping.
He quickly made his way down to the flight crew ready room to suit up. Despite the danger of flying into the heart of a storm over churning, frigid seas that would kill you in minutes should you find yourself in the water, Nick couldn’t help but love his job. Maybe it was how beautiful his orange and white helicopter was—an HH60 or Jayhawk, the Coast Guard version of the Army’s Blackhawk. Maybe it was just the rush. He didn’t care. He loved what he did.
In the cockpit of the Jayhawk, flight computers came online as the helicopter woke up with the whine of turbine engines and turning rotor blades. Gail was ready to go next to him so Nick leaned back, peering behind him to check on the two men in the rear of the chopper, a paramedic and a rescue diver.
“You two buckled in?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“All right, let’s get this show on the road. Gail, call for departure.”
With checklists complete, First Officer Gail nodded at Nick and got on the radio to request departure clearance from the ship.
“Orca, this is CG6055 ready for departure.”
“CG6055, this is Orca, wind 3-4-0 at 2-5 cleared for departure. Be careful out there, it’s getting rough.”
“Okay cleared for departure . . . and you know our motto, we deliver . . .”
The HH60 Jayhawk lifted off the deck of the Orca and started a low northward turn to the right. The helicopter whirled from the deck. The dust and spray on the deck from them being out to sea for a week swirled around the men below them. Highly motivated to reach the Southern Belle, the craft sped into the darkness.
“This is one hell of a storm,” Nick commented as hail began striking the windscreen.
The Jayhawk bounced around as it fought against the high winds. Nick did his best to keep it on course as he scanned the roiling sea below.
“Do you see anything yet?” a muffled voice yelled.
“No, not yet,” Nick replied.
It wasn’t ten minutes into the bumpy flight when they spotted a strobe beacon and a bright yellow raft. It was just a yellow speck against an evil, dark-blue backdrop.
“I see them over there,” Gail shouted as she hit Nick’s arm.
“I’ll get us into position.”
Nick lined up the helicopter over the raft, trying his best to keep it level. The rescue diver lowered himself into the basket, preparing for what was to follow. He gave a thumbs up to the medic as he began going down. The swells were getting bigger and climbing higher. Mother Nature was doing her damnedest to take them all down.
The waves pounded the little raft and slammed into the rescue basket. One at a time, they pulled the four stranded, frozen men out of the raft and into the Jayhawk.
“CG6055 . . . this is Orca . . . what’s your status?” The captain’s southern accent rang out in Nick’s headset.
“We’re pulling the last one onboard now, sir . . . ETA back to ship, 15 minutes. Need medics and fuel.”
With the last rescued fisherman on board, Nick turned the battered Jayhawk back toward the ship.
The lightning was cracking even harder and more frequent as the winds increased. The Orca was in the distance, getting hit by the brunt of the storm. Waves crashed against the bow of the ship as it powered through the increasingly white-capped sea. This would make the chopper’s landing on the ship that much more interesting.
“Looks like she’s pitching about 15 degrees to either side. Hang on,” Nick warned as he brought the aircraft back down onto the deck. Setting the wheels on the pad brought a sense of relief to the entire crew. Nick wasn’t the worrying type, but this was a storm for the record books.
With the rotor still running, the medics rushed the chopper. They pulled the rescued men out one by one. As the last one was being placed onto the stretcher, he reached out for Nick’s arm.
“What about the captain?” he asked, straining to speak.
“What do you mean, the captain?” Nick replied.
“There were five of us onboard the Belle. The captain was swept from the raft.” The man’s grip on his arm loosened as he lost consciousness.
Nick looked at Gail, and she knew what he was going to say. She jumped on the mic. “Control, this is CG6055, were going out for another one.”
Nick nodded and pushed up the throttle.
“CG6055, the storm is getting worse. Are you sure you can do this?”
“Sir, there’s another man out there. The captain of the boat. We’re going to go get him.” Nick would never leave a man behind.
The Jayhawk was back in the thick of the storm, disappearing into the torrid sky. It didn’t take long before Nick was circling over the remnants of the Southern Belle. There wasn’t a sign of the captain anywhere.
Beep, beep, beep . . . Nick glanced over at the fuel gauge and it was now reading low.
“We have to go back, Armstrong,” Gail said with reluctance.
“I know, I know,” Nick responded as he fought to keep the aircraft upright. He didn’t want to leave, but he was left with no choice.
Just as he began his turn south, they were struck by a bolt of lightning. Nick grabbed the controls, and for a moment, he was fighting a lost battle. The aircraft drifted sideways into the oncoming swell of a giant wave. The sliding cargo door was jarred loose, swinging wildly open and closed.
“Hold on. We need to pull up, Gail,” Nick yelled as he put the throttle to max. The turbine engines screamed as the rotors lifted the heavy craft upward. It was too little, too late. Another larger wave crashed into the side of them, this time filling the back with freezing sea water. To make matters worse, the cargo door slammed shut and latched, locking in the heavy payload of water.
“She weighs too much,” Nick exclaimed as he strained to get the now-sluggish Jayhawk up.
Gail jumped on the radio. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Orca, this is CG6055, we are going to ditch. I repeat, we are going to ditch!”
“Are you ready for this?” she asked as she handed Nick his survival pack.
“Nope.�
��
A large looming wave crashed down on the aircraft, slamming it into the water. The fuselage tumbled into the swell as it began to rise again. Both Nick and Gail were tossed inside the deathtrap. The crew in back must have lost their mics because they were radio silent.
With one final hit, the front window shattered, allowing bone-chilling sea water to flood inside. There was nothing more they could do. The orange and white aircraft slipped below the surface of the water. The faint glow of the red and green navigation lights became dimmer as it sank deeper into the sea.
“CG6055, this is Orca, come in.”
There was no response.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is my favorite part of writing a book. It takes so many people to make the magic happen, and without all of you, I couldn’t get it done. Thank you to my pilot friends for looking over stuff for accuracy. You guys so love to talk planes; it’s a blast to do my research. Thanks to Stephy for all the help with the nurse info. Thanks to my employees for all you do and for the many hours you put in. I know I couldn’t do it without you. The hours we work together are so much fun for me.
Thanks so much to my editors, Maria and Lauren. You are amazing and I love the many ideas you come up with to make my stories so much better.
Finally, thank you to my family. Everything I do is for you. I love you all so much. We are nothing without our friends and family. I can’t imagine how lonely life would be without each and every one of you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014 Edward Hart
Melody Anne is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has written a number of popular series, including Billionaire Bachelors, Surrender, and Baby for the Billionaire. Along with romance and young adult novels, Melody has also recently collaborated with fellow authors J.S. Scott and Ruth Cardello for Taken by a Trillionaire. Turbulent Desires is the second book in Melody’s Billionaire Aviators series.
A country girl at heart, Melody loves the small town and strong community she lives in. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, friends, and beloved pets. Most of all, she loves being able to do what makes her happiest . . . living in a fantasy world (for at least 95 percent of the time).
