Uncharted Waters

Drew leaned out the hatch, anxious to get a look at his teammate. The cage was halfway up, hovering twenty feet above the blazing water, so close Drew could hear the screams of the people threatened by the inferno. He did a double take when he realized the cage had somehow snagged a huge piece of debris. Some type of steel pipe that had blown loose from the tanker during the explosion.

“Mako, any way you can lose that debris?”

“Negative... Can’t get over there.”

An instant later the cage arrived. Drew snagged it, tried to haul it into the chopper only to realize the debris was too large, preventing the cage from sliding into the fuselage. Damn it!

Three seriously injured subjects huddled inside the cage like frightened children, crying. Because there had been neither the time nor the room for Rick to squeeze into the cage with them, he clung to the outside. It wasn’t SOP, or standard operating procedure, but it wasn’t the first time Drew had seen a para jumper give up his own seat to save a life.

Drew quickly rigged a safety cable to secure the cage, then reached for the first passenger—a little girl, her clothes and face blackened from the fire. He smelled singed hair. The stink of crude oil. She was no more than ten years old and crying, a keening sound of terror that would haunt him for a very long time.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he told her. “We’re going to take care of you, okay?”

“I want my mommy.”

“There’s another team standing by, honey. See them over there?” He motioned toward the Coast Guard chopper. “They’re just waiting for us to get out of the way.”

Once she’d been relegated to the medic standing by, he reached for the next passenger, a young man who was quite verbal about the pain of what looked to be a broken arm and some minor burns. But Drew was barely aware of the young man as he hauled him out of the cage. He couldn’t take his eyes off Rick. Something was terribly wrong. He could feel the prickle of it on the back of his neck. He could see it in Rick’s eyes. “How bad are you hurt?” he asked.

“Bad...”

“Hang tight, partner. I’ll be right there.”

Cursing, Rick looped his arm over the mesh and sagged. “Drew... Damn it, I’m in trouble.”

Leaving the last rescue subject in the basket despite his shrill cries of fear and pain, Drew lunged around the cage to help his friend. Even before his fingertips came in contact with Rick’s wet suit, he could smell the burnt rubber. A slick, dirty stench strong enough to make his eyes sting.

Aware of the adrenaline cutting through him, Drew looked into Rick’s eyes. For the first time since he’d known him, he saw fear. Worse, Rick seemed to be having a difficult time hanging on to the mesh—and there wasn’t a damn thing separating him from the inferno blazing forty feet down.

Cursing between clenched teeth, Drew looped one arm around the mesh and reached for Rick with the other. “Grab my hand!”

Rick reached for Drew’s hand, but his grip was weak, the contact precarious because of the slippery oil. When Drew tried to pull him into the chopper, Rick’s hand slipped.

“Climb in!” he shouted. “Come on! Do it now!”

Rick was one of the most capable para jumpers Drew had ever known. He was strong, with a level head and the heart of a lion. More important, he never panicked. But not even the strongest of men could function when they were injured.

Leaning dangerously close to the edge of the hatch, vaguely aware that the medic behind him had relieved him of unloading the last passenger, Drew leaned farther out. “Give me your hand and we’ll ditch the cage.” He reached for Rick, his hand closing around the other man’s arm at the elbow.

“Bend your arm!” Drew shouted. “Loop it around mine! I’ll pull you in!”

Grimacing in pain, Rick obeyed. Drew lay belly down, with one arm looped around the mesh netting, the other looped around Rick’s arm at the elbow. It was a precarious position, one he couldn’t hold for long. But there was no way in hell Drew was going to let him go.

“Put your foot up on the mesh and get your ass in here!” he shouted.

But when Rick tried to move closer, his foot—hampered by the flipper of his wet suit—slipped completely off the mesh.

“Rick!” The other man’s weight nearly yanked Drew out of the chopper.

“Drew! Jesus! Don’t drop me, man.”

Sweat and rain streamed into Drew’s eyes. He could hear his labored breathing. The drum of a heart beating out of control. The slow-motion rat-tat-tat of the rotors cutting through the air. The cries of the passengers waiting to be rescued.

For several long seconds Rick dangled while Drew held on to him, trying desperately to figure out what to do next. He glanced down at the water. And he knew that even if Rick survived a fall, his injuries would seriously impede his chances of survival in such horrendous conditions.

Drew saw terror in the other man’s eyes. He saw the will to live in its rawest form. He saw pain and the knowledge that the situation had slipped out of their control.

“Rick! Damn it! Hold on! Don’t let go!” Drew looked behind him where the medic was working frantically to rig a safety line. “Get me a rope!” Drew screamed into his headset. “Damn it! I got a man down! I need help! Now!”

Vaguely, he was aware of someone moving behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the safety line fall short. He heard savage cursing. The pain in his arm from holding Rick was tremendous, but Drew swore he’d let his arm break before he let go.

The muscles in Drew’s arm quivered and cramped. He was vaguely aware of the smoke and wind and rain pummeling him. The roar of the engines punctuated by the whop-whop-whop of the rotors overhead. He could feel Rick’s wet suit slipping over his skin at his elbow and cursed the oil.

He looked into Rick’s eyes. “Don’t let go, damn it!”

“Drew! I can’t hold on!” Face contorted with the effort of holding on, Rick’s tortured eyes met his. “Take care...Alison and Kevin...”

Someone tossed a second safety line. When Rick reached for it, he unlooped his arm from Drew’s—and missed the safety line. Rick’s body jolted once, then plummeted down.

“Rick!” Horror and disbelief sent Drew scrambling to his feet. He stood at the hatch and stared down at the black water below. “Man down!” he shouted into his headset communication gear. “Man down!”

“Easy, Drew,” came the copilot’s voice. “I’m on the horn. There’s another chopper standing by. Rick’s got priority.”

Drew swallowed equal parts panic and bile that had gathered at the back of his throat. “I’m going down! Give me a damn suit! I’m going down to get him!”

The captain came out of the cockpit. “Lieutenant Evans!”

He looked up, found himself staring into the angry eyes of his captain. Joe “Domino” Saratoga was the size of a warhorse. Older. Experienced. He’d fought in Panama and the Gulf War. He’d paid his dues and Drew had always liked and respected him.

At the moment, he wanted to punch him.

“With all due respect, we can’t leave that man behind to die!” Drew flung open the aft cabinet in search of a wet suit and tank. He knew he was losing it. He could feel his control slipping the same way he’d felt Rick slip away just a few seconds earlier. But there was no way in hell he could stand by while they left Rick behind.

“Son, we’re following SOP. There’s a PJ RTG on the second chopper. He’s fresh and suited up.”

Through his communication gear, he heard the pilot receive the order to return to base. Because he couldn’t meet the other man’s gaze, he turned to lean against the cabinet.

The captain put his hand on his shoulder. “They’ll find him and bring him home.”

Drew opened his eyes only to realize his vision was blurred with tears. Tears of anger and frustration, but most of all grief. “Damn it!” He slammed his fist through the cabinet door.

Pain sang through his knuckles and up his arm, but Drew barely noticed. He heard Joe speaking to him, but couldn’t understand the words. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Couldn’t believe they were going to leave Rick behind. That he could be dead.

“He was burned,” he heard himself say.

“He’s strong.”

“I dropped him.”