In that moment, the Esperance careened down the side of a mountainous wave into a black trough that looked as deep as Hell’s Canyon in north Idaho. As the bow attempted to knife the oncoming wave, we took a deathly blow to the port side, tipping us to a starboard list which jerked three of the five Hellcats loose to crash onto the catwalk at Lookout 3 position. The heavy planes ripped the steel catwalk as though it were made of flimsy paper. A hideous roar of scraping steel rose above the howling fury of waves and wind before the planes disappeared beneath the water. Minutes later, another plane twisted around on its steel pads and plunged into the elevator well.
I stared looking for Jim on station 3, but his phones, still plugged in topside, dangled over the side, dipping in and out of the water as the ship listed. I glared at the pitiful OD, speechless with fury. I didn’t dare speak. I wanted to fling myself on him and beat the life out of him.
I cried out, “God, I know you’re out there someplace! No man or machinery can raise mountains of water like this or cause devastating winds to blow, and I’m not ready to meet you, wherever you are.”
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