Kjell Erlandsen

The storm came in fast. One moment, the sea was restless but manageable, the sky thick with grey clouds. The next, the wind screamed through the steel skeleton of the platform, and the waves below rose like moving walls. I was in the middle of a routine check on the gas separators when the first real gust hit, nearly knocking me off balance. Over the radio, the shift supervisor’s voice crackled. "All non-essential personnel inside. Now."

I work on the world's largest natural gas platform, about 100 kilometers from Bergen, Norway. I’m 35 years old, and in my years out here, I’ve seen plenty of storms. We’re built for rough weather, but something about this one felt different. More electric. More dangerous.

Inside the control room, a few of us gathered around the monitors, watching as wind speeds climbed. 27 meters per second. 30. A rogue wave hit the platform’s side, sending a tremor through the floor. The old-timers shrugged. "Just another Tuesday."

Then the alarm sounded. Not the usual drills we did every week. A real one. Gas detection. Zone 3.

For a few seconds, nobody moved. Then training kicked in. I grabbed my fire-resistant gear and followed the lead technician toward the affected area. The wind fought us the whole way, the rain reducing visibility to near zero. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

We reached the pipeline junction, where sensors had detected a pressure drop. No visible leaks, but the numbers weren’t lying. Something was off. Then I smelled it—that sharp, metallic scent beneath the sea air. Gas.

If it ignited, we’d be in serious trouble. The storm made helicopter evacuations impossible, so we had to handle it ourselves. The technician barked orders. I crouched by the emergency shut-off valve, hands steady despite the chaos. One wrong move, and—

A bolt of lightning split the sky. For a split second, everything turned white. My ears rang from the thunderclap, but I didn’t stop. The valve creaked as I forced it shut. The gas levels stabilized.

By the time we got back inside, soaked and exhausted, the storm had already begun to ease. Just another shift in the North Sea.