THE FORESTRY SERVICE’S lead helicopter pilot finished his coffee and tossed the paper cup in the trash. “Have you met that guy who manages the aircraft leasing company office that just moved into Hangars Six and Seven?”
“No, why? Should I?” Louise McGrath, a paramedic assigned to the county’s fire rescue services department based at the Edward Teach Regional Airport, asked.
“He is one of the most arrogant people I have ever met. I mean, who calls his company Magic Dragon Air?” The helicopter pilot responded.
Louise rolled her eyes before she said, “I looked them up. The company was started by a guy who flew C-47 gunships in Vietnam. The gunship’s nickname was ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’. Those things packed some serious firepower. That’s where the name comes from.”
The helicopter co-pilot said, “He’s just another arrogant rich guy. You got anything planned for this evening? You going out with that new hunk doctor I saw you talking to at the hospital?”
Louise smiled. “He’s married.”
“That wouldn’t stop some women I know.”
“I am not them.”
The alarm sounded, and the shift commander ran into the break room.
Forestry Service’s helicopter and fixed-wing aircraft shared the two-story brick building and hangar facilities with the county’s helicopter and ground-based fire and EMS responders in a sprawling complex near the airport’s entrance road. The airport’s fixed base operator operated the terminal and the air traffic control tower in a connected building nestled between the fire station and the county’s Hangar One.
Louise looked around. All the ambulances had responded to the wreck on the Interstate. She could see out the breakroom’s window to the flight line below and watched the county’s only rescue helicopter crew race to their helicopter with one of her paramedic colleagues. The rotor started to turn. She had ten minutes left of her shift. She had been on duty all night and was ready to go home. She was tired and a bit cranky. It had been a busy night. Today was Friday, and she had one rare weekend day off. This was not good. Weekends were to be cherished. A call this close to the end of her shift could only be bad news.
The shift commander pointed at the two Forestry Service pilots. “Fire up your chopper. McGrath, you’re going with them. We need to pull some old rich guy off a yacht. He was injured in a collision between two personal watercrafts.”
Louise said, “I’m not certified for water rescues.”
The shift commander raised one eyebrow. “Do I look like I was born yesterday? Get your gear and get on the chopper!”
The lead chopper pilot said, “I am not certified to land on a ship.”
The shift commander said, “I don’t care if you haul the guy up on a rope. Get the guy, and don’t drop the chopper in the water. Look, the medevac chopper will pick up the guy who is more seriously injured. They’re taking him to Charleston. That’s where you’ll take your guy. The medic on the yacht does not think he broke anything, unlike the other guy.”
“10-4.”
Louise assembled her kit, clambered into her protective gear, grabbed her helmet, and followed the pilots to the Forestry Service chopper. Louise hated this chopper. It had been purchased at a surplus auction from the Army and still carried the Army’s colors. Only the logos painted over the Army’s markings indicated its current owners. It was noisy, and it stank. Since its primary mission was spotting forest fires and coordinating firefighters, its history was less significant than its abundance of windows looking down toward the ground. The tower called the destination coordinates as they lifted off and headed out to sea. The yacht was ten miles offshore of Edisto Island. Had the ship been twenty miles further north, the rescue would have been Charleston’s problem instead of theirs, and Louise would be headed home by now. She had anticipated spending this glorious spring day on the sun porch with a pitcher of sweet tea and a book.
These pilots had never landed a chopper on a ship, and neither had she. The Forestry Service pilots were experienced and could pull an injured firefighter out of dangerous places a typical pilot would not go, but landing on a ship was not part of their training. The prospect of doing so was less than thrilling. Louise had often ridden with these Forestry Service pilots and had pulled her share of injured firefighters from towering infernos. She trusted these pilots, but this was not the same as flying into a fire. In fact, of all the paramedics in this part of the state, she had the most experience rescuing injured firefighters by helicopter. Several firefighters owed her their lives. At least the sea was relatively calm, the sky was clear, and there was no wall of flame threatening to reach up and pull them from the sky.
The Forestry Service chopper arrived on site in time to see the medevac helicopter leave at full throttle for the hospital in Charleston. The yacht was still headed facing into the wind, and the helipad was on the ship’s protected stern. The rescue chopper’s paramedic reported his patient’s condition as they flew. The man, in his forties, had several severe internal and external injuries, some of which could be life-threatening. The hospital’s trauma team responded that they were ready to receive the injured man.
