Page 90 of The Love Haters

“Did you eat breakfast today?” he asked, looking straight ahead, like we were spies trading secrets.

I shook my head. “I was too nervous to eat.”

Hutch nodded, likeThought so, and then he pulled an energy bar out of a zipper pouch on his flight vest. “Take this.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“More snacks where that came from,” he said, patting his vest and still sounding as all business as a person talking about snacks can.

Huh.

IT WAS JUSTsupposed to be a training mission. Crews fly training missions on every overnight shift to keep their hours up and stay in practice. But not long after we’d lifted off, just as I was trying to decide if I wasnauseated or not, a call came from Sector for a fishing boat in distress with one soul on board.

I wondered if there was any other branch of the military that referred to people as “souls.” I’d have to google that later.

The training mission turned into a rescue pretty fast.

The two pilots were up front, and the flight mechanic was in a seat behind them on a track that slid side to side so she could work from either door of the aircraft, and I was in the back—buckled into Hutch’s usual seat. Hutch, for his part, sat on the gray-painted metal floor, beside the rescue basket that was folded and stowed in the back.

Iguesswe had room for one more person. But it would be snug.

It’s not theflyingof the helicopter that’s disorienting—it’s thehovering. You really do have to find the horizon line to keep your bearings. Hutch kept glancing at me—worried I might barf, no doubt. But there would be no vomiting. Not today. As a point of pride.

I’dimplodebefore I let that happen.

Instead, as soon as I had my sea legs, so to speak, I focused on filming. I got interior shots of the cabin, the water below, the crew, and the equipment.

Because the pilots were up front, piloting, and because Hutch apparently didn’t want to talk to me, the job of explaining what was going on fell to the flight mechanic, Vanessa. “When we reach the scene,” she said, talking through the helmet mic and headphones, “we’ll descend to fifteen feet above the highest crest, and then Hutch will deploy into the water. Once he’s out, and we’ve lowered whatever equipment he needs—the basket or the sling—we can strap you into the gunner’s belt so you can lean out and get some good shots.”

“Lean out”—I clarified—“of the helicopter?”

“Sure,” Vanessa said. “You can go fullTitanic.” She put her arms out like Kate Winslet on a prow.

“Cool,” I said. I looked out at the ocean to mask the abject terror in my eyes. Then I asked, “And when you say Hutch willdeploy, do you meanjump?”

“More or less,” Vanessa said, coming over to me now, helping meunbuckle the five-point seat harness and tightening the gunner’s belt—which attached to a cable—around my waist. Then she positioned me in a spot where I wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, but where I could get the shot of Hutch dropping into the water.

I hadn’t been thinking about today as particularly windy, but when we got to the scene, I was shocked to see how big the wave swells were. The sky suddenly seemed grayer and stormier, too. As I got my camera ready, I felt a shadow of worry.

Was dropping Hutch into the ocean right now a good idea?

Deploying is more dangerous than it sounds. The helicopter can only—safely—get so low to the water. Fifteen feet above the highest crest is the limit. That’s the ideal span for jumping, but of course, there’s a reason they call wavesrollers. They move and undulate and can shift in seconds. A swimmer can deploy for what should be a fifteen-foot drop to the top of the swell, and the water can shift so fast that before he hits the surface, it’s forty feet—or more.

“That’ll knock the wind out of ya,” Hutch had explained during one of our interviews.

“Can forty feet kill you?”

“I mean,” Hutch had said, “it’s gonna hurt. That’s for sure. And you’ll probably get a garage sale.”

“A what?”

“It’s when the water smacks you so hard you lose all your equipment—your snorkel and your goggles and your fins.”

“I’m guessing it’s not good to lose your fins.”

“Correct. It’s bad.”

“How bad?”

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