Emergency In Maternity. Fiona McArthur

chests in water and jet fuel, so every movement became slow and difficult. Her flight suit provided no protection from the ocean or the thousands of gallons of aviation fuel that had spilled from the torn wing tanks.

      “Anyone else?” Mac yelled as he pointed directly above his head to the cockpit hatch.

      “No, everyone else will exit the over-wing hatches.” They couldn’t go back to help anyone now, and she had to trust that the rest of the crew had survived the ditch. Her toe met a hard, unmovable steel bulkhead as she fought to hang on to the hatch rim while Mac, the flight engineer, prepared to egress.

      Gwen prayed the crew who’d been strapped in back were out over the wing hatches, along with the life rafts. She wouldn’t know until she was out.

      The fuselage tilted dangerously forward. They had precious minutes to get out and away from the sinking wreckage.

      “Go ahead, Mac.” She gave him a shove and watched as his body disappeared up the hatch. Seconds later Mac’s hand reached down and grabbed the top of her helmet.

      “Up here, ma’am! Let me pull you.”

      Gwen complied and allowed him to save her life. As the plane commander, Gwen was responsible for each crew member’s life. She had to be the last one out.

      She grabbed the edge of the hatch as soon as her arms were past the entrance and pushed herself up into the raging storm. The sting of salt water and the howl of the wind shocked her, and she had to take several gulps of air before she could ascertain where the life rafts were. In doing so, she breathed in the aircraft’s fuel fumes. Her eyes and throat burned and her stomach heaved. She had no choice but to vomit on the spot.

      She saw David’s face, illuminated by his flashlight. The copilot was safe with the navigator and the second flight engineer. She couldn’t see any farther into the menacing darkness.

      “How many?” Gwen screamed across the waves and the rapidly sinking P-3 to the first of the life rafts.

      “All here, XO.”

      Gwen couldn’t allow time for relief. She sought out the second and third life rafts.

      “We’re missing the TACCO!” The shout from the second raft elicited immediate action from Gwen. Lizzie was still stuck in the aircraft.

      Gwen had to go back in and get her.

      Lizzie.

      Going back the way she’d exited was risky, especially if Lizzie was unconscious. Gwen couldn’t inflate her LPA or she’d never get back in the fuselage. She made a quick guess as to where the over-wing hatch was positioned on the now-sinking aircraft.

      She had seconds.

      Gwen took a deep breath and dived into the thrashing sea, holding on to the aircraft as a guide. She found the over-wing hatch and went in.

      Total darkness meant that feeling her way through the fuel-filled cabin was a challenge, but Gwen knew she had to get Lizzie. Get your shipmate or die with her.

      She ignored her need for air and felt forward to the TACCO station. Lizzie was still strapped in her seat, only her face above the waterline.

      Gwen drew in great gasps of air as she struggled to release Lizzie’s seat belts.

      “C’mon, Lizzie Lady.” She used Lizzie’s call sign and grimaced with relief when her fingers managed to unbuckle Lizzie’s straps.

      “You with me, Liz?”

      “I’m here. Hit my head.” The whispered reply was all Gwen needed. Lizzie was still alive and had a chance if Gwen could get them out of the destroyed fuselage.

      “I need you to take a deep breath. Hang on to me and I’ll do this as fast as I can.”

      “I’ll try.”

      “Okay. One, two, three.”

      Gwen went under with her arm around Lizzie’s chest, pulling her through the totally submerged aft cabin. Their progress was excruciatingly slow and Gwen sent up a prayer that they’d make it to the over-wing hatch.

      The fuselage groaned with each wave that hit the steel frame, sounding deadly, final.

      Gwen’s fingers caught on the rim of the hatch and she pulled both herself and Lizzie through it. Something scraped her arm and a piece of metal clanged on the top of Gwen’s helmet.

      She didn’t stop. She couldn’t, wouldn’t. She was Lizzie’s only chance.

      Her own lungs burned and she was afraid that Lizzie had sucked in fuel or seawater in an effort to breathe. Gwen felt the tug of the aircraft’s drag once they were free of the fuselage. They had seconds to clear the area. She reached over to Lizzie’s LPA handle and pulled. Lizzie left Gwen’s arms as though a great arm had stretched down and pulled her up. Gwen grabbed her own beaded handle and yanked. Her LPA inflated and bolted her to surface.

      The black spots that she’d tried to fight off dissipated as she gulped in the salty, wet air. She blinked. Lizzie floated a few meters away from her. She swam over and wanted to scream when she saw Lizzie’s closed eyes and blank expression.

      Please let her be unconscious, not dead.

      She tried to hook their LPAs together but the rough seas only allowed her to clutch Lizzie’s vest collar as they were tossed like pieces of trash.

      “XO, over here!”

      Gwen couldn’t tell whose voice was behind the flashlight beams as she started swimming toward them, Lizzie in tow.

      Get away from the aircraft. Get away. Get away.

      Hours of training in simulated ditches had drilled into her the necessity of putting as much distance as possible between her and the ditched craft. It was moments from sinking and would take down everything around it.

      She pushed and kicked and hung on to Lizzie. After what seemed like hours, they arrived at the side of life raft number two. Number one was attached to the right of it. She couldn’t see the third raft.

      “Get her up—she’s injured.” Gwen pushed Lizzie as hard as she could, watching as the hands of two crew members reached over to haul her up.

      She saw Lizzie’s boots go over and into the life raft.

      She’d done her job. All crew members safe, in their rafts.

      “Grab my hand!” The second flight engineer leaned over the raft and held out his arm.

      Gwen prayed it wasn’t too late. Exhaustion weakened every muscle and she couldn’t lift her arm out of the water.

      “Go, report it.” She wasn’t sure he’d heard her, and the sea spray threatened to choke her each time she opened her mouth.

      Drew.

      She had to fight, to get back, to get home. A sob escaped her throat as she willed her booted feet, so heavy, to move, damn it! Her life, her hope, was on Whidbey Island.

      Not lost at sea.

      “Please. Let me get there.” Her words came out as the tiniest of whispers.

      She focused on the FE’s outstretched hand and dug deep for the core of her will, her remaining physical strength, to grasp it.

      To save her life.

      A wave crashed over her and made it impossible.

      If she was going to survive, it would be on her own. She didn’t have control over the ocean any more than she did the memories that clawed at her.

      The family room with its woodstove burning while the Christmas tree twinkled... She and Drew wrapped in each other’s arms in front of the fire.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Six months later

      “YOU’VE GAINED TWENTY-SIX degrees in your mobility