A/N:

This chapter pays tribute to the efforts of the Royal Navy assisting the people of Central America during the events of Hurricane Mitch in 1997/98. Other than the name of the hurricane and some description of the ship, this is entirely fictional. Recent events show us that one thing we learn from history is that we don't learn from history.

Not yet, Emma, not quite yet (but thanks for the nudge, I tried my best, you'll see)!

Chapter 8

Carson snapped the first aid kit back into its wall mount, and made a few notes on his pad. As he left the bridge, he passed a young lieutenant looking at a computer screen. There seemed to be a huge purple splodge covering one side of the display. He stood, transfixed, as the colourful swirl twitched menacingly.

"What the hell is that, son?" he asked, allowing his feeling of dread to be heard.

"It's a tropical storm, sir." The officer removed his headset and swivelled to face Carson. "It's about a hundred miles due west of our current position. I believe they have called it 'Mitch'."

"Holy crap. Why do they have to name these bloody things? You're telling me it's a hurricane? Why has no-one told me, yet?" Anger kicked out the fear.

"It's not a hurricane yet, sir. I believe the forecast is due to be updated at 1800 hours. The Captain is likely to inform you at tomorrow morning's briefing if we expect trouble."

"Oh. Right. It doesn't look good though, does it?" Carson was little appeased.

"I don't believe so, sir, no." The headset was put back on, and he turned back to his station.

0o0o0

After almost a year serving on board this new assault-class helicopter carrier, Carson had settled well into a life at sea. It was an excellent appointment. He figured his lack of recent experience was the reason for being assigned to the yet-to-be-named vessel. Less prestige, not yet battle-hardened. Just nice easy trips to break her in. Like an extended training voyage. Once she'd had the champagne cracked against her side, he could see a higher-ranking medic stepping in to take their rightful place. Right now, however, HMS potentially-Ocean was his. Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Beckett, only 30 years old, with responsibility for looking after this crew of 350 Navy and Marine crewmen and women. Sheer madness, he thought.

Not being sent to active hotspots didn't mean that Carson hadn't had his work cut out. A green crew meant one too many trips down stairwells, and more than average seasickness. He'd had to deal with a reasonable quantity of surgery, namely one appendicitis, and a dental extraction. It made him glad he'd had a brief spell in surgery at Plymouth before they sent him off. Here he had a good team of technicians, and he had found his stride quickly. He enjoyed being in charge in the infirmary, and found he had good standing with the Captain.

What he'd seen on that screen now worried him. Hurricanes were bad news, he knew that much. Could the ship handle it? Could the crew handle it? He hoped the Captain would have the good sense to turn tail and steam back across the Atlantic.

0o0o0

"Well, that's it, gentlemen. They expect it to travel down through Central America over the next week. We have no indication of likely damage, but it's not looking good." The tall, slim Captain paced in the wardroom as he spoke. The senior officers, including Carson as Principal Medical Officer, were ranged around the table, all faces grim.

"We've been asked to stand by to assist the local authorities. It's probable that we could be involved in a relief effort before very long. I know we weren't expecting to have to deal with anything like this, but it's happening, and we are closer than anyone else, so let's make it happen. Let's do our best."

Colonel Miller was the senior Royal Marine Commando on board. He stood up. "Captain, I know this vessel hasn't even begun sea trials yet. But…my men will be ready, and I know the rest of the crew will all pull their weight."

0o0o0

Carson called one of his medical assistants with an air of urgency, "Jack, come with me. Anderson is bringing in wounded. He'll be landing in a few minutes. Ben's bringing the stretchers." Carson continued barking orders to the crew around him as they prepared the infirmary.

Grabbing his case, he jogged up the stairs, followed by his team. Bracing themselves, they stepped out onto the flight deck, the strong wind made standing a struggle.

They searched the dark sky for the helicopter. The deck crewman pointed as he spotted the lights. The huge grey beast thundered towards them, bearing down on the deck, as the aircraft handler tried to guide him in. The wind was making it difficult for the helicopter to manoeuvre, the crew on the deck watched as it swung wildly, unable to stabilise for a landing.

"Oh Lord." Carson cried under his breath, as the handler dived to one side when the helicopter veered without warning. The pilot managed to pull the helicopter back from the deck, but the wind was still buffeting the aircraft.

"He's not going to be able to land." Jack yelled to Carson. Carson turned to reply, when suddenly the huge helicopter crashed heavily down onto the deck, almost nose first. The noise was deafening as the metal scraped and crunched onto the landing area. Aircraft handlers swarmed around the craft, securing the ditched monster, flat on its belly in front of them, huge blades whirring without sign of stopping. Carson ran forward, and a handler stood aside to let him enter the body of the helicopter.

The next hour was a complete blur to Carson. He had a pilot with concussion and a broken ankle, a co-pilot with lacerations and knee bruising, two crewmen with assorted cuts and bruises, plus the four terrified passengers, who now had bruising to add to their variety of compound fractures, head injuries and various wounds. It was down to Carson to assess the situation and direct his team to get everyone stabilised and into the infirmary as fast as possible. Seeing the fear in the eyes of his young technicians, he stayed cool and authoritative, giving them the clear direction they needed to stay focussed. He never quite knew how they did it, but he suspected adrenaline had a lot to do with it. Oh, and The Team Works.

A/N: Past half-way now! Thanks for reading, really appreciate everyone popping by! Big question now - what's he going to do next? He's got years before he goes to Antarctica! And what about his family? What are they up to? (Brace yourself Vilya.)