"I need more line!"
I had almost reached the top of the interior stairs, and could see the light from the third floor doorway lightening the smoke above me. All the hose stacked on my shoulder had played off onto the steps, but I still needed another fifty or so feet to make it into the room and across the hall. A commotion I had been listening to below me suddenly gave way to a bunch of slack, as my officer and layout man untangled everything and ran the line through the center of the stairwell. They joined me a second later, and we moved upstairs as I jokingly asked what had taken so long.
Without hesitation, George replied:
"There was, um… a situation we had to take care of."
Jay just laughed, and the three of us entered the smoky upstairs hallway.
—————
[several minutes earlier...]
"Shit, he's gonna charge this line in a second. Hey, stay back here and help me out with this… let him get up as far as he can!"
George's voice carried just far enough to make Jay spin around and start frantically pulling hose. Eventually, the slack stopped coming—the hose, tight around every corner and each stairwell landing, was stretched as far as it would go. George cursed.
Suddenly, his body straightened and he seemed revived as an idea hit him.
"We don't have time to get a standpipe pack up here and extend this… so I'll go run it through the middle of the stairwell and buy us some line. You pull the shit up and tie it off right here."
George's hand slapped the metal railing and sent a 'ping' echoing off the concrete walls. Before it could fade, he had already disappeared down the stairs and into the smoke.
About a floor and a half down, George reached over the railing and grabbed as much of the hose as he could. Torquing his body, he managed to wrestle the majority of it into the center void space between the two sides of the stairwell.
"Alright, pull!"
The line began flying straight up through his hands almost instantly as Jay hauled as much up as he could. As George turned to head back upstairs, he heard boots stomping behind him. Seconds later, a blur of helmet, hose, and Scotch-Brite came flying up the dark stairwell.
Reacting quickly, George planted a foot and pinned the figure against the wall of the landing. Pushing his facepiece up against the mystery figure's, demanded:
"Who the fuck is this?!"
"Second due engine company… get offa me! We're going upstairs!"
"The fuck you are… stay down here, where your slow ass belongs! First due's already got it!"
He punctuated his last statement with a forceful spin of his body that not only sent the other character stumbling backwards into the rest of his company, but aimed himself up the stairwell. In a flash, he was gone.
Noticing the neatly tied-off hose (so as not to have it slide down the void space when it was full of water), George slapped Jay twice on the back and crouched down beside him. Now with plenty of line—which had been charged sometime when George was playing stairwell linebacker—the three of us headed onto the fire floor.
—————
I crawled on my belly, feeling like a three-legged dog; my right arm was clutching the nozzle for dear life, while my remaining appendages tried to keep me a) low to the ground and b) moving forward. Needless to say, it probably didn't look pr
etty.
etty.
"Six Engine officer to Operations… we have found the fire room. Apartment 302—we're flowing water now." That fuzzy voice behind me was all I needed; I pushed open the door and crawled inside.
"Open that fucking pipe up!"
That didn't sound like Jay or George. Oh, great. Now I'm hearing voices. I knew this damn Academy would drive me insane… but wait a minute. Where in the hell did my mind acquire this particular gruff voice? Jesus? Is that you?
Regardless of who it was, I decided to comply. I opened the nozzle up, and aimed the straight stream upwards. The voice continued.
"Whip it around!"
I moved the nozzle around in fast circles at the ceiling. I could feel the nozzle wanting to push me backwards, but my crew behind me was planted firmly and kept the line in place.
"Good! Shut it down; tell Operations that the fire's knocked down, and someone open that window up."
As the smoke vented out the window, I looked up. Sergeant Woodward was grinning, quite obviously the one who had been barking directions.
Well, at least I'm not losing my mind. Not yet, anyways—we've still got nine weeks to go.
As we stood up and began walking out of the room, we heard the Sergeant's parting words to us.
"Nice job, guys. Now, where the fuck is the second due engine company?"
—————
On a belated note, I would like to thank everyone who helped out last week with Save Your Own. In particular, BFC Larry Anderson and FF Scott Creelman were outstanding instructors who taught us some of the most important lessons we'll ever learn as firefighters. We thank you (and our loved ones thank you) for showing us how to come home safely. Best of luck to both of you, and please know that our recruit class was deeply appreciative of all your time and effort.
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