6
“Thursday. This has gotta be a Thursday.”
“It’s Tuesday. You and I go off rotation on Thursday.”
“Oh, that’s why I always thought Thursdays sucked. You sure this isn’t a Thursday?” Sly would always rather be flying—except maybe tonight. The hangar’s inside worklights barely made it out the door. Beyond the windshield of his US Coast Guard HH-65 Dolphin helicopter the sideways rain slashed even harder off the Pacific than when he’d done their dinner run. As the engines continued spinning up, he decided that the night looked very, very Thursdayish no matter what Ham said.
Air Station Astoria was defended from the direct onslaught of the Pacific storms which slammed the Oregon Coast by sitting three miles inland. The problem was that the high point in that three miles was all of eight f
