"Jesus Christ, this feels like the Marines again. 'Here's your boots, here's some clothing, now go do some dangerous shit.'"
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"Well, good morning, everyone."
It's 8am, and I'm seated in an airport awaiting a flight to Alabama. I figured I could at least throw a quick post up while I'm here (damn airport doesn't have free WiFi… can I write this off on my taxes as a business expense?), since there's nothing to do until our flight takes off.
Train at the nation's premier all-hazards training center! FEMA’s Center for Domestic Preparedness (CDP), located in Anniston, Alabama, is the United States Department of Homeland Security (DHS)'s only federally chartered Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) training center.
The CDP began operations in June 1998 as the only all-hazards training center, offering training on Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear, and Explosive (CBRNE) weapons. While the training tempo has increased dramatically, the CDP’s training programs provide the very best in advanced hands-on training for America's emergency responders. On March 31, 2007, the Noble Training Facility (NTF) was transferred from the U.S. Fire Administration (USFA) to the CDP. NTF is the only hospital facility in the United States dedicated to training hospital and healthcare professionals in disaster preparedness and response.
"Do not ever let go of this!"
;t quite drive the point home yet. Never let it go!)
It was a Windows 3.1 game from 1991. The screen looked like this:
Freedom is the right to one's soul; the right of each person to approach God in his own way and by his own means. It is a man's right to possess his mind and conscience for himself. To those who put their trust in freedom, the state can have no sovereignty over the mind or soul — must be the servant of man's reason, not the master.
Free men must re-dedicate themselves to the cause of freedom. They must understand with a new certainty of conviction that the cause of freedom is the cause of the human individual. Human individuality is the basis of every value — spiritual, moral, intellectual, creative — in human life.
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!"
Long time, no post. This week has just
been very monotonous, with a lot of classroom lectures. Plenty of PowerPoints…
very few practicals.
The tedium, however, was broken today.
“Don’t let it hit the ground!”
Sgt. Paulson walked out to the recruits
clustered near the burn building. We were bullshitting and fidgeting—wondering
if we’d be able to get out early today—when we raised our eyes to a
quickly-growing speck outlined in the blue sky. It was a hand light, tumbling
towards a mass of regulation blue. Like so many bridesmaids reaching for a
bouquet, a few managed to get their hands on it (I think we still managed to
drop one, though).
We had one goal this afternoon: to fill
the burn building with cosmetic smoke and then empty it out with fans and smoke
ejectors. The concepts of positive/negative pressure ventilation can be quickly
explained, but seeing them in action seemed to help solidify our understanding.
A small machine on the floor kicked into
overdrive, sending clouds of fake smoke swirling around us (we were in the
“kitchen” area of the burn building, if the two rusted-out stoves were any
indication).
Smoke began finding its own way to the remainder of the building,
and we walked around in a quick orientation of the various levels and rooms.
Back outside, we watched the Sergeant haul
an exhaust fan onto the window ledge from the inside of the second floor; when
turned on, smoke could thus be sucked out through those roaring fan blades.
Alternatively, you could pressurize the entire building with a fan aimed into a
doorway from outside and let it vent out the upper windows; either way
increases visibility for firefighters and helps clear the air for victims stuck
inside.
More on ventilation later, as it’s a
comprehensive topic that we’re not nearly done with (next week is all practical
instruction about ventilation and forcible entry).
The burn building is a fascinating setting
for pictures, just as a side note. The slight mist of a not-quite-fully
ventilated building, dark shadows cut by beams of light, and silhouettes of
recruits provide yet another surreal setting. Again, I felt like I was enclosed
in another world, but was able to step safely back into the afternoon sunlight
of my home planet.
Even through all the noise and smoke, you could feel the energy pulsing outside "the can." The recruits were talking, but most of it was muffled through our masks and we soon gave up trying to hear each other. After a bit of instruction, we were packed into the small corrugated box along with a few instructors (and some of the experienced recruits, who acted more as helpers than as students).
"Alright, click in!"
We obliged, our gloved hands now beginning to perform certain movements without the awkward hesitation we had embodied several weeks ago. With regulators firmly in place, and all of us on air, we sat and listened to the hiss of each other breathing (I remember thinking it sounded like a Vader family reunion in there).
At first, all we could see was a figure outlined in the neon red of a road flare, his figure shifting around the box and moving towards an irregular pile of wood. He touched the flare to some straw-like tinder inside a big metal drum, and the iridescent red was soon drowned out by a growing flash of yellow and orange. Although our face pieces were slowly de-fogging from the air flowing from our regulators, the interior of the can still had an eerily surreal quality.
The fire began growing inside the drum, and smoke began to bank down inside the can. Lit only by the dancing fire from the front of the container, layers of black began to form in the air, obscuring our vision even more. Occasionally, Sgt. Woodward would order one or both of the doors to be cracked open, allowing smoke and heat to escape for a bit.
After one such instance, he ordered us to all take a deep breath and hold it; as we knelt on the floor in complete silence, it was simultaneously the creepiest and coolest moment that I've had in the Academy yet. There was absolutely no noise except for a gentle snapping and popping from the fire, and we could just barely see tongues of flame showing through the smoke—it was performing for us on a darkly lit stage.
"If you're crawling down a hallway and you can't find the fire: just stop and listen for it. It'll tell you where it is."
The instructors had told us that we wouldn't be experiencing any real heat for a while; and while the can was slightly warm (think of wearing a parka on a summer day), it wasn't by any means unbearable or uncomfortable. I think most of us were too fascinated by the fire and smoke gathering around us to care, to be honest.
As we exited and allowed our gear to cool off, another group loaded more fuel into the upper chamber of the can for the next burn.
One recruit even had a helmet-mounted video camera that he took inside; he said he'd be sharing the footage with us on Monday. I've not figured it out yet, but I'm determined to figure out a way to get either a still or video camera into a fire somewhere. I mean, there must be some way that they take all those photos that are in our textbooks, right?
It was another sweaty, dirty, body-beating end to the day—and that's on top of the six miles we ran for PT that very morning.
This just gets better and better, doesn't it?







