The Last Airship by Christopher Cartwright

other engineers. Behind his fine glasses was
the face of a man who confidently held complete authority over the situation.
The man had taken his place among the other engineers who had also remained
silent until that point, but this man seemed different. He was not simply an
intelligent engineer. He was there for another purpose, although what that
purpose might be, Tom couldn’t imagine. The man hadn’t apologized at all, but
simply confirmed what Tom had suspected.
    Who
is this guy?
    “But
there’s no way she could do that without special approval! The ship would need
to be specifically certified for it. There’s only one way that it could get
that kind of approval…” 
    Tom
stopped short, remembering the close relationship James Reilly had with the
Obama administration.
    What
has that self-absorbed prick got us into this time? Sam was really going to be pissed off at his old man
when he found out what had happened. Not that Sam had seen eye to eye with the
old man since his mother split with him in the aftermath of Danny’s accident.
    “We
don’t have time for bickering.” Matthew’s voice was stern, but not
antagonistic. “Can you fly or not?”
    “If
you can ride out the worst of this cyclone until she meets the eye of the
storm, I might be able to take off and make the transfer.”
    “Okay,
it’s not an ideal solution, but at least it’s a chance. How much of a window do
we have?”
    “If
I time the takeoff perfectly, it will only be a matter of minutes between takeoff
and landing on the stricken ship. We’re not likely to get another chance to try
to take off again if this plan doesn’t succeed. So, what are the chances this
will work?”
    “I
know the chances are slim, but they’re absolutely zero if you don’t get that
part to the crew of the floundering Hayward Bulk.”
    “I
get it…” Tom said, acknowledging that he would do it. It was never a question
of whether or not he would risk his life to serve the greater good, but a
matter of knowing why he was risking his life at all. “I’ll go warm up the
chopper.”
    *
    Tom
looked out the rear hatchway of the Maria Helena’s doghouse.
    The
enormous Westland WS-61 Sea King helicopter could only just be seen through the
spume of violent windswept water, resting precariously atop the small helipad
located on the aft deck of the sky blue Maria Helena. Its skids had been
secured to the deck as a normal precaution to prevent it from shifting as the
ship naturally rocked on the swells of the open ocean. Today, their strain
could be clearly seen, as the ship dramatically lurched in the violent swells.
In this weather, Tom imagined that any sudden release from its restraints would
result in it being flung off into the sea, just like a bull rider in a rodeo.
    The
storm was raging at its worst as they neared the eye of the cyclone. It was a
scientific fact that the narrower the base of a cyclone was, the faster were
the wind speeds it generated.
    The
restraints used to secure the helicopter were rated to hold more than forty
tons, considerably more than the helicopter’s fifteen ton weight. Even so, Tom
would have much preferred to wait until the weather eased before preparing it
for take-off. The problem was that they would have such a small window of
opportunity to successfully make the transfer to the Hayward Bulk that the
helicopter would need to be completely ready to take off the second they
entered the eye of the cyclone.
    Tom
watched as the deck rose and fell several times before he mentally pictured a
pause long enough to race from the Maria Helena’s protected doghouse to the
helicopter’s cockpit door.
    Seeing
his best chance, he sprang into motion.
    Reaching
the Sea King just as the entire rear deck of the Maria Helena dropped thirty
feet down a trough, his hand gripped the winch man’s bar on the right hand
side, as his legs fell out from under him.
    Tom
didn’t wait for the ship to fully right itself before opening the cockpit