"Gimme that damn radio, I'll be the officer this time."
I suspect my attempt at exuding confidence was quickly extinguished by my frantic need to check everything again; was the radio on? Was it on the right channel? Where was the rest of my crew? Did they know what they were doing? What in the hell would I say when I showed up on my assignment, and was expected to give a size-up report? Are we even inside the right engine?
I found out only moments later, while checking my SCBA for a third time.
"Engine 6, go! You're on scene!"
Sgt. Paulson's voice came crackling through the radio I clutched so desperately, and startled me back into reality. We were second due, and "arrived" only seconds after the first due engine had already given their on-scene report (the apparatus didn't actually move anywhere, they were already parked and we just climbed in and climbed out. Saves time, ya know?)
"Engine 6 to Operations, we've laid out at the A-B corner hydrant, and we're on scene at the C-Charlie side of the building. Showing two stories on this side with a cellar entrance, no smoke showing. We're making entry into the basement now."
Phew. Not so terrible, right? Ugh… no, I sounded like a moron. Come on, recruit—get your shit together!
I had the sneaking suspicion that I had forgotten something important, but the scene kept moving forward. No time to ponder that now.
"Engine 6, copy your layout and your size-up report. Give me an update when you've gained entry."
I grabbed a tool and knelt down beside my lineman, who had already pulled the attack line and was putting his mask on.
"We got this, Jay?"
The last thing I heard was "Fuck yes, Engine Six!" before the masks slid over our faces and we started breathing bottled air in big, raspy gulps.
Well, even if we screw this up, we still have pride in our Engine groups. That counts for something, right?
We descended into the basement, my lineman flaking hose off his shoulder in front of me.
"Engine Six to Operations, we've gained entry and we're seeing… um, light smoke conditions in the basement, no fire showing. We're ascending the, uh…. B… no, C-D stairwell now."
I held the mic button down for a few extra seconds after speaking, and only remembered to release my grip on it when I realized that Operations would eventually have to reply.
Remember how in public speaking class you always thought you sounded like an idiot when you said "uh" or "um" or just put a big pregnant pause in the middle of speaking? Yeah, you do. And it's a whole lot worse when every radio on the fireground is projecting your awkwardness.
"Copy that, Six. Let me know when you've reached Engine Five's location."
We kept climbing the stairwell, the blackness of the Roscoe fake-smoke machine cutting off all senses except auditory and tactile. With one, I strained to hear any sounds from my crew. With the other, I tried my best to flake the hoseline out while not falling on my face.
Up ahead on the second floor landing, the black in front of my eyes began to give way to an intermittent blue—our "fire" for the day (yes, it's just a blinking flashlight. Baby steps, okay?)
Just as I put the radio back to my face, I heard out of the darkness: "Engine Five Officer to Wagon Driver; charge our line!"
Dammit, no! I wanted to beat them to it. Argh.
"Engine Six Officer to Wagon, charge our line!" (as if by emphasizing it I could make it happen before those first-due bastards).
Just as I heard the eerie hiss of the hose filling up and straining against the walls of the stairway below us, I looked down. In the faint blue glow of the "fire," I saw a humongous pile of hoseline, which had been dumped to the ground and now terminated on my lineman's shoulder with a nozzle.
Aw, fuck.
Frantically, my layout man (who had by now joined us as a third hand) and I began racing against 160 p.s.i. of water pressure to try and untangle our business so we could get water on the fire. My last bit of hope lay with the fact that I caught Engine Five doing the same thing out of the corner of my eye.
It was no use; the line charged in our hands, and we were stuck struggling to get it down a hallway and into a room so we could loop it around and take up some of the slack.
"Fuck it, open it up! We'll get it fixed!" I shouted over my shoulder.
We began frantically rolling the charged hose down the hallway, and tossed it into a room.
Well, it's crossed and kinda weirdly placed, but there's no kinks. This might work.
Engines Five and Six opened their pipes at the same time, and gave a few short blasts towards the "fire."
"Engine Six to Operations… we've met up with Engine Five in the Charlie quadrant of the second floor, and we're flowing water."
"Copy that. Break it down and come on out."
I grabbed a few couplings and began dragging our drained hoseline out. As I stepped outside, I shoved the radio into George's coat pocket.
"Next time… this is yours."
—————
In 1908, a magician by the name of Nevil Maskelyne wrote:
It is an experience common to all men to find that, on any special occasion… everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Whether we must attribute this to the malignity of matter or to the total depravity of inanimate things, whether the exciting cause is hurry, worry, or what not, the fact remains.
While Nevil was writing about the production of stage magic (and the countless hours of preparation often dashed against the rocks when something goes wrong), we've begun to learn "Murphy's Law" on only the first day of Engine Operations.
You see, we had hurry, worry, and what not… and we must have looked like a bunch of toddlers trying to find their ass for the first time.
Regardless, many lessons can be learned from our first fledgeling steps into "putting it all together," as they say.
—————
Lesson 1: If you follow a hose into the building, and crash into three people whose helmets read unfamiliar names: that is not your hoseline. Yes, you must go back down the stairwell and try and re-trace the proper one. Fortunately, as is so often the case with hypothetical scenarios, I was saved by the order to stop the scenario and get set up for the next one. For future reference, let's all practice this line:
"Oh yeah, guys, I was just outside the room. I was coming to meet you, but then Sarge said it was over, so I came out to this random stairwell that wasn't even part of your entry plan and decided to wait for you."
Idiot.
Lesson 2: If you've got a load of hose on your shoulder, and you begin to go down a hallway that contains an instructor saying "No, go the other way", kindly don't reply with "oh, excuse me, sir" and try to wiggle past him. He's probably got a good point.
(Well, I wasn't much help either. i was behind him going "Go, go! Come on, already!")
Lesson 3: If you're told to aim a hose stream out of an A-side window to hydraulically ventilate (the water spraying to the outside sucks heat and smoke out the opening), try not to get disoriented and dump water out of the D-side—more importantly, at least aim away from the pavement where your instructors are standing.
—————
I'd like to amend Murphy's Law, and modify it slightly for our recruit class:
If 994 can fuck it up… we probably will fuck it up. But we'll have a damn good time doing it.
It's all in good fun, and we have a great laugh about it when we're all in the parking lot later. Truthfully, the remainder of Engine Operations looks like it's going to be a damn good time. As soon as we start working together, figuring out exactly what needs to get done and how to do it most efficiently, we might just be ready for an actual burning building.
But until then… I'm going to keep Murphy in mind every damn day. Is it possible to plan for too many contingencies?
I submit that it is not.
