An End of Winter Teaser

It’s been an interminable winter, good only for one thing, writing.  Work on the sequel to Mayday: Firefighter Down! is coming along, up to around 69,000 words so far.  Predicting when a project will be complete is an act of futility, but a “teaser” may be in order.  No plot or story hints right now, but here is a scene I recently finished. 

Mickey was on kelly day Monday, the next day Dave’s shift worked.  Firefighter Mark Perry, a five year man, was detailed in to cover the shift.  On overtime from the fifth battalion, none of the truck crew had worked with him before. 

            The morning routine proceeded normally until Dave walked into the kitchen around 8:15 for a caffeine refill and found the detail man sitting at the table reading the newspaper.  Before he could say anything, Pizza walked in. 

            “Have you finished your equipment check out, kid?” 

            Dave knew Pizza wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t already know the answer. 

            Perry answered without looking up from the paper.

            “I’ll get to it.” 

            Joe balled up his fists and started for the detail man until Dave raised his hand. 

            “Perry, my office, now.” 

            “Come on, Captain; don’t tell me you’re one of those rule book pukes.  I heard you were a straight shooter.” 

            Dave looked over at Pizza.  He used every ounce of restraint in his body not to grab the kid by the throat. 

            “Perry, either walk out the door and go on sick leave or get your ass in my fucking office now.” 

            The young firefighter rose, and faced Michaels.

            “Sure Captain, let’s go have a chat.” 

            In the office, Dave leaned against his desk while Perry slouched in one of the extra chairs.  The engine officer was out on a run. 

            “What’s your problem?” Dave asked.

            “My problem?  I’m here on an overtime shift, not to kill myself.  You want to give me that rule book shit, no problem.  I’ll be filing a grievance by lunch time.” 

            “Kid, let me explain something to you.  On this company, firefighting isn’t something we do, it’s who we are.  You just want to collect a check, go back to the fifth.  I don’t want you here.” 

            “Gladly, I feel like I’ve got a fever coming on anyway,” Perry said, rising from the chair.  Michaels walked past him and opened the office door, motioning him out.  As he hit the threshold, Dave said, “he’s all yours, Pizza.” 

            Outside the office, Pizza waited.  Perry walked out and Dave shut the door behind him.  Pizza grabbed Perry by the throat with one hand and lifted him from the ground, pinning him against the wall. 

            “You listen to me, fuck-wad.  You’re not going to file a grievance; you’re not going to file shit.  I know everybody in this department and I’ll make sure the rest of your short career will be a living hell.  You want to learn to be a fireman, stay; we’ll teach you.  You want to leave, be my guest.  I don’t give a shit which.  Now nod you understand.” 

            Perry’s face was red, verging on purple from lack of oxygen.  Pizza flexed his wrist to make the young man’s head bob like a puppet.  He dropped him to the floor, turned, and walked away.  Perry sank to his knees, gasping for breath, bruises starting to form on his neck. 

            Within minutes, Perry gathered his gear and exited the rear door, driving away without another word.  Dave walked across the apparatus floor to the battalion chief’s office. 

            “My detailed firefighter went home sick,” he told the chief.  The older man looked up from his desk and Dave, lifting one eyebrow. 

“Anything I need to know, Dave?”

“You may not want to take him in the battalion on any more details; seems prone to…illness.” 

            “Got it, Dave; you okay running understaffed until I can call somebody in?” 

            “Yeah, we’re fine.  Give Mickey a call.  I don’t think he had anything special planned today; might make it easier.”  Dave knew Mickey might appreciate the overtime he’d get paid for coming in on his day off.

            “Okay Dave, I’ll let you know.” 

 

 

Not Sexy But Necessary: Overhaul

There are few jobs on the fire ground less sexy than overhaul.  That said, it is right up there with laddering the building, ventilation, and the like in terms of importance.  Long before I was old enough to wear bunker fear for more than cute pictures, I heard my father, “generation one,” repeat one of his main firefighting philosophical tenets on the subject multiple times:  “There is no such thing as a rekindle.” 

Overhaul can be hard, dirty, nasty work.  It’s a time when many tired firefighters get injured.  On heavily damaged structures it can be highly challenging.  One bad habit some departments get into is substituting the use of Class A foam for good overhaul practices.  “Just soak the hell out of it.  The foam will take care of it,” is something I’ve heard more than once.  Sorry, but there is no substitute for good overhaul—period. This is not a “how to” piece, just a suggestion to refocus on an important ingredient in the recipe. 

It can present a great learning opportunity for inexperienced firefighters.  They can learn about fire behavior, travel, construction types, cause and origin, and myriad other topics.  Nothing says that the officer supervising them has to remain silent.  He or she can talk about all these things while the crew works, using things they find as examples.  We have great tools today, unavailable years ago, such as thermal imaging cameras, but even this can be a crutch for proper overhaul if you let it. 

The building is in the basement and not safe or accessible?  Don’t just go home and wait for the neighbors to call in the “rekindle.”  Leave a single company or make arrangements to send one out at a set time to take care of the anticipated flare-ups.  You may need to do either or both for days, depending upon the building. 

Whatever the fire situation, don’t just call it out and go home because everybody is tired.  There’s no such thing as a rekindle—only the fire that didn’t get put out the first time. 

 

You are about to take that first important jump in rank.  It might get you a different color helmet.  It definitely will change other things. 

You’re a good firefighter, but you’re young and will be moving up over more experienced firefighters, some of which are your friends.  There are mixed emotions.  How you respond to this is a test in your capacity for greater responsibility.  Not everyone wants promotion, and reaching a level of satisfaction is not a bad thing.  Some of your friends are content at their present level and job. 

The important and difficult part of managing your buddies is perspective and balance.  You can’t let them get away with murder on the one hand, but a domineering heavy hand is no good on the other.  Finding the balance point is easier said than done, and will take time, trial, and error.  Anyone who tells you they know exactly where that is, well, they’re lying to you.  The good guys under you will want you to succeed.  Those that don’t, and they are out there, will be easily identified.  Even though some will attempt to undermine your authority, treat them fairly.  That doesn’t mean you let them succeed with their obstructionism, but by not lowering yourself to their level, others will notice. 

Lead by example, both in the station and on the fire ground.  Show, don’t tell.  A good officer doesn’t have to talk a lot to earn respect and get others to follow.  Treat the firefighters under you the way you wanted officers to treat you. 

 At every level, somebody moves up, and others do not; it is how it is.  By now you’ve seen good, bad, and great officers.  Take the characteristics of those you like and respect, and emulate them.  As importantly, avoid those of the officers you don’t. 

Be accepting of change, but not unthinkingly.  All change isn’t bad, but it isn’t all good either.  The rookies will frustrate you at times.  Some may not progress as quickly as you think they should.  Try to learn patience.  Everyone learns in different ways and rates.  Mentoring is a long game, and sometimes goes into overtime. 

You know already that the right people don’t always get the promotions, and so does everyone else.  Putting on a new helmet doesn’t make you an officer.  Your actions and attitude do that.