by M. L. Maki
Over the noise of the rotor, she says, “Just get it done.” He finishes getting Sam harnessed up and turns to Gloria, “Um, ma’am?” Gloria smiles, “Come on, guy, I’m not shy. I’m here to help.” Nervously, he puts her into the harness, then explains to them how to use the rescue hoist and sling, gives them their helmets, and shows how to plug into the intercom. He then closes the door and runs to the next bird.
The yellow shirt in front of the bird puts his hands over his head, and Sandra takes her up, hovers, and climbs away. Looking down, Sam sees a group of men, with swim fins on their backs, heading for the remaining helos.
Heading out to Stoddert, Sandra asks, “Ok, girls, what squadron do you belong too?”
Sam answers, “VF 154, the Black Knights.”
“Okay, you can swim, right?”
“Yes,” Sam drawls.
Then, “Gold Eagle, Eightballer 416 out with Lt. Douglas, Lt. Lowandowksi. SAR swimmers are Lt. Hunt and Lt. Hoolihan from VF 154. Please inform their command.”
“Roger, Eightballer 416. Acknowledge Lt. Hunt and Lt. Hoolihan are your SAR swimmers. We will notify. Good hunting.”
Then, “Good, now listen up. Here are CB’s rules for not getting dead. The hoist operator never takes their eyes off the guy in the water. The hoist is simple to use, and once it’s out, push it all the way out. Then it is up, down. Hook up to the bird or the hoist before opening the door. You don’t open the door or use the hoist without my permission. The swimmer MUST make certain the ground touches the water first, before they enter the water, so they don’t get dead. Once you’re in the water, you pick up one person at a time, unless you’re riding with them. If they are unconscious, ride them up. The hoist operator has to ignore the cargo while she is running the hoist. If they die, they die. If we lose crew, we are out of business. If you can, give us some healthy ones first, so they can buddy care. It’s dark, so use your fucking strobe, and I will use the light. Hand signals for the swimmers: one hand straight up means I’m okay, one hand with raised thumb means ready for pick up, hand waved side to side means you’re in trouble. Don’t git in trouble. By the way, the big toothy fish are not friendly. If you get the chance, shoot to kill. Otherwise, kick, punch, and fight. I like guns, they make a girl strong. Questions?”
“No, succinct and to the point,” says Sam.
“I’m good,” says Gloria
“Okay, here comes our first customer. Draw straws, I don’t care.”
Sam looks at Gloria, “Shall I go first?”
Gloria nods, hooks up to the bird, and Sam hooks to the hoist. Gloria says, “Ready.”
“Ready back here,” says Sam.
“Somebody needs to remove their helmet and put on the swim cranial. Head phones don’t like water.”
Chagrined, Sam swaps out her headgear, and indicated their now ready.
“Open the door.”
The down wash from the helo whips the otherwise calm seas as Sam rides the cable down. A tail of cable hangs below her to ground the helicopter. Without that ground, her body would be the ground wire between the water and the electrical potential of the helicopter.
She’s lowered into the water near six sailors. She swims toward them, shouting, “I need one of you in good shape.” The nearest sailor shakes his head, and they start moving someone out of the center of their circle. “Listen, healthy first to take care of him,” and grabs a sailor and gets him into the rescue sling. She lifts a thumb and up he goes. The remaining men push the sailor they’re protecting toward her and she sees his head is a mess of blood and his eyes are swollen shut. When the harness returns she gets him into it and rides up with him, helping him into the helo.
When he’s secure, she continues bringing up the rest of the men. When they are all aboard, Gloria tells Sandra, and they move on, searching. They position over two men, and Gloria says, “My turn.” Sam makes sure she’s secure and lowers her down. She drops in next to ST2 John Givens who’s holding YNSN Seely from behind trying to use the one life jacket to keep them both afloat. Then Sam sees movement at the edge of the light. Leaning into the cockpit, she shouts, “Gun!”
Lt. JG James ‘Smooth’ Landowski hands her his 1911. She leans out, seeing Gloria hooking up Seely, and sees movement again. A fin breaks the surface, she takes aim, and fires at the base of the fin. A crazy shot, but the third one hits, and the shark twists away, turning the water red. Gloria gives the thumbs up, her eyes huge, and Sam hoists the man up. She gets him out of the rig, and lowers it to bring Gloria and Givens up as fast as possible.
Once they’re in the helicopter, Gloria hooks herself to the bird, pulls in the hoist, and shuts the door. “What’s next?”
Sam tells Sandra, “We’ve one that needs medical attention, now.”
Sandra replies, “Okay, on our way.” She banks left, heading to the Long Beach, which is slowing to a stop near the stricken vessel. The big ship’s spotlight is on the water, and she’s lowering boats. Sandra heads for the fan tail with its flight deck. As they approach, another SH-3 takes off, skating to the left before pulling up and away. “Long Beach, this is Eightballer 416 coming in with one seriously wounded, eight passengers total.”
“Roger, Eightballer 416, make your approach from the starboard side. Winds are calm.”
Sandra slows the helicopter to a hover about 10 feet above the deck on the starboard side, skates to the left, lowers power, and smoothly eases the bird onto the flight deck. Leaving the engines running, she says on the intercom, “Open the door, girls, and get them all out.” They slam the door open and gently lower the wounded sailor into the arms of Long Beach sailors. As he’s carried away, the rest are helped out. “We’re good to go,” says Sam.
“Long Beach, Eightballer 416, request to take off port side and return to the hunt.”
“Eightballer 416, Long Beach, take off and exit port side. Good luck.”
With every helicopter in the battle group out, the sea is bright with spotlights searching for men in the water. Eightballer 1 is loading sailors off the very back of the fan tail of Stoddert, hovering with 1 wheel on the deck. It’s a gutsy thing, as the ship is on fire and the missile magazine could cook off at any time. But the helicopters can only hold eight, and as they leave, a few sailors, trying to get on, fall into the sea.
Sandra sees four men around a body on a piece of debris at the stern. She puts Sam just outside the group, and three of the men let go and swim toward her, grabbing her and the hook, panic in their eyes. Sam shouts “GET OFF! One at a time!” and dives below, breaking contact. CG pulls up and moves the hook to where she surfaces. They all swim toward her again, and she sticks up one finger. The best swimmer gets to her first and she gets him into to the harness, gives the thumbs up, and dives again.
As she surfaces, the hook is on the way back down. She’s getting the closest man into the rig, when the remaining one grabs her across the throat from behind and puts his head on her right shoulder, dragging her under. Sam lifts her right hand and punches him in the nose with the back of her fist. He grabs his abused nose, letting go of her, and soon one more is rising toward the helo. She then hooks up the last of the three, now patiently waiting his turn. “Um, sorry.”
“Well, remember, we’re here to help, okay?” Sam then re-orients and swims to the last two. BMSN Mitchell Blumm motions her to take the wounded man on the debris first. All of MM3 Baker’s exposed skin in burned, blistered, and swollen, and as she checks him, he moves and gasps. So, very carefully, she hooks him into the harness. As she hooks herself in to ride up with him, Blumm makes the sign of the cross over him, his words lost in the noise.
Then it’s one more trip down for Blumm, and back to the Vinson for Baker and more fuel. Eightballer 416 lands on the Vinson, spot 5. Gloria and Sam carefully lower Baker onto a waiting stretcher. Puck, who’s helping unload helicopters, looks in their bird, “Hey, what are you two doing in there? You’re soaked.”
Sam looks at him, “Working.”
“
They’re letting you swim SAR?”
“Yes, second load. We’re going out again.”
“Do you need any help?”
“We could use some water.”
“Will do,” he runs to the deck edge, coming back as they are finished the refuel and hands her a cloth bag. “Here you go, girls. Bag lunches, too. You need the energy.”
Sam say, “Thanks.” She looks into his eyes and smiles, then slams the door shut as CB runs up the engines for takeoff. As they fly back to Stoddert, Sam opens the bags and distributes the boot. There are containers of juice and four bag lunches with sandwiches, crackers, and fruit cups. Ravenous, they eat the food, gulping the juice between bites.
It takes twenty minutes to return to Stoddert. It’s lit up with flames, helicopter spot lights, and the search lights from the Long Beach. CB shines the light over the sinking stern section and sees some sailors huddled near the missile launcher. One of them waves his arms. CB says, “Customers,” and brings her bird in as close as she can onto the up-tilted fan tail. Black smoke whips around the helo when Sam opens the door. Getting out, they walk down the slanted deck, finding FN Newburg, MM1 Hammond, and the rest of the engine crew. Newburg the only one on is feet.
Sam checks Hammond and he croaks, “Them first.” She shakes her head, scoops him up, her left arm under his back and her right under his knees, and forces her way up the slanting deck. He looks her in the eyes, grimacing in pain. She smiles as she carefully lays him in the helicopter, and he mouths the word, “Angel.”
She meets Gloria and Newburg carrying one of the burned men on the way back. Gloria shouts, “They’re all alive.” Two more trips, and they’re all aboard. Sam says to CB, “Burn victims, Vinson.”
They fly to Vinson, land on spot 3, and off load the men. Puck, again, gives them food and water.
The survivors are now scattered out over a large area, moved by wind and current. Lt. Michael ‘Moose’ Rock call, “Eightballer 223 to any empty bird. I’ve found a bunch two miles north of the Stoddert.”
“Roger, Moose, Cargo Britches is inbound.”
As they approach the area, other helicopters are also picking up sailors. CB sees three men in the water and comes to a hover. Sam goes down again. In a way, it’s better in the 85-degree water. On the cable, the down draft beating on her wet flight suit, she is very cold. She swims to the nearest man, ET2 James Stakey, clinging to the body of FC3 Karl Smith. She tries releasing James’s grip on his friend and get him into the sling, “You have to let him go!”
“No! No! He’s my friend, my friend!”
So, she goes to the third man and realizes he’s missing from the waist down. She starts back to Smith and another man pops out of the water. Pointing to the dead man she’d just left, he says, “Take the dead, too.”
“We’re running out of time trying to save the living. You pick him up, I’m trying to save the living.”
“Listen, lady, you have to pick up the bodies, otherwise people keep dropping SARS on them. Just do it.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m a fucking SEAL lieutenant. Are you going to listen to me? Who the fuck are you?”
“Lieutenant, help me get the live guy away from his friend, then we’ll pick up the dead, okay?”
In response, Lt. Issa swims one stroke to James, gets behind him, and slides his arms inside James’, opening his arms up. He turns him 90 degrees and pushes him towards Sam. She grabs him and hooks him up. “It’s alright, we’ll get your friend.” As James rides up, she looks around for the SEAL, but he’s gone. She recovers the two bodies, riding up with the last one.
Gloria says, “Hey, Cargo Britches, these last two are dead.”
CB says, “Okay, the body bags are in a pouch behind the seat.”
Looking for more men, they overfly Stoddert’s stern on the way back. There is only the transom and a few feet of ship still visible. Air bubbles and oil and debris are surfacing all around it as it slips under the water. CB says sadly, “Well, there she goes.”
CHAPTER 11
EIGHTBALLER 416 AT 100 FEET, SEARCHING FOR SURVIVORS
2238, 20 DECEMBER, 1941
They’re all silent as CB hovers for a moment, then she pulls up on the collective, pushes the stick forward, and they continue their search. “Eightballer 416, this Eightballer 737.”
“Go ahead, Eightballer, 737.”
“I found a large group of survivors 16 miles north of the Long Beach, can you help me out, Cargo Britches?”
“Sure, Dim Bulb, I’m on my way.”
Gloria asks, “How did you get stuck with ‘Cargo Britches’?”
CB laughs, “Because, I deliver the goods.”
“Um, you mean in the sack?”
“It’s been said.”
“Damn, and I thought ‘Hot Pants’ sucked.”
“Yep, at least your call sign implies you have them on. I’m used to it. We’re almost at Dim Bulb’s position, so get ready.”
“We’re ready, if you’re willing,” teases Gloria.
“Come on, Hot Pants, don’t push the metaphor too far,” says CB.
Sam asks, “Do we want to know about ‘Dim Bulb’?”
“He isn’t stupid. I training he burned up a tranny and had to auto-gyro. Said he couldn’t see the warning light ‘cause it was too dim and the alarmed fail to sound. Turned out he was right. Okay, open the door, let’s get to work.”
As Gloria lowers on the harness, she can see Eightballer 737 departing with a full load of survivors from the raft below. Navy rafts are large orange inflatables with tent-like hoods to protect the occupants. There is one access opening and CB puts Gloria in the water right next to it. LCDR Charley Curtis pokes his head out of the hatch and shines a flashlight in Gloria’s eyes, making her flinch, “Hey, shine that somewhere else!”
“Sorry,” and he moves the light, then realizes she’s a woman. “Who are you?”
“Does it matter? I’m a Valkyrie taking you to the promised land.”
“You’re an officer. You’re not supposed to be a SAR swimmer.”
“You’re an officer, too, which means, you’re not supposed to be an idiot. Do you want to be rescued, or not?”
“Yes, of course.”
“It would be easier to harness people up from inside the raft, so, request permission to come aboard.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Lieutenant, and I’m not an idiot.”
Gloria climbs in, “That’s not how it looks from here, sir. Who’s first?” When no one answers, she grabs the first enlisted man near her, puts the harness on him, and does the thumbs up out the opening. LCDR Curtis sits back fuming. Soon she has all five enlisted hoisted out. Finally, it’s just her and Curtis. She hooks them both up and they ride together.
As they reach the door, Sam pulls them in, then takes out the 1911 and shoots the raft. Curtis shouts, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Making sure no SAR swimmer has to dive on an empty raft, sir. You know, jumping out of an airplane is a dangerous thing.” She stows the gun, then disconnects him from the harness and sits him down. “Welcome aboard, sir. How are you feeling?”
He looks quizzically at her, then Gloria says, “Somewhat sorely used.”
“Well, you just had your ship blown out from under you, sir, of course, you do. I just want to make sure you’re alright, so I know the level of care you need.”
“Yes, yes, I’m quite alright. Please, just tend to the men.”
“Of course,” looking closely at his eyes, Sam sees they are unequally dilated, an indication of concussion. “We’re you hit on the head, sir?”
“Just a bump, please, tend to the men.”
CB says, I’ve spotted another one, back to work.”
Sam changes to the swim cranial, hooks to the hoist, and says, “I think he may have a concussion, Gloria.”
As she descends, she sees one body floating face up. She swims to him, hooks him into the harness, and as there are no other men in the
water, rides up with him. It isn’t until they’re in the helo with the door closed and in the red interior light, that she notices his uniform is different. His rank insignia is on the shoulder, rather than the collar, and the coarse fabric is different from American cotton uniforms. She looks at Gloria, grabs a body bag, and puts him in it as quickly as possible. Then she changes to her crew helmet and hears CB ask, “Are we full up back there?”
“Yes, CB, pretty much, no serious injuries,” says Gloria.
“Okay, we’re going to the Long Beach, then.”
Sam says, “We have one body for the Vinson after the Long Beach.”
“What’s the deal?” asks CB.
“He’s not one of ours. I think he’s Japanese, like really Japanese, from Japan.”
“Oh, okay, the Vinson it is for all of them. Oh, shit. Guys, the TACAN isn’t working.”
“Oh, shit,” Sam and Gloria say together. The TACAN is the homing beacon used to find the carrier.
“In a nutshell, we’re lost, but we’ve got plenty of fuel.” She switches channels, “Long Beach, this Eightballer 416, TACAN is down. Can you give us a steer?”
“Eightballer 416, Long Beach, climb so we can establish radar contact.”
ON CAP ABOVE CARL VINSON
Lt. JG Frank ‘Thud’ Jackson says, “Eightballer 416, this is Knight 212. I have you 35 miles north by northwest of Long Beach. Are you returning to Long Beach or Carl Vinson?”
“Thank you, Knight 212. We’re heading for Carl Vinson. Can you give us a steer?”
“Eightballer 416, after some rudimentary calculations and minor trigonometry, I’m pretty sure you should go 087 degrees, and you’ll find the Vinson in about 50 miles.”
CB asks, “Gloria, Sam, do you know this guy?”
Sam says, “Yeah, it’s Thud, my wingman. Wonder why Speedy isn’t talking?”
On radio, CB says, “Knight 212, Eightballer 416, thanks a million.” Then, “That guy deserves a kiss.”
