I am so proud of him, this is an amazing essay.
It all seemed like a regular evening at the firehouse, quiet as usual. We might get a 2 or 3 a.m. medical call, but probably not even that. I was all alone tonight, as the other firefighters who usually stayed all had school or work the next morning. I had work of my own, but I was a live-in at the firehouse, meaning I stayed there every night, running calls in exchange for a place to sleep. As I laid down for bed, little did I know I would not be getting much sleep that night.
It felt like only minutes since I had drifted into my peaceful slumber, before I shot up in bed to the sounds of our house alarm, alerting me that we had a call. I sat there for a moment, groggy, waiting to hear the buzz of the radio telling me what the call was for.
The squelch of the radio reached my ears, spewing out information. " Box eleven zero seven for the working structure fire with possible entrapment, 6047 Red Bud Lane, cross streets Warland Road and John Barton Payne Road, company eleven, station eleven, companies one, three, five, ten, tanker one, tanker three, tanker ten, respond channel assignment eleven David, time out double-zero thirty." This was telling me it was in our first due, we were the closest firehouse, and the house was on fire with a possibility of people inside. My stomach did a flip-flop. It was a working structure fire. This was it!
I leapt from my bed and dressed myself faster than I ever had before, then ran out to grab my structural fire fighting gear. Gear in hand, I ran down to the lower bay and opened the garage door up, then turned on the truck. I donned my gear. Minutes seemed like hours as I waited for someone to show up. Finally, my rescue captain Butch came in on two wheels, sliding across the gravel. He jumped out of the spot where the truck had finished the 360 spin and grabbed his gear.
As he ran down to the truck, it was beginning to look like we were going to be the only ones on the first out truck. I reluctantly climbed into the officer's seat, very eager to get to the fire yet hesitant to take the heavy responsibility riding here would carry for me. The second we pulled out, both our lives and the quarter of a million dollar truck were my responsibility to keep safe. Someone had to do it, and I was the only one there, so I slammed the door shut and reassured myself everything would be fine.
As Butch climbed in the driver's seat, the urgency was getting greater by the second. The truck gave a great rumble as he climbed in and slammed the pedal to the floor. I reached over and flicked on our lights, and started working the siren pedals with my feet. I reached over and grabbed the radio microphone. "Wagon Eleven with two," I said, trying to remain calm and collected as I was letting our dispatch know we were on the way with just two of us.
The dispatcher acknowledged me, and repeated to me the address and situation as before. The wail of the sirens and the rumble of the truck filled my ears as we neared the fire. It was starting to hit me what we were in for. I was the only trained firefighter out of the two of us, and this was a major step in experience level for me to be in charge of the rig.
As we turned onto Red Bud Lane, I eased off the siren because we were just a few driveways away. As we got to the foot of 6047, my eyes were drawn to the glowing flames as they danced 30 feet into the air out of a residential garage. Proceeding up the drive, I picked up the radio mic and slowly stammered out, "Wagon Eleven on scene, we have a confirmed working structure fire." I paused for a few seconds, sizing up the situation. I began to speak into the mic again. "Single family, two story dwelling with heavy fire showing on side Alpha and Delta. The garage is fully involved."
My mind raced as I tried to plan my initial search, as we still had unconfirmed entrapment. Butch slowed and asked if I wanted to drop some supply hose for the next in truck. Without hesitating I replied, "No, I need you to get up there quick. We could still have people in there and we need to get in before the whole structure is compromised."
As we neared the house from the seemingly unending driveway, I spotted an elderly couple standing on the front lawn. I jumped out while Butch proceeded to drive closer. "Sir, can you tell me if anyone is still inside?" I asked the elderly gentleman, who looked a bit disheveled. With my heart racing and adrenaline pumping, it seemed like all the time in the world before he replied, "No, it was only us." Without missing a beat, I reached for the mic on my portable radio and began to talk to dispatch: " Wagon eleven officer to dispatch, all occupants are clear of the structure, We will be initiating an attack." Dispatch acknowledged me right away.
The early morning still was sweltering as the heat, in combination with the gear I was wearing, had me sweating profusely as I ran to get back to the truck. I grabbed the 200-foot section of our 1 3/4" attack hose line and proceeded to drag it out in front of the burning garage. After I flaked it out, I dropped to a knee and put on my facemask and turned on the air bottle, feeling a cool rush of fresh air. I topped my head with my knomex fire resistant hood and helmet, and slid into my gloves.
With my gloves now on, I grabbed the nozzle with one hand, and with the other put a finger in the air, making a circular motion to Butch to let him know to "charge" the line or let it fill with water. I watched the water slowly fill the line until it reached the nozzle, which I was now gripping tightly with both hands.
I pushed forward towards the blistering heat, hose and nozzle in hand, breathing heavily. As I watched the flames lapping around the now almost non-existent cars in the garage, I eased open the nozzle. I could feel it pushing back as I slowly opened it fully, allowing 350 gallons of water a minute to flow out onto the raging inferno. Slowly, I advanced. The heat was now blistering. Even with my full protective gear on, I could feel the intense heat. I pushed forward, drowning the base of the fire, trying to knock it down.
To my relief, I saw out of the corner of my eye our tanker and engine pulling up the drive right behind our wagon. My lieutenant and chief jumped out of the engine. Pressure slipped off me as I heard my chief tell dispatch he was assuming command and scene control. My lieutenant came rushing behind me and told me we were going in the door. He got behind me, backing me up as we advanced the heavy hose. It was getting heavier by the minute, and I could tell my adrenaline was wearing off. We advanced forward into the intense heat. As we looked to our side, we could see the heat making the finish on the stairwell boil and bubble. The cool flow of the water began to smother the fire, and we were almost ready to back out.
As we turned to move the hose line out, the roof collapsed on our means of exit. I handed the nozzle to my lieutenant and prepared to attempt to clear our path of exit when the buzz of the low air alarm on my air pack reached my ears. This meant I had five minutes or less of air left. Fighting through exhaustion, I pushed a series of joists aside and off our line, allowing us enough room to squeeze out an exit, only moments before my bottle completely ran out of air. Upon exit, I ripped off my mask, sucking in the fresh air into my lungs.
My lieutenant and I walked over to a tree and stripped off our gear, breathing heavily from our efforts. As we sat to catch our breath and allow our hearts to slow, the thud thud of my heart in my chest seemed to be loud enough for everyone to hear. We sat, and watched as two other crews finished what we had started, eliminating what remained of the fire.
It was now five a.m., and we had just completed a final walk through of the building, using a thermal imager to ensure there were no hot spots left that might make the fire start back up. As we were getting our truck packed up, my chief came up and told me I had done a fine job. Through utilizing my training and remaining calm, I had controlled a massive fire within a garage long enough for other trucks to arrive. It was my first ride in the officer's seat, and I had done a great job.
