Chapter 6 Dangerous Skies
Rescue Flight
The mountains looked calm from a distance.
Ethan Cross knew better.
He stood beside the helicopter before sunrise, studying the snow-covered ridges disappearing into the gray horizon.
Fresh snowfall had blanketed much of the region overnight.
Winds had eased compared to previous days, but weather reports warned that conditions remained unstable at higher elevations.
In the Cascades, unstable usually meant dangerous.
The rescue base was already awake.
Generators hummed.
Vehicles moved across the compound.
Emergency personnel carried equipment between buildings.
The operation had settled into a rhythm after several exhausting days, but nobody was relaxed. Storms created a false sense of security when they appeared to weaken. Experienced rescuers understood that nature rarely stopped being dangerous simply because it became quieter.
A mechanic approached the helicopter carrying a clipboard.
“Aircraft checks are complete.”
Ethan nodded.
“Any issues?”
“Nothing serious.”
The mechanic handed him the paperwork.
“Just watch the wind near the northern ridges.”
Ethan glanced toward the mountains.
“I always do.”
The mechanic laughed.
“That’s why you’re still alive.”
Fair point.
Ethan climbed into the cockpit and began reviewing flight systems. Every switch. Every gauge. Every warning light. The routine never changed.
Routine kept people alive.
Especially in weather like this.
His assignment seemed straightforward.
A small snowmobiling group had become stranded near a remote mountain basin after mechanical failures left them unable to return before worsening weather arrived.
Three adults.
No major injuries.
Limited supplies.
The kind of mission search-and-rescue crews handled regularly.
Simple didn’t mean safe.
Nothing involving mountains was ever truly safe.
The radio crackled to life.
“Rescue One, status check.”
Ethan adjusted his headset.
“Rescue One ready for departure.”
“Copy. Proceed as planned.”
The helicopter lifted smoothly into the morning sky.
Within minutes, the rescue base disappeared behind him.
The mountains took over.
Snow-covered forests stretched endlessly beneath the aircraft. Frozen rivers cut through valleys like silver ribbons. Peaks vanished into layers of cloud that seemed to hang directly above the ridgelines.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
The combination described the Cascades perfectly.
Ethan settled into the familiar rhythm of flight.
Watch the instruments.
Monitor the weather.
Stay ahead of problems.
The routine felt comfortable.
Flying always did.
Up here, everything made sense.
Physics.
Training.
Experience.
No complicated emotions.
No difficult conversations.
No expectations beyond doing the job.
The simplicity appealed to him.
Unfortunately, his thoughts had become less cooperative lately.
Without warning, Riley appeared in his mind.
Then Mason.
The memory of the previous evening returned.
Conversations.
Laughter.
Coffee.
The strange sense of belonging he’d started feeling around them.
Ethan frowned.
Not helpful.
He forced his attention back to the mountains.
The helicopter crossed a ridgeline and immediately encountered turbulence.
Strong winds slammed against the aircraft.
Nothing dangerous.
Yet.
He adjusted course slightly.
The weather continued deteriorating the farther north he traveled.
Cloud cover thickened.
Visibility decreased.
Snowfall intensified.
The rescue mission suddenly felt less routine.
A warning light blinked briefly before disappearing.
Ethan checked the system status.
Everything appeared normal.
Still, he didn’t like surprises.
Not in the air.
Twenty minutes later, he spotted the stranded group.
Three snowmobiles sat partially buried near a cluster of trees.
Three people waved desperately as the helicopter approached.
Relief was obvious even from the sky.
Ethan radioed their position back to command and began preparing for extraction.
The landing zone wasn’t ideal.
Too much snow.
Too many trees.
Too little space.
Standard mountain rescue conditions.
He carefully guided the aircraft downward.
The helicopter settled onto the snow.
Rotors continued spinning.
The rescue moved quickly.
Survivors boarded.
Equipment secured.
Safety checks completed.
Within minutes, they were airborne again.
Mission accomplished.
Or so Ethan thought.
The weather changed almost immediately.
A wall of snow swept across the mountains.
Visibility vanished.
One moment he could see ridgelines.
The next he couldn’t see anything beyond the cockpit glass.
His stomach tightened.
Whiteout conditions.
The worst possible scenario for mountain aviation.
The radio crackled.
Then dissolved into static.
Ethan adjusted frequencies.
Nothing.
He tried again.
More static.
Communications had become unreliable.
Not unusual during severe weather.
Still dangerous.
Very dangerous.
He focused entirely on instruments.
Altitude.
Heading.
Terrain awareness.
Every piece of information suddenly mattered.
The passengers behind him remained silent.
They understood enough to recognize the situation.
Nobody wanted distractions.
The helicopter pushed forward through endless white.
Minutes felt like hours.
The mountains vanished.
The sky vanished.
Everything became snow.
Then turbulence struck.
Hard.
The aircraft dropped unexpectedly.
Several passengers gasped.
Ethan corrected immediately.
The helicopter stabilized.
His pulse didn’t.
Another blast of wind hit moments later.
The aircraft shuddered violently.
Outside, visibility remained nearly nonexistent.
Inside, tension filled the cockpit.
Ethan continued flying.
One decision at a time.
One mile at a time.
One breath at a time.
Eventually the storm began easing.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
Shapes emerged through the snow.
Trees.
Ridgelines.
Landmarks.
The world gradually returned.
Ethan finally exhaled.
The rescue base appeared in the distance.
Never had a collection of temporary buildings looked so beautiful.
He landed without incident.
The passengers disembarked safely.
Mission complete.
Technically.
Yet the lingering adrenaline refused to disappear.
Because for nearly twenty minutes, nobody had known where he was.
Nobody had known whether the helicopter remained airborne.
Nobody had known if the mission would end safely.
The realization followed him as he shut down the aircraft.
Across the rescue base, people would eventually learn he was fine.
That the rescue succeeded.
That everything worked out.
But for a while, nobody had known.
Especially Riley.
Inside the command center, repeated communication attempts had gone unanswered.
Static had replaced his voice.
Snow had swallowed his signal.
And somewhere beyond the operations room windows, Riley Bennett had found herself staring into the storm, wondering whether something terrible had happened.
The thought should not have mattered.
Yet somehow it did.
More than Ethan wanted to admit.
What If
Riley Bennett hated waiting.
She hated waiting for test results.
She hated waiting for surgery updates.
She hated waiting for phone calls from specialists.
Most of all, she hated waiting when somebody’s life might depend on information she didn’t have.
Unfortunately, that was exactly what the afternoon became.
The communication failure started just after lunch.
At first, nobody seemed particularly concerned.
Weather disruptions happened regularly in the mountains. Radio signals disappeared. Satellite connections failed. Aircraft occasionally vanished from communication networks for a few minutes before reappearing.
It was normal.
Routine.
Expected.
At least that was what Riley told herself.
The problem was that ten minutes became fifteen.
Fifteen became twenty.
Twenty became longer.
And every update from aviation operations sounded less reassuring than the one before it.
She sat inside the operations center pretending to review medical reports.
Pretending being the important word.
The same page had been sitting in front of her for nearly twenty minutes.
She hadn’t absorbed a single sentence.
Around her, dispatchers worked communication channels.
Emergency coordinators monitored weather systems.
Nobody looked panicked.
Yet tension had slowly settled across the room.
Subtle.
Quiet.
Persistent.
The kind of tension that arrived when people started imagining possibilities they didn’t want to consider.
A dispatcher spoke into a headset.
“Rescue One, respond.”
Silence.
A few seconds later she tried again.
Nothing.
Only static.
Riley looked away from the radio console.
The sound bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Still nothing.”
Mason stepped beside the operations table.
He looked calm.
Professional.
Focused.
Exactly as always.
Only someone paying close attention would notice the slight tightness around his eyes.
The slight stiffness in his posture.
The small signs that he was worried too.
Riley closed the medical file.
“How long now?”
“Twenty-seven minutes.”
The number landed heavily.
Not because it was catastrophic.
Because it wasn’t.
Rescue pilots lost communication longer than that all the time.
Still.
The uncertainty lingered.
Mason glanced toward the weather display.
Conditions remained poor across several northern sectors.
Snow.
Wind.
Low visibility.
Not ideal flying weather.
The knowledge offered no comfort.
Neither spoke for a few moments.
Across the room, dispatchers continued trying to establish contact.
The routine repeated endlessly.
Call.
Wait.
Static.
Repeat.
Riley hated every second of it.
Which made absolutely no sense.
She barely knew Ethan.
A week.
Maybe a little more.
That was all.
People didn’t become important in a week.
At least they shouldn’t.
Yet every time another communication attempt failed, something tightened inside her chest.
Anxiety.
Fear.
Frustration.
She wasn’t entirely sure.
Maybe all three.
The realization annoyed her.
Doctors were supposed to be rational.
Objective.
Logical.
Not sitting in command centers worrying about helicopter pilots who made terrible jokes and drank alarming amounts of coffee.
Unfortunately, her emotions appeared uninterested in logic.
Another dispatcher looked up.
The room immediately became silent.
Everyone waited.
Then the dispatcher slowly shook her head.
Nothing.
Again.
Riley forced herself to look back at her paperwork.
The strategy lasted approximately ten seconds.
Then she checked the operations board again.
Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic.
She knew it.
The worst part was that she couldn’t stop.
A memory surfaced unexpectedly.
Ethan sitting across from her in the common room.
Making fun of the terrible coffee.
Telling ridiculous stories that probably contained several exaggerations.
Making exhausted rescue workers laugh after impossible shifts.
The memory should have made her smile.
Instead it made her worry more.
What if something happened?
The question appeared suddenly.
Sharp.
Unwanted.
Persistent.
What if?
Riley hated those words.
They followed every doctor.
Every emergency.
Every tragedy.
What if you had arrived sooner?
What if you had noticed something earlier?
What if things had gone differently?
The questions never ended.
Today they carried a different shape.
What if Ethan didn’t come back?
The thought hit hard enough that she immediately rejected it.
No.
Not happening.
He was experienced.
Skilled.
Capable.
Search-and-rescue pilots handled difficult weather constantly.
She knew that.
Everyone knew that.
Still.
The fear remained.
Because knowledge and emotion rarely followed the same rules.
A radio suddenly crackled.
Several people looked up simultaneously.
The dispatcher straightened.
Static filled the room.
Then a voice emerged.
Broken.
Distorted.
But recognizable.
“Rescue One…”
The room seemed to exhale.
Everyone moved at once.
Dispatchers adjusted frequencies.
Operators recorded transmissions.
Questions flew across communication channels.
Riley didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until air rushed from her lungs.
The signal remained weak.
Intermittent.
Yet one thing became clear immediately.
Ethan was alive.
Relief hit harder than expected.
Far harder.
The intensity caught her completely off guard.
Across the room, Mason visibly relaxed.
Only slightly.
Enough for Riley to notice.
The radio transmission improved over the next several minutes.
Contact was re-established.
The helicopter was returning.
The rescue had succeeded.
Everything was fine.
Everything should have felt normal again.
Instead Riley sat quietly staring at the operations board.
Trying to understand why her hands were shaking.
Not visibly.
Barely.
Still enough to notice.
Still enough to matter.
The helicopter landed roughly forty minutes later.
By then most people had returned to work.
The crisis had passed.
The operation continued.
Life moved forward.
Riley tried doing the same.
Unfortunately, curiosity won.
She found herself outside near the landing area when the aircraft arrived.
Pure coincidence.
Mostly.
The helicopter touched down smoothly despite difficult conditions.
Rotors slowed.
Crew members disembarked.
Passengers followed.
Everyone appeared safe.
Everyone appeared fine.
Then Ethan climbed out.
Snow covered his flight suit.
His hair looked windblown.
He appeared tired.
Completely normal.
The sight produced an immediate rush of relief.
There it was again.
Stronger this time.
More personal.
More dangerous.
Ethan spotted her standing nearby.
A grin immediately appeared.
“Good news.”
Riley folded her arms.
“You finally learned how radios work?”
He laughed.
The familiar sound settled something restless inside her.
“We had communication issues.”
“You think?”
“I prefer to call it building suspense.”
She should have rolled her eyes.
Instead she found herself smiling.
The realization arrived without warning.
If the transmission had never returned…
If the helicopter had gone down…
If the storm had won…
It would have hurt.
Not professionally.
Personally.
The distinction mattered.
More than she wanted it to.
Ethan continued talking.
Probably making another joke.
Riley barely heard it.
Because a truth had quietly settled into place.
She cared.
Far more than she should.
Far more than made sense.
And losing Ethan Cross would affect her in ways she wasn’t ready to examine.
Not yet.
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