on her face and, after one last equipment check, gave him a thumbs-up. Three more taps to her shoulder indicated she was good to go on his end.
She could never deploy without thoughts of her childhood “Coastie friends” Eli and Alex flashing through her mind. Their dads had served together and were the best of friends. That connection had brought their kids together, too, but a mutual love of adventure, the beach and water in any form had sealed the bond into their own solid, unwavering friendship.
The three of them would practice rescue jumping for hours on end: slight bend in the knees, fins pointing up, one hand on the mask and the other across the chest. Just like she did now. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath, timed her free fall to catch the top of a big swell, and dropped into the ocean.
She surfaced, her mind now fully in rescue mode. Raising her arm high into the air, she positioned her palm up and out in the “I am all right” signal, and swam to the first survivor.
* * *
LIEUTENANT COMMANDER, COAST GUARD pilot and rescue swimmer, Eli Pelletier wasn’t technically doing either of those jobs today. Rather, he was enjoying his ride as a passenger touring the Pacific Northwest’s coastline. His friend and fellow pilot, Lieutenant Commander Gale Kohen, was in the helicopter seat beside him, also taking in the view.
He and Gale had only arrived in Pacific Cove the day before and reported for duty at Air Station Astoria in Warrenton, Oregon, early that morning. They’d been transferred to District 13, also known as Sector Columbia River, under the auspices of performing an evaluation of the base’s search-and-rescue operations. Commander Pence had recommended a flyover in order to familiarize themselves with the area and conditions the SAR teams regularly worked in. Eli thought the reason for the ride sounded a little thin, but no one was going to second guess the commander. The real reason for their sudden transfer here didn’t have anything to do with SAR procedures, although they were both highly trained in the field.
They were bombing up the coast, chatting with the crew about past rescues, when the call came in that another helicopter at a rescue scene was experiencing mechanical problems. They’d been asked to take over, which was no problem. Regulations ensured that each helicopter was interchangeable as far as equipment went and he could see that this crew knew their bird.
“Pelletier, Kohen, you guys ready to go?”
“Affirmative,” they both agreed. The question was rhetorical. Like every Coastie, both were always willing to put their knowledge and skills to use whenever and wherever needed. That fast and Eli went from passenger to RS at the ready.
Eli knew the pilot, Lieutenant Commander Holmes. They’d flown together right after Eli had graduated flight school at Air Station Elizabeth City, North Carolina, where they’d both been assigned at the time. He’d only met the other crewmen, Petty Officers Johnston and Reeves, that morning. He was impressed with how quickly they now shifted from practice mission to life-and-death emergency. This was undoubtedly due to the fact that there had been no shift—they’d been ready. Semper paratus. Always Ready, as the Coast Guard motto stated.
D13 included one of the most dangerous stretches of ocean in the world—the Columbia River bar, where the formidable Columbia River emptied into the Pacific Ocean. Having spent the happiest years of his childhood here, Eli knew it well. His dad had been a Coast Guard officer before him and he knew training here in the Columbia River Sector was top-notch. Flexibility was the hallmark of a Coastie and just being stationed here had given these men plenty of experience.
Lt. Cdr. Holmes maneuvered the helo closer so they could get a better view, hovering next to the scene to avoid exposing the swimmer and survivor to the powerful blast of the helicopter’s rotor wash. Eli could see the swimmer and three survivors in the water below, two were in close proximity to each other, with the third a short distance away. Should be a simple, straightforward rescue, he thought.
Flight mechanic and hoist operator, Petty Officer Johnston, was evaluating the scene. “Swimmer is with two survivors. Swimmer is signaling for basket. Thirteen minutes since survivors have been in the water.”
With instructions from Johnston, Holmes flew the helicopter into position. Upon seeing the signal from the RS already in the water, Johnston dispatched the basket. A few short minutes later he added those sweet words every member of a rescue crew longs for. “Survivor One in basket. Survivor on the way up. Survivor halfway up...”
In less than three minutes they were hauling the first drenched fisherman on board the chopper. Gale, who was also an EMT, went to work evaluating and warming the cold, shivering man.
Soon, Johnston safely pulled up another survivor and said, “Swimmer is okay. Swimmer is away, headed for the third survivor.”
With direction from his crew, Holmes moved the helicopter into place again and the third survivor was soon on board. The young man appeared to be hysterical, shivering, crying and jabbering excitedly.
Gale attempted to calm him. He had a way with people and Eli wasn’t surprised when the kid immediately settled down. He reported, “Survivor is telling me there’s someone else in the water—”
Johnston broke in. “Swimmer has radioed and confirmed. She’s headed toward the wreckage. Can anyone see another person in the water?”
She? Eli felt a jolt of fear shoot through him. Eli knew that D13 had exactly one female RS at this point in time. There were only a few women currently certified in the entire Coast Guard. That meant Aubrey was down there doing the rescuing. Anxiety knotted his gut, creating a personal problem for him, he realized. Because, apparently, even after all these years, Aubrey in danger meant that the knight in him wanted to take over. That’s what she used to call it when he would try to help her or to do things for her. “Stop being such a knight, Pelletier. I can do it myself.” And usually she could, but that wasn’t the point.
They were all scanning the ocean below, looking for the fourth person.
“Swimmer is near the bow of vessel,” Johnston reported.
His tension lessened slightly. Aubrey was an excellent swimmer, like a fish in the water. Or a mermaid. That’s what he used to call her. And, for a while there, she had been his mermaid. That had been the best time of his life.
“Swimmer circling the bow, approaching the stern. Survivor Four spotted. Survivor in the water. Survivor appears entangled in debris. Twenty-five minutes.”
Time crawled by as Johnston relayed Aubrey’s efforts to free the final survivor.
Finally, Johnston said, “Survivor is seriously stuck in that net.” He muttered something unintelligible as a huge wave engulfed the boat.
They all watched as Aubrey briefly disappeared from sight. Eli held his breath, expelling it when she finally surfaced several feet away.
“Did that piece of debris hit her?” Johnston wondered aloud. “Did you guys see that?”
Eli kept his eyes glued on her form, waiting for her to give the distress signal. What if it had hit her and she was disoriented and couldn’t signal? Eli felt the knot constrict as the danger of the situation sank in.
* * *
THE FIRST TWO rescues went smoothly. As smoothly as they could in high winds and rough seas, anyway. Aubrey approached the survivors one at a time, letting them know who she was and that she was there to help. She assisted each one into the basket and then the crew on board the helo successfully
