and.... 'cut!.'

​

   Callum floated there for a few seconds before he spontaneously thrashed his arms and legs, his upper torso convulsing, trying to expel the saline liquid that had invaded his lungs.
   His eyes registering daylight from the North sea sky, his nervous system triggering his brain, urging it to catch up, his vision now registering the rescue rib vessel that had been launched from the HMS Valliant nuclear submarine, that was now smashing against the waves, heading to rescue his soul, which was owned by the UK government. 
   Holding his breath he plunged his head under the waves looking for the oil rig helicopter that he had just escaped from. There was no sign of the crashed mechanical bird, it was as if his body had been teleported to this exact GPS location, because there was now no vehicular evidence.
   He tried to look through the deep blue of the sea under the waves, for a light from the helicopters beacon, but nothing, then there was a tug against his back, his arms flailing, as the rescue team from HMS Valliant dragged him onto the rib.
   A hundred feet below them James McInnis had managed to unsecure his seatbelt in the slowly descending helicopter and was now scrambling to click the button to release his brother Joe who was sitting next to him, Joe stopped James in his tracks and started to use divers signals and ushered his older brother to look under the seat instead of helping him.

   James was now at the upper limits of air and what his lungs could hold. The carbon dioxide in his lungs building, making his eyesight blur.
   He scrambled and saw it, the oxygen tank and respirator that after the Piper Alpha disaster in the eighties all oil rig helicopters were legally obliged to carry should they have to take a plunge into the drink.
James opened the valve, and the now free compressed air released millions of bubbles into the cockpit like a hot tub being turned on.

   He sucked on the respirator, like a baby sucking on the breast of her mother, the life-giving air tasted so sweet, like the first cup of coffee in the morning. He gulped a few times, his lungs now full with the vital gas it needed for life.
   Floating the oxygen tank onto the helicopter seat he handed it to Joe, who grabbed it like an alcoholic with a bottle of whiskey that was being passed around in the park, Joe put the divers respirator into his mouth and gulped, alive.
   James looked under his brothers seat and found the second oxygen tank and pulled it out into the water filled cockpit. He ushered for his brother to keep breathing and put the spare life giver in his mouth. 
   The helicopter bounced on the floor of the seabed, releasing sand that had laid undisturbed since Dogger bank was flooded when an ice shelf crashed off the coast of Norway a millennia ago, destroying the once fertile land connecting Scotland to Europe.
   There was enough light coming from the roof of the sea for James to work out that this particular part of Dogger bank wasn’t that deep, perhaps one hundred meters in depth, they were lucky. 
   If you was a submariner or diver you would know that the bends wouldn’t be an issue for the McInnis brothers when they ascended to the sanctuary of the oil rig they had bought in cash one month before.
   James pressed the button on his brothers seatbelt, and it pinged opened. Joe gave a thumbs up and turned to the helicopter side passenger door and managed to push it, forcing it to open.
   The brothers held onto their air tanks in one hand and the respirators in their mouths and were now outside the tomb they were lucky to have escaped from.
   Joe stopped James in his tracks who wasn’t hanging around, wanting to leave the seabed behind and re-visit the sanctuary of land, 
Joe gave another divers signal – ‘hold’ – to his brother, who watched with confusion because Joe was now re-entering the helicopter and going against his instinct. 
   James floated there above the calm of the seabed, breathing freely through the respirator alone, the marine life now scattered due to the spaceship that had just landed in their world disturbing them. James watched his brother Joe reach around the cockpit floor, frantically, then what he saw made James laugh out bubbles as if drawing on a gong.
   James put his hand out as Joe handed him his Glock 9mm revolver before putting his one in his back pocket. They both looked north in unison, up to the light blue of the sea, and both of them started to slowly ascend together, and both of them, now armed.
​

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