"You're right, we gotta get out of here."
"Wouldn't it figure," Jackie quietly said to herself, and stared at the light. We have to get someone out here to rescue Scott.
"Watch for any abnormal vibrations," Finchly said. "We're going to have to make a run for the frigate and we're forty miles out."
"Okay, but can we get them to launch a helo to rescue Scott?"
Finchly shrugged his shoulders. "I'll see what I can do."
Jackie reached into the lower leg pocket of her flight suit and grabbed her satellite phone. We need action from the top. "Dave, I can take care of this with one phone call."
"Go for it." Finchly prepared Black Shadow Six for an auto-rotation and ditching. "I'll check NATOPS and call the frigate."
"Okay."
Hartwell Prost was on the phone in a matter of seconds. Jackie quickly explained the situation and told him that Scott might be in the water. Prost had her remain on the phone. When he returned, he told her the situation was under control. For security reasons, he couldn't explain what was being done, but he told her not to worry about Scott.
"Thank God," Jackie said to herself, returning the satellite phone to her pocket. "Help is on the way."
"Good deal."
They saw the warning light flick on.
"Oil pressure," Dave said. "What next?"
Jackie watched in silence as the number-two engine's oil pressure fluctuated up and down on the vertical instrument display system, known as VIDS.
Finchly called the frigate and declared an emergency, then had the two aircrewmen prepare for an immediate ditching. They strapped into their seats and quietly prayed.
"Hang in there," Finchly said to Jackie and to the petty officers. "The ship is coming our way."
Scott flashed his most disarming smile and stuck his arm out to shake hands with the surprised Chinese sailor.
His eyes wide open in fear and confusion, the man became indecisive and stepped back a pace.
"Do you speak English?" Dalton asked while they awkwardly shook hands. "English?"
"I speak little English," the man said, unsure if he should flee from the strangely dressed man.
"Do you know how much trouble your captain is in?" The sailor looked totally confused. "Trouble?"
"Yes. We have a security breach. This equipment is supposed to be guarded twenty-four hours a day, and your government in Beijing pays me to inspect security on various ships. I've been on board since Long Beach."
Frightened, the man looked at Dalton as if he were seeing an aberration. He became very cautious and evasive. "I know nothing. I not in charge — know nothing."
"Well, if you cooperate, you won't get into any trouble. But that's up to you — your decision."
"I copawait — I know nothing."
"Good." Scott motioned toward the laser. "You stand right over here by the console while I take your picture."
Bug eyed, the sailor shook his head. "No pitcher, no pitcher!"
"No picture, and your name will have to go in my report. Your days on the ocean will be over."
In silence the man backed against the console.
"Raise your head up and smile." Scott moved back to take in the entire laser weapon. He clicked a dozen photos from different angles, each with the Chinese sailor in the picture.
"Keep smiling." Scott finished the roll of film in his second camera.
The seaman kept the strained smile on his ashen face.
"Okay, good job," Dalton said, and stowed his cameras. "You stay down here and guard this equipment until I send you a relief in about two hours, okay?"
He nodded his head. "I stay here?"
"That's right." Scott waved his finger at the man. "Don't leave your post for any reason — none."
"I stay here, I copawait."
"That's right."
Scott quietly made his way to the main deck and cautiously walked in the direction of the fantail.
"Halt — stop!"
A shot rang out and ricocheted near Dalton's right foot. "Stop!"
Scott started sprinting toward the stern. More rounds ricocheted off the steel deck. He knew he wasn't going to make it to the fantail. With a mighty leap, Dalton dived over the side of the ship and swam underwater as far as possible before surfacing. He was tumbled around by the churning wake while he watched the Chen Ziyang continue on course. He quickly activated one of his radios.
"Black Shadow Six, Garden Party is up and the GPS is working." Nothing.
Scott relaxed on his back and tried again. Still nothing.
After exchanging radios he tried again. Silence.
Well, this is great.
Lieutenant Finchly went over the NATOPS checklist for "engine oil pressure low" and monitored the pressure and temperature of the number-two engine for secondary indications. While the minutes ticked off, the fluctuations became more pronounced.
"Twenty-five miles," Jackie said, checking the distance to the USS Ford. "We have an engine-oil-pressure caution light."
Finchly closely scanned the instruments. "If we see any other indications, we'll shut it down."
"Okay," she said, calculating time, fuel, and distance. "Do you think we should dump some gas?"
"Yeah, good idea." Finchly began dumping fuel.
Jackie glanced at the engine instruments and listened to the complaining turboshaft. "It's getting worse — really sounds bad."
"I know."
After three minutes it was obvious that the engine was about to pack it in. Finchly secured the fuel dump.
"What do you think?" Jackie asked.
"I'm going to shut it down."
He slowly increased power on the good engine, pulled the throttle for the number-two engine to idle, and then turned off the fuel. They completed the single-engine-failure checklist, the singleengine-landing checks, and then informed the frigate of their status.
"Fifteen miles," Jackie reported.
At twelve miles from the ship, the vibrations began in the intermediate transmission. They were light at first, but there was definitely a pattern of increased intensity. Time was quickly running out.
"You've got it," Finchly said, relinquishing the flight controls to Jackie.
"I've got it."
She listened to Finchly discuss the situation with the helicopter control officer on the frigate. They had already set flight quarters to give the stricken helicopter a green deck.
"Seven miles," Jackie nervously reported.
Finchly took the controls and checked on his two aircrewmen. The USS Ford was slowing and turning to allow the Seahawk to make a straight-in approach to the fantail.
"Five miles."
The vibrations were rapidly multiplying, and then they slowly developed into a crunching, grinding sound that was increasing by the second.
"Four miles."
No one said a word.
"Three miles."
"There it is!" Finchly said, requesting the relative winds from the frigate's landing signal officer.
With his heart racing, Dave kept the speed up and began a shallow descent. They were rapidly closing on the ship.
"Come on, don't fail me now," he coaxed under his breath. "Stay together, just a little longer."
He worked hard to fly a perfect single-engine profile while Jackie called torque and other engine parameters. The crunching sound was rapidly turning into heavy grinding. The helicopter was beginning to shake itself apart and would soon be uncontrollable.
Bleeding off airspeed, Finchly decelerated through translational lift while the grinding became a high-pitched screech and the helicopter started bucking and yawing.
The landing was hard but safe. He shut down the remaining engine after the frigate's crew secured Black Shadow Six to the deck.
Exhausted by tension and raw fear, Jackie and Dave went limp in their seats. They looked at each other while the two aircrewmen exchanged high fives.
"Another mile and we wouldn't have made it," Jackie said, her voice low and weak.