His to Protect

by Karen Rock

  “Whoa, whoa!” hollered Larry. The helicopter banked left then wobbled right as another geyser flew toward them. “Who’s flying this thing?”

  “My controls,” Mark bit out suddenly. She saw his hand snake out and pry the younger officer’s fingers off some kind of stick shift. Her breath stalled when they rose straight in the air. Down below, Dylan swung like a yo-yo.

  “I have the controls. Continue the hoist,” Mark commanded. Rob seemed frozen in his seat. Was Mark flying the aircraft alone now?

  “Roger.” Larry kneeled on the door edge, his arm swinging outside the helicopter, his contorted features visible behind his helmet’s visor, strained. The line continued running out the door and Cassie could barely make out Dylan.

  “Where’s the swimmer?” Mark barked.

  “RS is on board, but he’s holding his arm. He clipped the sodium light when he swung during that last swell. He gave me the thumbs-up signal. I believe he’s okay.”

  Mark’s shoulders stiffened and Cassie knew he must be thinking of Jeff as she was, imagining another rescue swimmer injured or worse.

  Larry announced, “Rescue swimmer, unhooked. Rescue swimmer, clear. Clear back and left, ten. Clear back and left, five.”

  They hovered directly over the undulating ferry boat for several heart-stopping minutes as Dylan hooked up the passengers and Larry raised and then hauled them into the cabin.

  Cassie’s fear dropped away when she glimpsed their ashen faces. They needed her. Even an unscathed passenger could go into shock at the narrow escape. After she assessed each person’s condition, she bandaged cuts, splintered fractures and wrapped the survivors in silver Mylar blankets before guiding them to the back of the helo.

  “Is skipper off?” a drenched man asked, his chest-length beard dripping. He wobbled closer and tried to peer out the door.

  She put out a hand. “Sir. Please move back. We’ll get everyone off safely.”

  Larry shot her a quick approving look over his shoulder and resumed his work.

  Suddenly, her headset crackled. “Commander” came Dylan’s voice. “We need the flight nurse on deck. Urgent care required for one of the crew. Arrhythmia.”

  She swallowed, or tried to. On deck? The ferry ground against the rocks and its deck looked as slick as an Idaho skating rink.

  Mark twisted around and she caught his anguished expression. She lifted her chin. Hid her fear. Suddenly, she saw just how selfish she’d been to insist on coming on the mission. She hadn’t let herself grasp just how dangerous it could be for her. How much it would hurt Mark to put her in harm’s way after he’d lost her brother a year ago on a similar flight.

  “We’ll send the litter,” he said after facing forward again, his rigid shoulders up near his ears.

  “Patient’s in v-fib and bleeding out,” Dylan announced, sounding winded. Concern fired through her. A patient was dying on a sinking ship. She needed to get her hands on him. Stat. “He’s not stable to lift. We need amiodarone now or we’ll lose him.”

  An injectable. Beyond a rescue swimmer’s EMT-Basic certification. Why she was here. But to set up an IV on a sinking ship? Her body went cold.

  “We need the flight nurse, sir. We need Cassie, now,” urged Dylan just as Larry completed another basket hoist. The flight mechanic pulled in a large woman who crossed herself repeatedly, mumbling. Cassie checked her vitals, wrapped her in a blanket and led her to the huddled survivors in the back, her mind in overdrive. How could she upset Mark and go...but how could she stay when someone’s life hung in the balance?

  “Sir, survivor is in the cabin. Ready to send the basket out again,” Larry spoke into his ICS.

  “Stand by,” she cut in before they sent that basket down without her, her voice fierce. She wasn’t a passenger and had a job to do. Mark needed to see that. Trust her. “I want to help.” She hurried to stock a bag with the injectable and other needed medical supplies.

  “Coast Guard, our crew member’s lost consciousness.” This time, the ferry’s captain.

  “Commander?” prompted Larry.

  At last, Mark rasped, “Flight nurse, you’re going down. Larry, any objections?”

  His order was like an earthquake. She could feel it in the center of her body, stirring her blood. She couldn’t believe it. He had faith in her. Trusted she’d get the job done, despite his objections, despite his concerns. It meant everything. Larry handed her into a large metal basket and she leaned her head back against a bright orange floatation bumper.

  “No, sir. No objections. Flight nurse getting in the basket. Flight nurse ready.”

  She gripped the basket’s slick sides. Far below her the sea raged.

  Her mouth worked and her eyes filled. This was it. Jeff’s view, much closer than she’d ever dared imagine. More terrifying than even her worst nightmares.

  “Begin the hoist,” Mark ordered, his voice cracking. Cassie screwed her eyes shut and plummeted through the water-filled air.

  She’d given Mark every reason to regret bringing her along. Now was her chance to make it right.

  * * *

  “FLIGHT NURSE GOING out cabin door. Flight nurse going down,” Larry rasped and Mark’s hand tightened on the collective, his eyes glued to his gauges and monitors.

  He pictured Cassie in the basket, swinging through the air. One rogue wave or gust could tear her away and he couldn’t bear to lose her, he suddenly realized.

  And now, he’d given the call that put her life at risk.

  Mark swore beneath his breath. His worst nightmare realized. And with one order, he’d made it happen.

  Regret settled in his gut, a heavy, nauseating bile. Every old emotion for Jeff and now new ones for Cassie tore up his insides, eroding them until they washed away and left the empty shell he’d been a year ago.

  He stared at his instruments for a moment, but he wasn’t really seeing them, not seeing anything but darkness, not hearing anything but the roaring in his ears, like the sea, or a plane right overhead.

  Then Cassie’s pale face swam before his eyes. His breath grew ragged, his heart beating hard enough to come through his chest. Damn it. He shook his head clear.

  Stay focused.

  He would get her back safely.

  Would bring them all home.

  “Flight nurse is below the cabin,” Larry intoned. “Flight nurse is ten feet below the cabin.”

  He forced his fingers to relax on the collective. To stay steady. He would not lose Cassie. “Conn me in.”

  “Forward and right, twenty. Forward and right, fifteen. Flight nurse is halfway down.”

  Listening closely, he lowered the collective and shifted the cyclic right by minute degrees to get the precise measurements that’d keep Cassie away from those deadly sodium lights. If Larry didn’t control the pendulum effect, if Mark was off by a foot, hell, an inch, she’d bash into them with the impact of a major car crash. Sweat streamed off his forehead and dripped into his eyes, poured down his cheeks.

  Rob dropped his head back in his seat. “Sorry, sir. Would you like me to—”

  “Take the radios, monitor the instruments and keep tabs of each deployment,” he ground out. His copilot had lost the bubble and they’d been seconds away from dropping into the ocean. Worse, as aircraft commander, Mark should have noticed the signs. Not lost his focus. As a mentor, he should have been watching Rob like a hawk, not letting other thoughts distract him.

  Time to focus.

  He fought to keep a level hover, hyperaware of even the slightest movement of his Jayhawk. One wrong move could turn a controlled rescue into a disaster in an instant. Fifteen people in the water instead of the five left on the boat, the helicopter upside down in the ocean...

  Cassie...

  Was she frightened? God, he hoped not. His back teeth cam
e together and his jaw clenched.

  He imagined Cassie smashing into the lights. Cassie hitting a lethal spout. Cassie plummeting out of the basket. An unconscious Cassie disappearing beneath the roiling ocean...

  The darkness in his head, right at the back of his skull, rose. He’d been trying to keep it at bay ever since he’d spotted Cassie striding up the airstrip this morning, but now it started to swell, to bloom.

  Through the windshield, he spotted an approaching rogue wave and his pulse screamed in his ears.

  “Hold!” he boomed then backed the Jayhawk off. The dagger in his heart twisted, round and round and round. “Flight nurse status?”

  “Fifty feet and stable. Good work, Commander,” Larry said.

  The band around his lungs, if anything, tightened more. “We don’t have her down, yet. Conn me in, FM.”

  Sitting in the seat without a mirror meant depending on the guidance of the only person with eyes on Cassie: Larry. To Mark, it felt like driving a car and trying to place the exact center of the vehicle over a quarter...blind...relying on someone who could stick their head out the door and look directly at the quarter, conning commands to either come left, come right, slow down and eventually stop directly over the coin. Nearly impossible without their level of training and skill.

  He needed to rely on it now more than ever. Push out his fears for Cassie so the only noise in his head was Larry’s voice, directing him.

  The next few minutes lasted a year. Ten years. A hundred. How did a tortured man measure time? It expanded into an agonizing infinity where he brought them in, backed off, returned then hovered only to abort again from another violent swell.

  At last, Larry announced, “Flight nurse on deck.” Mark released a shaky breath. “Flight nurse getting pulled out of the basket. Flight nurse is okay. Basket clear of the deck. Clear back and left, fifteen.”

  Mark blew out his cheeks and his chest seemed to cave in on itself, each rib collapsing on the other. Outside, the rain spit meanly on the helo’s windshield and the wind sporadically rattled the glass. Despite the fifty-five-mile-per-hour gusts from this outer edge of the hurricane, his Jayhawk held steady. He’d often thought the aircraft handled like a Lamborghini but was built like a Mack Truck. It could withstand anything.

  As for him, waiting for Cassie felt like it’d destroy him.

  Back at altitude and a level hover, he shifted into autopilot, a part of his brain clicking into the familiar feel and rhythms of his aircraft while another part descended into its own private hell.

  How was she doing?

  The Sea Monarch, a ferry that’d been bringing supplies and passengers from Antigua to the Virgin Islands before it got stuck in the erratic storm, tossed violently, and its forward ballast compartment was taking on water. Fast.

  The ocean was picking up. He needed her, Dylan and the last passengers off now. The jagged rocks were ripping the hull open like a can opener. As long as it stayed pinned between them, they had time, but each battering wave rocked it farther off the reef. If it came loose completely, the vessel would sink in seconds.

  Mark kept his breathing steady, though his heart rate picked up tempo as the ship listed and slid.

  Come on, Cassie...

  It shouldn’t have shocked him when she’d jumped in and demanded to go down to the ship.

  And she’d called herself meek... A rush of air escaped him. If she’d wanted to prove something, she’d made her point. In spades.

  He pictured her the night they’d resuscitated Eloise. Her calm, professional dedication. It was exactly the right mind-set for a rescuer. In fact, she reminded him of Jeff. Her determined expression when she said she wanted to help held the same spark Jeff’s had when the shit hit the fan.

  And as much as this waiting drove him insane, he realized there weren’t many people he’d trust more than Cassie to do what needed to be done down there.

  She was competent. Focused. Brave.

  Everything.

  Everything to him.

  A new level of respect for her grew. He’d nearly lost it when Dylan had called for the flight nurse. Not Cassie, though. She’d been fine.

  He studied the tilting Sea Monarch and gritted his teeth. He’d gotten her down safely and he’d bring her back, too. And after that, he’d never let her go again.

  * * *

  CASSIE’S FEET SLID from under her the moment they touched the water-washed decking. Before she could plunge into the vicious gray sea, Dylan grabbed her arm.

  “Okay?” he yelled, competing with the roaring sea.

  “Got it!” she hollered, though her heartbeat and her breath ran wild. Conscious of the stinging sea spray, and the lurching deck, she huddled beside the rescue swimmer as they worked their way toward the front of the boat. The thick strap of her medic bag crossed from one shoulder down to the opposite side of her waist.

  “Hurry!” Dylan shouted, glancing over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “We’ve got to beat the swell.”

  She moved as quickly as she could, clamping down her fear. And, miraculously, adrenaline surged to fill the void. It shoved out her anxiety, empowering her as they reached a door. She jerked it open and slipped inside before another wave engulfed them.

  Inside, a crew member attempted to staunch heavy bleeding from a femoral wound on a young male. His bleached skin and limp form made Cassie suck in a fast breath. A toppled AED machine rolled beside them.

  “Backup battery died after the second shock,” Dylan said, grim, pulling off the pads with one hand. His other arm hung by his side at an odd angle. Was it broken? If so, how was he managing this? “Didn’t get any feedback.” He pressed his fingers to the base of the patient’s neck. “Still arrhythmic.”

  Cassie’s mind clicked into nurse mode at the red splashed around the cabin. Could anyone survive losing this much blood? Especially one heading into cardiac arrest? She’d seen it happen, but in fully equipped ERs. Not on sinking boats that seemed to jerk the stomach out of her with each pitch and roll.

  Taking over, she applied a stronger tourniquet and instructed the sailor—no, the captain, according to his badge—to keep applying pressure. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Dylan supporting an elderly man and leading him back outside to be hoisted.

  With the bleeding sorted, she evaluated the man’s vitals. Slow respiration. An irregular pulse and thready at best. Hands shaking slightly, she set her IV lock. She rigged the bag and assessed the patient’s weight for dosage. He looked to be around one-eighty, but with his blood loss...

  She was so lost in thought that when the next wave hit, she flew across the narrow room and bashed against a wall. A horrible scraping sound, metal against stone, rose around her and the boat seemed to swell beneath her feet.

  “Okay over there?”

  She scrambled upright and gave the ferry captain a quick nod, ignoring the dull ache blooming up her arm and shoulder. But how much more time before the next swell? She measured out 300 mg of amiodarone and began a rapid IV push. When water crept beneath the door and lifted the man’s hair off the floor, she didn’t pause. If they went under, she’d go down fighting.

  Dylan appeared again. “Can we transport him? Litter’s outside.”

  She shook her head. The hemorrhage had slowed but any big movements and he might bleed right out until she had that better controlled. More important, she needed to stabilize his heart rhythm. “You need to take care of your arm.”

  Dylan shrugged, looking pumped instead of in pain. “Just a flesh wound. Be right back.” He looped his good arm around a limping teenager and headed out.

  At last the pilot house was empty except for the captain, Cassie, their victim and the rising sea that now lapped around the downed man’s ears. Cassie’s lungs froze as she kept checking her patient’s erratic pulse. Three more minutes be
fore she could give another push. Two...

  “We’ve got to go,” the captain shouted at her over the rushing wave that tumbled them sideways again. The boat angled back slowly, listing heavily. “She’s coming apart.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t risk it. He needs another push.” After a 150 mg injection, she held the man’s cold wrist. Her heart rate sped until, at last, she felt a small, steady pulse against her index finger. A fierce rush of joy pounded through her. “Pulse is stable.”

  “Good work.” The skipper shot her a look that said every brave thing she’d ever thought about Jeff.

  Dylan burst through the door. “Gotta go!”

  He hoisted their victim and together they stumbled into sea surge that rose above her knees. Good God.

  The litter swirled in the water and drifted their way. Dylan reeled it in, loaded the injured crew member and signaled for Larry to lift it.

  “You’re next.” Dylan pointed at the captain, who shook his head.

  “I’m the last off.” For the first time, she noticed that the back of his head was bleeding.

  “No, you’re not. You need medical attention,” she called over the raging water just before it crashed over them. It lifted her off her feet and nearly swept her over the side before she snatched one of the boat’s lines.

  Dylan appeared and hauled her on deck, the veins on his good arm bulging. “Hang on!” he screamed over the shrieking wind. “I’m hooking up the skipper, then I’ll lift you. Got it?”

  She nodded, lips shaking. Yes, she could swim. In pools. The shallow end, specifically, since that was all her mother had allowed. Still, she could tread water. And she was wearing a life preserver, she reminded herself. Her legs bowed as she fought to stay afoot when another swell rushed over them. Smaller this time. Which meant—what? An even bigger one next? The one that’d completely take them down?

  “Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” Dylan hollered as the boat shuddered and lifted before crashing smack down on its side.