"Research Vessel Eureka, this is Helicopter 424 in the blind, how copy?"
The male voice had that tremulous, distorted quality as it came in, the rotors beating rhythmically in the background.
"We copy Helicopter 424, go ahead" This voice was female and crystal clear, and was young, markedly young for one operating a radio on a ships bridge.
"Eureka I am inbound with your passengers and supplies from your...north west, about fifteen minutes out. What's it lookin' like down there?"
Far from the rigors of Air Traffic Control, and in an area of the Alaskan Coastline where this sort of exchange was a mundane and frequent occurrence, both parties dispensed with a lot of the formalities.
She gave him wind, the ships course and speed, and let him know they were ready to receive. He gave her a few more updates as he came in.
What started as a black speck on a grayish foam capped sea grew in a short time to a sort of lozenge shaped craft, and finally to the Eureka herself, a large research vessel based out of California, its crew mostly made up of college aged students using grant money to study everything from the impact of the local fishing industry to temperature changes in the various currents that ran up and down the coast.
Black hulled with a towering white bridge, a long midsection and a slightly elevated helipad aft, it was so new as to practically shine against the surface of the sea.
The Sikorsky S-92A was a large helicopter, and barely fit onto what would have otherwise been a large and comfortable helipad. Yellow with black accents, it made a low lap around the ship before it climbed, started its descent towards the ships rear, and then gradually came down, down, down to the point where the newer deck crew finally turned their backs and shielded their eyes from the force of the rotor wash and the spray from the choppy foam capped waves.
It touched down with a very slight bounce and adopted the gentle rocking motion of the ship beneath it. The keening of the engines wound down, the rotor blades slowed and gradually dipped, and the pilot opened his door to let it the sudden whistling roar of the wind and the cold of the stinging spray into the previously peaceful cabin.
His unbuckling seemed to be the signal for the five people seated in the main body to unbuckle as well, and each of them disentangled themselves, snatched up personal belongings and placed headsets back in their racks.
As they did so, Michael Shaw stepped out onto the deck of the Eureka and pulled off his helmet before he glanced back at his helicopter protectively, and ran a keen eye over the slowing rotors.
He was maybe in his thirties, although he had a weathered quality about him that made him seem older than he was. With blue eyes narrowed against the wind and a very short crop of blond hair that complemented the dark blue of his jumpsuit.
Tall without the muscle of a gym rat, and handsome without being remarkable, he was nothing special, especially in a place like Anchorage.
"Morning" he called over the fitful wind with a smile as a trio approached the helicopter deck. As he did so the first of his passengers filed past him dragging a wheeled case of hard, black plastic and half turned to nod an acknowledgement before continuing on.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:34, Sun 10 Jan 2021.
