Last MONTH I started a description of attending fires as a brand new firefighter. I did not have any frame of reference at that time to know where a human being could or should go in relation to what looked (to me) like a raging, out-of-control, planet-ending fire. So, I took my place on the hoseline behind my senior colleagues, hung on for dear life, and went along on a rapid ride to wherever my crew took me. At first, I was convinced that I had joined a thrill show in an insane asylum. It seemed they instantly raced to what looked like the most impossible place and then fought in that spot until the fire was out. Sometimes, they fought and fought and fought.
Generally, we fought until we overpowered the fire, but occasionally the fire would literally blow us out of the building. Sometimes such a thermal eviction was so conclusive that it would keep us outside. Other times, it would only aggravate my psychopathic crew, and they would quickly produce a bigger line or enlist the help of another team of attack whackos, and we would go back inside. As I recall, the second-time attacks broke about even between extinguishment and another explosive ride out.
After my prayers and promises to reject sin and deliver medicine to sick babies in third-world places caused me to survive yet another one of these suicide missions, I would engage my captain. He would patiently explain why we did what we did. As we went to more fires, I started to understand that my captain and the crew members were extremely courageous and very capable. Looking back, I realize they always protected and took care of their youngest and dumbest crew member.
If you are a current subscriber,login hereto access this content.
If you would like to become a subscriber, please visit ushere.
