January 3rd, 2010. The cold morning air was a stark contrast to the heat of the emotions that lingered from the night before. As I meticulously checked my gear, the weight of my mother’s unexpected visit—and her abrupt departure with Carter, whose acquaintance with her remains a mystery—pressed heavily on my mind. The absurdity of mistaking her return for a Girl Scout selling cookies did little to lighten my mood. Yet, I refused to let the incident disrupt my sleep; instead, I fortified my apartment with locks and deadbolts to keep my mother’s unwanted intrusions at bay while I was vulnerable or away at work.

The station’s PA system droned on, a grim reminder of the city’s baffling decision to ease penalties for crime. Arson, particularly, had seen a disturbing rise, with flames devouring both deserted and inhabited structures, fueled by neglect, accelerants, and the detritus of abandonment. The dangers of entanglement and entrapment loomed large in these infernos, a perilous dance with death for any who dared to confront them.

Linda’s insights from the other day echoed in my thoughts. Her perspective on the hierarchy of emergency response was clear: Engine Companies lead the charge, followed by Ladder, Squad, and finally, Rescue Companies if all else fails. In Little Bird, the numbers were staggering 302 Engines, 302 Ladders, 53 Rescues, and 17 HAZMAT companies.

A conversation with a fellow firefighter on Squad 769 snapped me back to the present. “Hey, I heard what happened to Carter is karma coming full circle for that prick,” he remarked.

My response was unapologetically blunt. “The Bible may preach peace, but I’m not one for sermons. If I could, I’d play the role of a Medieval Inquisitor, brand Carter a heretic, and watch him burn at the stake.”

Amidst these turbulent thoughts, my gaze settled on the emblem of Squad 769. Each company’s insignia tells a story, like Squad 141 and Rescue Squad 17’s Cerberus, the three-headed hound guarding Hell’s gates. But it was our symbol that held my attention—a nod to the Knights Templar, the White mantle emblazoned with a red cross pattée.

The station’s hum was a backdrop to my musings when I voiced a thought that had been nagging at me. “I’m somewhat intrigued to find out what Carter’s family did when the world was tearing itself apart during two world wars,” I said aloud, more to myself than anyone else.

The same firefighter from Squad 769, who had overheard me, chimed in with a tone of disdain. “Nothing. They didn’t serve in the wars nor helped on the homefront. Claims to the contrary, but the truth is they shirked their duties, even went as far as injuring themselves to avoid military service. They hoarded materials like steel and aluminum, which could’ve aided the war effort, and squandered fats and grease needed for artillery. While the country of Little Bird was split on the eve of the Second World War, it was spared the Great Depression’s worst, thanks to President Willianson’s national work programs and President Abigail Orange’s expansions. Yet, Carter’s family remained uninvolved, content to bask in unearned glory while true heroes fought and died. Not adding Carter doesn’t even know the beaches that the Allies landed on, on D-Day saying it was near the French-Netherland’s border.”

I couldn’t help but interrupt, the pride and respect for my own lineage fueling my words. “Americans for Utah and Omaha, British for Gold and Sword, Canadians for Juno. My granduncle Stanley, part of the 501st PIR, was scattered from his main DZ but joined forces with the 505th PIR to capture Sainte-Mère-Église. His twin, Charlie, served with the 504th PIR. Their father stormed Fox Green, and their second eldest brother, Dog Green Sector. They were young, naive, and eager to serve in the airborne forces. To them, heroism was embodied by their comrades, not themselves. ‘I wasn’t a hero,’ they’d say, ‘but the men I served with, they were the real heroes. I was just one tiny cog in a whole army.’ Their humility remains, never seeing themselves as heroes, despite their valorous deeds. But honestly I can see why they don’t feel like they’re heroes because how can they feel like heroes if many young men died who left loved ones behind or never met an unborn child that they and their loved ones conceived.”

The Captain’s arrival broke through the routine of the morning. “So Mackenzie, how is Little Bird treating you? I know you’re from the United States,” he inquired, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

I couldn’t help but smile at the question. “It’s been a breath of fresh air, honestly. It’s like stepping back into the era my grandparents described—the 50s and 60s—when owning a home in your early twenties was the norm, not the exception. Life here isn’t choked by inflation; even the mom-and-pop shops have prices reminiscent of my father’s childhood tales from the 60s. But tell me, how did you identify me as an American?”

His response was tinged with a sense of pride. “Here in Eastside, we don’t set a man up for failure. This district is a family—a motley crew of misfits, outcasts, and badasses. But unlike what happened in your homeland, we don’t betray our returning vets.”

I nodded, acknowledging the bitter history. “I was born long after Vietnam, but the stories from my uncles and cousins paint a grim picture of broken promises. Here in Little Bird, my family speaks of a warm welcome akin to the heroes’ return after the Second World War. It’s the stark difference between a Stratocracy and a Democracy that’s had the same congressional faces for six decades.”

With a brief nod, the Captain departed, and I turned back to my equipment. A slight cut in the air tube caught my eye—a reminder of the ever-present need for vigilance. I promptly called the Air Mask Department; they’d bring a spare and take mine for repairs, promising a return by January 8th at the latest.

My thoughts drifted to Mitchell’s upcoming twentieth birthday on the 17th. The guy was a wildcard; perhaps a cake would suffice, though I suspected his wife might have similar plans. Then there was the lingering question of my mother’s unexpected appearance. I shook my head, hoping she’d finally gotten the message to stay away.

Double-checking my gear, I ran diagnostics on the automatic tools like the hydraulic rescue tools. It’s a ritual at the start of every shift—to ensure everything is operational because the time to discover a malfunction is not when a life hangs in the balance. A few tools were flagged for repairs, and maintenance swapped them with older models. My father’s words echoed in my mind, “I’d rather have something obsolete that still works than not have it at all.” And in that sentiment, I found a simple truth that resonated deeply with me—if it works, it’s valuable, regardless of its age.

But the guys just talked about their past emergencies in which they had been to emergencies that I couldn’t imagine like an entire apartment building gone up in fire and rubble before the first bell. Or as mentioned before a first generation fighter jet crashed into an ice cream parlor after a birthday party but a few stood out like the 1964 Empire Blackout that well to the Chauffeur he thinks it’s funny that the rich take pride that they think they’re better than everyone else.

But in 1964 when he was a eighteen year old new candidate on 59 Truck over in Tallwood a middle class neighborhood, well on his first day the black out happened and Highwood was hit relentlessly by looters and arsonists like a wave against a rock. Back then the city only had 23 Engine and Ladder Companies that the arson spree got out of control where that B, C and D shifts were called in and given obsolete apparatus dating back to the 1930s and that even with 92 fire apparatus not adding the six volunteer companies that fires were starting faster than the fire department could put them out.

The Captain talked about the Empire Grand Opera House built in the 1840s and burnt down in 1972 that due to it was built differently before fire codes and its historical status it was exempted from adopting modern fire codes where the only fire code it needed was another exit. But it was labeled the “96 hour fire” because of how long it burned for where the first due company met a solid wall of flame accompanied by dense smoke and intense heat so they had to shoot water from the outside into the fire but it took four days and a total of 343 firefighters to fight it.

A seasoned FF/EMT recounted his first major call—a tire warehouse ablaze under the wrath of a severe thunderstorm. The lighting, usually content to dance from cloud to cloud, had other plans that night. A rogue bolt struck precisely, sending two of Ladder Company seventeen’s bravest tumbling from the roof. Despite the presence of lightning rods on the surrounding high rises, he couldn’t shake the feeling that some divine or infernal force had marked them. Miraculously, though battered, they survived.

He also spoke of the city of Empire, a hub of industry with its Metal Craft and Iron Workshops, Pottery and Textile Craft, and factories of all kinds—Cigar, Cigarette, Vehicle, Furniture, Electronics, Creamery, Cannery, Steel Mill, Rum and Alcohol Distilleries, and even Synthetic Rubber. His second fire was a testament to the dangers within—an Iron Workshop. The flames, fed by metal, were impervious to water. They waited, helpless, for a unit equipped with a dry powder extinguisher to arrive.

Another peer shared a tale of a high-rise inferno that defied logic, leaping floors and devouring everything not built to withstand the searing heat of 2000 degrees. The standpipe system failed them, the water refusing to reach the desperate firefighters.

The most unique story, however, came from the man I’d been speaking with earlier. He described a fire at the Paprika Memorial, named for the fields of paprika that grew where the Little Bird 1st Marine Regiment once clashed with the Blister Canyon 22nd Infantry Regiment. The battle tactics of the Marines were unconventional—lines of musket fire followed by strategic retreats, a deadly dance of advance and fallback. Even with reinforcements from the 1st Rangers and the 24th Foot Infantry Regiment, the fight was chaotic. The 24th broke ranks, while the Rangers formed an infantry square, later aided by the musket-armed Little Bird 1st Cavalry.

Fighting the fire at the memorial was a battle in itself, underground and fueled by a sea of trash and debris. It was a blaze that nearly defied extinguishing, relenting only when it had consumed all its fuel. He imparted a lesson from the academy: the fire triangle—fuel, heat, oxygen. Remove one, and the fire dies. As simple as covering a flame with a fire blanket to snuff out its life. It was a reminder that sometimes, the most basic tactics are the most effective in the face of danger.

The sudden ringing of the fire bell sliced through the air, a call that had us scrambling into our gear with practiced urgency. We were out the door in a heartbeat, the engine roaring to life as we navigated the familiar streets. But this rush was cut short by the 18th Battalion’s command to halt—this was a drill, a test of our readiness.

Our Battalion Chief’s voice crackled over the radio, a note of approval in his tone. “Squad 769, your response time was 41 seconds. That’s commendable—faster than Firehouse fifteen’s 143 seconds. Remember, the gold standard is to be out the door within 60 seconds.”

It was a reminder of the relentless pursuit of excellence that defined us. The 18th, 19th, and 25th Battalions, along with the 16th and 17th Divisions, were known for their surprise drills, testing each firehouse at random times to ensure that when the call came, we would be ready. In those moments, every second counted.

Back at the firehouse, the conversation took a turn when I brought up Carter. The room’s atmosphere shifted palpably; it was clear that Carter was not held in high regard. The Captain minced no words, stating plainly that Carter tarnished the reputation of men and firefighters alike. His continued presence in the department, despite his antics, seemed to be a byproduct of his connections within HQ.

Lieutenant Claire “Lusty” Johnson, my girlfriend, had her own take on the situation. She described HQ as a nest of political players, quick to label her and others like my cousin Dave and his wife as the “Old Guard.” They were seen as relics of a bygone era—officers who led with compassion and were always accessible, whose offices were sanctuaries of trust where the worries of their crew remained confidential. Their style of leadership earned them the respect and affectionate title of “A firefighter’s firefighter” from their companies. This stood in stark contrast to some department counselors and therapists, who, according to Claire, lacked the same level of confidentiality, making firefighters wary of speaking freely.

The discussion was a stark reminder of the complex dynamics within the fire department, politics could sometimes overshadow the core values of camaraderie and trust.

In the firehouse, there’s a palpable sense of family that extends beyond the walls of the station. It’s a place where the lines between duty and life blur. The heartbeat of the crew syncs with the rhythm of the community they serve. Dave, Linda, and Claire embody this ethos—they understand that sometimes life’s urgencies don’t align with the shift schedule.

They lead with empathy, recognizing that a crew member’s child waiting at school or fighting a battle in the hospital is a priority that can’t be sidelined. Their leadership style is a stark contrast to the rigid adherence to protocol that a lot of officers demand, insisting on a full seven-member team at all costs.

But here, amid sirens and smoke, humanity takes precedence. “What are you still doing here? Just go,” they’d say, cutting through the red tape with a swift command. It’s a reminder that in the grand scheme of things, family comes first, always. In those moments when life’s weight bears down on one of their own, they don’t just offer words—they offer action, ensuring that no one stands alone. It’s this spirit that makes them not just leaders, but guardians of their crew’s well-being.

But they also talked about Carter about how he is called Stolen Valor and say that he either fought in the military or had a family fight in the Little Bird military in the past. But in reality they’re just taking credit for the ones that actually did fight but on Little Bird it’s actually a felony for doing Stolen Valor. Doing so has a minimum sentence is 15 years in a federal prison or executed by hanging or a firing squad even though from 1705-1914 just a week before the outbreak of the First World War that those who done stolen valor were tried for a capital punishment and were executed by either firing squad or by handing while in towns those charged with stolen valor were burned at the stake.

Over the PA system, I heard that my cousin Dave and his wife's respective companies had called for someone underneath a train in which Squad 769 Captain just said, “Been doing this for thirty-eight years and you’ll know right away if you’re cut out for it or not. First time you go to something like that dismemberment or something like that you’ll know if you’re cut out for it or not.”

I replied, “Linda my cousin in law because she’s married to Dave over on Sixteen truck. But Linda she’s Captain over Rescue Co 17. She just says that normally Engine and Ladder Companies can do a majority of the work but they’re there that they can take care of what needs to be done but they’re there in case but a lot of times a rescue company gets called and used due to things being a lot more complicated and intense.”

The drill’s second alarm was a jolt back to reality, a reminder of the constant vigilance required in our line of work. As we assembled in the high-rise lobby, the routine was familiar yet never devoid of tension. Claire passed by with her company, a silent exchange of acknowledgment between us amidst the orchestrated chaos.

Stationed as a RIT Rescue Company, Squad 769 stood ready. Yet, the murmurs of a sharply dressed onlooker cut through the hum of activity—a critique of our speed, or the perceived lack thereof. His words, suggesting negligence and threats of litigation, were a bitter pill, igniting a flash of anger within me.

It’s a common misconception—the belief that firefighters and other civil servants possess some superhuman ability to transcend the limits of time and space. But we are, undeniably, human. We carry the same burdens, face the same struggles, and cherish the same bonds as anyone else. We are not miracle workers; we are dedicated individuals doing our utmost within the constraints we’re given.

His comments laid bare a deeper societal ailment—the tendency to place undue blame on civil servants for systemic failures. It’s a frustrating reality where those on the front lines are often scapegoated for the shortcomings of broader societal structures, and criticized for not achieving the impossible with inadequate resources. It’s a narrative that needs changing, one where recognition and support replace unrealistic expectations and unwarranted blame.

Not adding that Little Bird is slowly coming out of it’s war economy and back into a civilian economy not adding during the Allied-Soviet War of 2005-09/10 everything on Little Bird was rationed food, spices, luxury goods, fuel, everything was rationed where on the first of every month everyone received a booklet of ration coupons. Every family even people who are single gotten ration books and each vehicle gotten a sticker that says how much fuel said the vehicle should get per week depending on family size or what role they play but everything got rationed on the homefront while yeah they may have grown tired of being rationed but the Police and Fire Departments have the right to complain about the rationing because during the war because the police department lost its connection to weapon manufacturers because said manufactures were switched to wartime equipment to make weapons, ammo, grenades, knives, and other military equipment for the military so whatever ammo they used up during the war the police department wouldn’t be getting another batch of it until later. Not adding the Fire Department with its pike poles, saws, axes, and other equipment that uses metal well the maintenance shop used what they could following the Little Bird Marine Corps, 1st Marine Division Maintenance Company motto says “Do more with less” and used less to make do what they had.

But after thirty minutes of standing around, we were told that the response drill was over and that we can go back to quarters. So we did.

But when we got back to our firehouse on the TV there was an ad on TV about a place on the outskirts of the city called “Medieval Land” where it didn’t have a catchy name but it gets its point across of what kind of place it is in which it’s a one to one recreation of Fort Empire from the Colonial era complete with buildings from the era of both the Medieval and Colonial era but primarily Medieval era.

“Ah yes, the country of Little Bird that still has Chivalry of the Medieval era,” I said. “Soldiers, Marines, and other members of the Little Bird Armed Forces are trained to have morals, social and religious codes if they’re religious but according to my girlfriend and cousin Dave that men in schools are indoctrinated like Knights of the Medieval era to have a Moral and Social Codes and taught to be gentlemanly to women. I don’t entirely approve but I’m not running the country but I do approve on the style of teaching men to be chivalrous but at the same time I do so they can separate themselves from people like killers, serial killers, those kinds of people who are euthanized for crimes against the youth, and sexist pigs like Carter.”

Squad 769 chauffeur just randomly said, “Everyone gets out of the way but the only people who don’t get out of the way are pedestrians. They see us coming and they run and try to beat you and can’t wait three seconds. The closest I’ve almost been to hitting someone while responding was when I was over on 59 Engine back in the 80s a woman ran in front of us pushing her baby stroller. One and a half seconds of hitting her.”

That completely came out of left field and wasn’t expecting that. But since it’s my second day at this company, the station has a little memorial for the 2823 fallen Firefighters that died back in 2003 in a building collapse and had both the Little Bird Capital and other cities like Empire and its fire departments had to restructure. Previous high-rise operations just had set up a command post four to ten floors below the fire, the first four Engine companies, and a Squad Company go up to the fire floor to fight the fire while the first three ladder companies, and Rescue Company perform search and rescue while the 4th ladder company stands by in the command post as a Rapid Intervention Team. Not adding that according to my cousin Dave, his wife Linda, and my girlfriend Claire they say that some of the firehouses in the city of Chocolate including in the town of Aurora and Crystal for the guys and gals who died that they left the loafer shoes the exact spot and position they left them while many didn’t have anyone return.

The Eastside district’s black granite memorial stands as a solemn tribute to the firefighters who died in the line of duty. Since 1989, the names of those who have fallen in the line of duty are etched into its surface—a poignant reminder of their bravery and the community’s gratitude. The memorial, akin to those honoring military service, reflects the deep respect the people of Little Bird hold for their emergency responders.

The story of the memorial’s existence is a testament to the community’s will; it was almost lost to political maneuvering, but the collective voice of the people and the firefighters’ own standing in the community preserved this sacred space. It’s a powerful statement about the values of Little Bird.

In the wake of the tragedy in the city of Chocolate, the memorial took on an even more profound role. Each firefighter found was honored individually, their service recorded for posterity. Their ranks, names, companies, and the exact moments they were discovered are all there, a chronicle of loss and remembrance. Even though three out of seven were from the City of Empire from Rescue Co 17 who were in the city to go through requalification training but they went to the scene where they were broken up with four staying in the lobby while three going up to mix with Rescue Company Seven but according to Linda to her she really can’t sleep at night due to the amount of Pass alarms going off after the tragedy but the other 2819 who died weren’t even from the city of Empire but from the City of Chocolate or the towns of Aurora, Crystal, or Clearlake even though for Aurora, Clearlake, and Crystal they have twenty eight names and a lot of City of Chocolate fire companies have twenty eight names meaning they lost everyone from their respective companies.

Not adding that the people of Eastside are smart, and smarter and educated which they use against politicians because they’re the type of people who can and will call out politicians for making false promises not adding that back on August 1st, 1995 when the Fire Department City of Empire celebrated it’s one hundred and eighty-five years from transforming from an volunteer department to a professional combination department, Ms. Martinez her speech for it was that she said “Firefighters are brave human beings because they see things that we don’t see but we have to see what they see. For example, we always believe fire is nice and homey of keeping us warm, providing heat and letting us see in the dark. But in reality when a firefighter goes into a fire knowing what he is going to face he know it’s total black and can’t see anything due to all of the dense smoke where he can’t see his hand in front of his face but he knows that if he stands up he knows that the heat will either kill him or be hot enough to melt the rubber around the mask to stick to his face.”

But not adding she tried to increase the fire department's manpower and response capability as step one of her glass and steel utopia but that was blocked by her political opponents and political allies not adding the city was leaving what the Fire Department labeled as the “War Decades” because from 1967/68 to 1995 they fought between 30-50 fires per day where on bad days they would fight between 60-150 fires or on good days it’ll be 10-15 fires but it got so bad that some companies would take themselves out of service due to the amount of stress even though many of them were Veterans of World War 2, Korean War, and the Vietnam war battle harden in combat. Not adding that in the city of Chocolate that the firefighters who survived the catastrophe that the ones who survived the catastrophe gained a sense of dark humor as a coping mechanism not to add that a lot of them saw the new candidates that came many of the experienced firefighters and officers saw the new candidates as replacing the guys that died not adding those who did survive they were all promoted to Captain to fill in the empty spots of deceased Captains in which for some reason Captain is under Lieutenant not adding that the Captains did survive had to fill in empty spots of the Lieutenants who died, and the Lieutenants who survived had to take over the fill the empty spots of the deceased Battalion Chiefs, and Battalion Chiefs had to take the spot of Division Chiefs but many had huge shoes to fill even though many of them didn’t want to be a higher rank but had to fill it anyway.

Post-lunch, our crew set out to conduct building inspections in Eastside’s northern sector. It’s a duty we’ve inherited from the Little Bird Bureau of Fire Prevention, a tradition dating back to 1904. These BISP—Building InSPections—are crucial for ensuring adherence to the evolving Fire Safety Codes, from the initial 1901 version to the more recent 1988 iteration.

The older tenements, grandfathered in and exempt from modern codes, always pose a challenge. It’s a risky loophole, but our newer structures undergo rigorous scrutiny. Our role extends beyond mere inspection; we educate residents on fire prevention, advising them on what to keep, discard, or distance to mitigate fire risks.

In districts like Emerald Pastors, Riverview, and Highwood, kitchen fires are a common menace. Often sparked by innocuous items like paper towels left too close to a stove, these blazes can escalate quickly. The Fire Department City of Empire has an old term for these—“meat fires”—a throwback to the days when volunteer firefighters frequently battled kitchen fires caused by neglected ashes.

But many people were or are one step ahead of us by keeping anything flammable away from a heat source not adding many of these people are veterans that survived the 1967/68-1995 “War Decades” who been through countless fires so they know what to do like throwing away trash, getting rid of worn out electrical cords, not to hang drying clothes inside, and not to put coins inside a electrical meter to save a few bucks off the next electrical bill at the cost of the coins conducting electricity and causes preventable electrical fires.

But for residential modern apartment buildings we didn’t show no mercy to them as well where while they were built with both fireproof and fire resistant materials and have self closing doors not adding that every floor hallway has a sprinkler system in which according the panels are independently activated and says they go off around 155 degrees fahrenheit. It’s a lot different than commercial buildings that have it where someone has to use the sprinkler panel to active them on the fire floor in which is stupid but the fire codes don’t say if they have to be manually activated or activate automatically when it reaches a certain temperature

As we conducted our building inspections, the conversations I overheard painted a stark picture of the community’s trust in their services. It’s a common thread here in Eastside and Westside—disappointment in the police juxtaposed with deep respect for the fire department. One man recounted how Ladder Co 47 was there for him, providing critical medical aid within two minutes, while the police were nowhere to be found.

Another story came from a shop owner, a victim of a robbery and shooting, who was saved by the swift response of Ladder Co 47, while the police took an unfathomable two years just to begin their investigation.

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The stillness of the night was shattered by the urgent ring of the bell, propelling us into action. We moved swiftly, suiting up and rolling out the apparatus bay door, our siren muted out of respect for the sleeping city. The fire we were called to was anything but ordinary—a freeway fire at a construction site, where the new road cut deep into the earth, flanked by steep concrete walls.

As we approached, the ominous glow of an orange haze against the night sky signaled the severity of the situation. The Captain, with seasoned decisiveness, immediately escalated the response, calling in a third alarm before we even arrived on scene. The billowing smoke and the breadth of the fire’s reach left no room for doubt; we were heading into a fierce battle against the flames.

A fellow firefighter from Squad 769 inquired about the materials used in road construction, a crucial factor in understanding the fire’s potential behavior. I listed them: soil for foundational support, aggregate for stability, asphalt and bitumen as binding agents, and tar for creating durable, though brittle, road surfaces. Each material presents its own challenges in a fire, and knowing their properties could be the key to tackling this blaze effectively.

But the Captain also radioed for Foam Task Force 32 and HAZMAT Company 33 as well due to the chemicals including paints that are used in road construction are either on fire, about to be on fire or in the path of being burned. But this is something that the Little Bird Bureau of Transportation will have to solve once we put it out.

I just stretched the two-and-a-half-inch line as the five-inch supply line was being hooked up to a hydrant to get water for us to fight the fire. But we just sprayed the water around the fire to keep everything around it cooled until backup arrived but it was a very intense fire that even from half a football field away we could feel the heat. We also used the deluge gun on our apparatus to spray twice as much water onto the fire, but it was away from the fire like me and the other guy.

But the fire was so intense that the water turned to steam before the water could hit the fire. Still, we just kept using our defensive operations of containing the fire and preventing it from spreading. Still, whatever thought I had I got rid of because I had to focus on the task at hand and not let my mind wander for future events like my cousin Mitchell's birthday coming up. For some reason, he and his wife are going to celebrate their birthdays together. For a while I thought it might be that their birthdays are close but that’s my guess.

After some time my cousin Dave arrived and he stuck out like a sore thumb due to he still weaning the obsolete rubber turnout gear that was considered obsolete in 1995 and replaced with the modern Kevlar/Nomex made turnout gear that came into service in late 1995 early 1996 but to Dave it has sentimental value to him because his father Lieutenant Bobby Waterson over on Ladder Company 5 and uncle Clark a Lieutenant on Engine Company 5 both died on that tragedy back in 2003. Even though Dave has been a firefighter for the city of Empire since October 2nd, 1995 even though he has his modern turnout gear at home stored in the closet but according to him he lets his and his wife eldest son a eleven year-old named Bobby wear it from time to time. Not adding that Dave more or less grew up in a firehouse back in Clearlake from 1981 at the age of four to 1995 before taking the civil servant exam to become a firefighter so to him knowing all of the tools on both Engine and Ladder Company is just second nature to him.

In the aftermath of a fire like this, the stories that emerge become part of the fabric of the firehouse. They’re shared and retold, becoming a piece of the collective memory that defines the crew. For the cadets, this blaze will be a defining moment in their early careers, a trial by fire that initiates them into the brotherhood and sisterhood of firefighters.

Nicknames are a tradition in this line of work, a badge of honor that speaks to one’s character, skills, or memorable deeds. “Macaroni” may be your personal tag, but it’s a sign of acceptance and camaraderie within the company. Claire’s moniker “Lusty,” evolving to “Captain” and “Lieutenant Empire,” reflects her deep knowledge of the city and her adaptability. It’s a testament to her ability to navigate not just the streets but also the complexities of life in Eastside.

Dave’s nickname “Demolitions” speaks to a unique skill set within the department, highlighting the specialized roles that some firefighters take on. His expertise with explosives is a rare but crucial asset in certain situations, and his moniker is a nod to this rarefied knowledge.

These nicknames, whether light-hearted or earnest, are more than just labels—they’re a recognition of each member’s unique contribution to the team.

But we still have a long road ahead of us of putting out a fire like this. But there was soon an explosion, probably a road construction vehicle, exploded but I just kept spraying it around the fire but we just contained the fire to the best of our ability but that didn’t stop the fire from spreading though. But there were some more popping sounds. But the fire spread but it also started to threaten the elevated freeway so the Captain radioed PD to close down the section of elevated freeway and the last thing we didn’t need was the fire and heat getting close to the support barriers and support beams of the freeway and have apart of it come crashing down onto the new freeway that’s being dug into the ground after the earth gets dug up then the asphalt gets laid down and the rest of the road work begins.

But the captain would rather be safe than sorry and would rather close the freeway than having it stay open and have cars go by then have the heat and fire weaken it to have it collapse and fall apart and have someone get killed or crushed or crushed and killed.

This was one of the few fires that could be used as a landmark to see where it is but that’s the problem with the city of Empire like many other cities especially in Downtown and Uptown where the problem is with the high-rises and skyscrapers making the exact location difficult.

But since this is at a construction site for a freeway under construction it could be seen for blocks but for the FDE or depending who you asked how it’s spelled but to us this is our big one of a major fire at a construction site.

But after a while Squad 769 Chauffeur-Engineer came over the radio saying that the pump discharge is losing pressure but he’s going to try to max out what he can but that didn’t stop the Captain radioing in a major emergency. But after a few minutes the Captain was told that most of the responding companies from the Major Emergency alarm were being redirected to a high-rise fire but companies from 134, 135, 136, and 137 would take up the alarm instead due to 23, 53,59, 71, and 82 were redirected to a high-rise fire.

Before the additional companies arrived our tank and pump stopped working and couldn’t use water anymore but other companies are experiencing the same thing of a dramatic loss in water pressure. It’s not the Engine Companies on scene that are the problem but the water in the mains but that’s the problem in the city of Empire that a lot of the times that the Department of Water and Power from Empire Utilities will shut off water in a district to do maintenance at night and why they do maintenance at night for the water lines is anyone’s guess but my guess is that due to 95% of the city is asleep so water usage is dropped twenty-fold even though the city gets it’s water from the city’s Reservoir that supplies the city with fresh water year round and mainly gets filled by the Admiral Culver River and the rain storm from June 1 to June 21st.

But now I wish that rain storm was here to douse the fire we were fighting. Even though the Fire Department City of Empire is a urban fire department not a wildland one but at the academy they’re taught that rainstorms are helpful in either containing fires by keeping them smaller until firefighters arrive or putting fires out before the first due companies arrive. But we’re in winter and on Little Bird that’s in the tropic pacific so it’s warm and hot due to the tropics of the pacific year round. Throughout the so called “War Decades'' of 1967/68 to 1995 the rainstorms helped the firefighters in both Eastside and Westside which were notorious to fires due to both districts were plagued with fires and that both districts were filled with both wood frame and tenement buildings that required a ton of lumber which made them giant tinderboxes even though said districts still have those old wood frame and tenement buildings. But since the city’s arson scandal with Echelon Enterprises that burned through 89% of the wood frame and tenement buildings both Echelon Enterprises and the city of Empire were forced to pay for the labor and materials with government oversight to make sure they don’t buy “green lumber” and “green materials.” Meaning inferior wood and inferior materials that won’t support the weight of buildings and would collapse so they have to buy everything that was made for it not adding that it was both a court order and a Supreme Court order for both the City and the Corporation to pay for it to undo what they did of an arson for profit scam.

That didn’t stop me from taking a hard suction hose and a 3 inch supply line. I opened a cistern which has fifty thousand to seventy five thousand gallons of water. They were created when the city didn’t have any fire hydrants and are still used in lieu of losing water pressure in hydrants or if a disaster destroys a underground water main but i’m thankful for my girlfriend showing me around her old neighborhood and the people are friendly, and showed me around and the district of Eastside has three Cisterns one at the bottom, one in the center and the third one at the top of the district.

But our Rescue Engine just backed up to be closer so I just assisted the chauffeur to hook up the hard suction hose to the tank. I started to draft water from the cistern to use to fight the fire but as I turned around I noticed a sticker on the inside of the chauffeur’s door for an event that happened back in 2003. But I just ignored it for now because I would rather focus on the task rather than get sidetracked.

Some manual construction tools down there were in danger of catching on fire like shovels, stampers, and pavers not adding other tools and chemicals used in road construction but even with a defensive operation that didn’t stop the heat and fire from spreading to it creating a big conflagration but the fire even spread to other construction vehicles like bulldozer, loader, grader, paver, roller, and paint truck as well. But to me, I’m just lucky that we had the cistern we could use while the main hydrant system is down for maintenance at the wrong time but the hydrants some are painted different colors like red meaning 1,500 gallons per minute (95 L/s), and connected to a Municipal System even though the city can redirect water away from either a certain hydrant or a district for whatever reason like maintenance.

The history of Eastside is a tapestry woven with resilience and rebellion. In the 1980s, the city of Empire, in a controversial move, bulldozed the district’s community gardens and sharecropper farms—sanctuaries that had flourished for two centuries. In their place rose bars, taverns, and gentlemen’s clubs, establishments that stood in stark contrast to the verdant plots they replaced. The community’s response was swift and decisive; a boycott ensued, and soon, the unwanted businesses shuttered their doors. The people of Eastside reclaimed their land, sowing seeds of defiance where drinks once poured.

But the city’s retribution was cruel; they cut off the water supply to Eastside, leaving the district parched and vulnerable. Fires broke out, unquenchable and deadly, claiming lives as they raged beyond the reach of the cisterns’ life-giving waters. The residents, undeterred, drew water from the cisterns or caught rain water, boiling it to purify it and survive. The toll of the tragedy was too great to ignore, and the city, chastened by the loss of life, restored the water to Eastside.

In those days, a one-alarm fire was no mere call to action; it was a clarion call that escalated rapidly to a third alarm, demanding a response that tested the mettle of every firefighter. The third due Engine Company would deploy their hard suction hose, drawing from the cisterns’ depths to feed the 4 to 5-inch supply lines that connected the engines in a daisy chain of solidarity. Engine Co 47, often too distant from the cisterns, relied on the second and third due companies to ferry the water to their location.

The “War Decades” of Empire were a tumultuous era, marked by the dual blazes of social unrest and literal fires. The late 60s and early 70s saw flames stoked by protests against the Vietnam War, but also by the city’s aging infrastructure—obsolete wiring that couldn’t handle the demands of modern appliances.

Claire, my girlfriend, is a seasoned veteran of those fiery years. She joined the fire department in 96, driven by a desire to serve and protect, especially after witnessing the loss of friends to the flames. The city’s decision to relocate Engine and Ladder Co 47 from Eastside to Highwood was a blow to the community. Response times increased from a mere 3-5 minutes to a staggering 7-12 minutes, a delay that cost precious lives.

But the spirit of Eastside was not easily quenched. When residents uncovered the city’s “Planned Shrinkage” strategy—a cold calculation to let the district burn, only to rebuild it for profit—they rallied. The community forged their own makeshift fire brigade, armed with garden hoses and buckets, a defiant stand against the conflagration.

Their resolve didn’t end there. The people of Eastside educated themselves on the inner workings of the fire department, using this knowledge as a shield against City Hall’s machinations. They stood united, challenging the powers that be, safeguarding their homes and heritage from the flames of greed and neglect.

The inferno we face now is a different beast from the wildfires that sweep through the forests of Little Bird. There, backburning—a tactic where firefighters intentionally set fires to reduce the available fuel—can be effective, as the two fires consume each other, leaving nothing but ash. But in the urban heart of Empire, concrete and steel replace brush and trees, such strategies are not an option.

The ecological wildfires of Little Bird, some natural and others man-made, play a role in the life cycle of the forest, allowing fire-adapted plants to thrive and creating grazing grounds for wildlife. It’s a delicate balance, one that the 1963 Little Bird Wildland Act seeks to protect by establishing a buffer zone between nature and civilization.

The history of fire in Empire is a stark reminder of the importance of such measures. The devastating Wildland-Urban interface fire of 1962, which ravaged the district of Highwood, underscored the need for separation. The fire claimed 480 homes and scorched over 6,090 acres (24.6 km²), injuring at least 200 firefighters, mostly from smoke and flying embers.

Back then, the Fire Department City of Empire fought valiantly from the ground, without the aid of aircraft. It wasn’t until 1972 that aerial firefighting became a part of their arsenal, with repurposed World War II-era planes like the sea-faring PBY Catalina and strategic bombers taking to the skies to battle the blazes.

Fast forward to January 3rd, 2010, and the department boasts a fleet of 14 utility helicopters, 4 transport helicopters, and 10 fixed-wing aircraft. Yet, these mechanical birds are grounded in urban firefighting scenarios, their wings clipped unless the Mayor of the city or the Governor of the State/County/Borough/Commonwealth of Mountain authorizes their use. It’s a policy born from necessity.

The fire’s ferocity escalated a relentless force that seemed to defy our efforts. The underbelly of the freeway, a skeleton of steel and concrete, was now ensnared in the blaze’s embrace. We fought back with a deluge of water and foam, attacking from all angles, yet the flames danced on, as if possessed by a will of their own.

Relief washed over us as the original companies, initially diverted by a false alarm at a high-rise, returned to the fray. The fire remained stubbornly alive, resisting our every move.

The heat was a tangible enemy, its oppressive waves forcing us into a relentless dance of advance and retreat. Firefighters, overwhelmed by the scorching air, withdrew to recover, while their refreshed comrades took their place at the hose lines. The intensity was such that even the sturdy engines and ladders bore the scars of battle, their paint peeling away under the intense heat.

I, Macaroni Waterson, felt the heat’s sting, retreating time and again to stave off the threat of heatstroke. The surrounding buildings, once bystanders, now bore the brunt of the inferno’s wrath, their windows cracking and shattering under the relentless heat.

The day’s routine inspections, a stark contrast to the night’s chaos, were a reminder of the ever-present danger lurking within the city’s veins. We, the vigilant crew of Squad 769, had traversed the urban landscape, extracting the seeds of potential disaster from the homes and businesses of Empire. The removal of excessive plugs from outlets, the warnings against the silent threat of overworked circuits—these were our preemptive strikes against the invisible enemy of electrical fires.

Yet, despite our diligence, the evening brought with it the grim reality of our fears materialized. The elevated freeway, a symbol of progress, now stood compromised. The heat, an unrelenting force, had sapped the strength from concrete and steel alike. The fireproofing, a defense designed for hours, not eternity, had met its match in the inferno’s heat.

Engine Co 23, perched precariously atop the freeway, was a mere stone’s throw from the crumbling edge. It was my cousin, Captain David “Dave” Mitchell Waterson of Ladder Co 16, who shed light on the hidden hydrants of the freeway—protected standpipes, akin to hydrants, strategically placed to withstand the chaos of accidents and provide a vital resource for firefighting efforts.

His revelation was a double-edged sword, a design both ingenious and flawed. The standpipes, while safeguarding water access, could also fall victim to the very accidents they were meant to endure, their accessibility blocked by the unpredictable colliding vehicles. This paradox underscored the importance of the second due engine company, whose role in extending a supply line from the ground hydrants became all the more critical, their hoses stretched to their limits. After all, the alarm code for a fire on the expressway/freeway is 2 Engines (or 1 Engine, 1 Squad), 1 Truck, 1 Battalion Chief (one engine or one squad stays off the expressway to tag a hydrant if needed).

But Engine Co 23 did back up to get away from the danger of the crumbling part of the freeway, Even though I believe that the Captain or Lieutenant of Engine Co 23 will get scolded by putting their company and their apparatus in that close to danger but it was smart enough to spray water down onto the fire literally.

But after a few more minutes the Municipality system came back with water reflowing through the hydrants where the city utility company, Empire Utilities got done with their maintenance but there was a problem. The fire spread some more but i turned off the nozzle i had and smelled fuel in which from a short study I done at Arcane University back in the past that the Empire Utility the department that responsible for the maintenance of the water mains that in the past they would use flammable fuels to burn any weeds that start to burn. Any foliage that might be growing not adding that they do it because they believe that the heat might help loosen up any blockage that water pressure can’t do even though i believe it might be easier if they just remove parts of pipes that are clogged and replace them until they unclog the clogged up pipe but that’s just me.

At least I’ve paid very close attention to my training and studies. The fire seems to be a complex amalgamation of different classes:

Class A: Ordinary combustibles are definitely present, given the construction materials involved.

Class B: Flammable liquids and gasses could be fueling the fire, especially if construction vehicles and chemical agents are involved.

Class D: Metallic fires are a possibility, considering the construction tools and materials that may contain reactive metals.

Class K: While this class typically involves kitchen fires, the chemicals present at the construction site might behave similarly when ignited.

The absence of live electrical wires rules out a Class C fire, which is a relief as it removes the risk of electrocution during firefighting efforts.

The Captain’s decision to strike additional alarms and call in the city’s remaining Special Operations Command Companies is a testament to the severity of the situation. The involvement of units like Rescue Co 17, Rescue Co 18, Rescue 53, Squad 141, and Squad 541, despite some being relatively new to service, underscores the need for a robust and coordinated response to this multifaceted emergency.

Under the watchful eye of Captain Harris, I along with my partner from Squad 769, were tasked with a critical mission. Our objective was clear: to don the specialized Fire Proximity Suit, a privilege reserved for a select few companies within the city. Among them, Squads 525, 141, 541, and 769, as well as Rescue Companies 17 and 18, were equipped with the coveted Entry Suit variant, while Engine and Ladder Companies 18 and 68 boasted the Proximity version.

As the Captain’s orders echoed in my ears, I felt the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. The Entry Suits enveloped us, transforming us into figures of safety amidst the chaos. Our mission was to safeguard the construction equipment from the encroaching flames, a task that demanded precision and urgency.

My partner, a seasoned firefighter, swiftly gathered the manual and automatic tools scattered across the road construction site, his movements a dance of efficiency as he secured them away from danger. Meanwhile, I faced a daunting challenge: to maneuver the heavy construction vehicles to safety. Despite my lack of experience with such machinery, the urgency of the situation left no room for hesitation. Some vehicles were mercifully left with keys in the ignition, while others required a deft hand to hotwire, a skill I never imagined I’d employ outside the training academy.

Our training at the academy had prepared us for moments like this. We were the Special Operations firefighters, equipped with knowledge to shut off electricity, repair damaged structures, and handle plumbing emergencies—all without the need for an engineer’s intervention. This multifaceted expertise traced its roots back to the early 1920s when the concept of Rescue Companies was still in its infancy. Back then, the men who formed these companies were not just firefighters; they were skilled craftsmen, adept in construction, bricklaying, and electrical work, often honed through hobbies or second jobs.

Sometimes, I found myself longing for the structure of the Little Birden city of Las Adventure, where their fire companies operated as task forces, combining two engine companies with a ladder company—a unique arrangement compared to the rest of Little Bird. In contrast, the City of Empire, my home, followed the traditional setup of one engine and one ladder company.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The operation was grueling, but we persevered. As I backed the construction vehicles away from the inferno, the heat seared through the protective layers of the Fire Proximity Suit, a stark reminder of the peril we faced. Yet, it was the fulfillment of our duty that fueled my resolve, and I drove each vehicle with a determination that matched the intensity of the flames we battled against. The leather seats, heated by the blaze but without the fire proximity suits it sure would have gone through the turnout gear but we were wearing the silver suits.

As the night’s adrenaline began to ebb, I watched my cousin Dave, a stalwart of Ladder Co 16, slump against the fire truck, his forehead meeting the cool metal with a soft thud. Concern etched into my features, I approached him, inquiring about the storm cloud clearly hovering over his head.

Dave’s voice, tinged with a mix of sorrow and pride, broke the silence. He confessed that despite being a grown man of nearly 33, the absence of his father Bobby and Uncle Clark weighed heavily on him. Both had been exemplary firemen, serving from March 1967 until that fateful day in September 2003. They possessed an uncanny intuition for firefighting, as if a computer chip had been implanted in their brains, guiding them through flames and crises with unparalleled precision.

Throughout the 1970s, Bobby and Clark foresaw the evolving landscape of emergency services, immersing themselves in counter-terrorism training. They anticipated a future where firefighters and police officers would stand on the frontlines against terror. Their foresight was rewarded with promotions to Captain in 1975 and later to Lieutenant in 1985.

Dave’s lineage was steeped in bravery and service. His grandfather, too, had been a firefighter with Engine Company 24 in Manhattan, serving the Fire Department City of New York from 1921 until his retirement in 1966, with pauses only to serve in World War II and the Korean War.

With a voice swelling with pride, Dave spoke of his father and uncle’s legacy—not just as firefighters but as pioneers who advocated for safety, advanced training, and technological advancements to enhance firefighting capabilities. They hailed from an era when Airpaks were becoming standard issue, yet in towns like Clearlake, where Dave was raised, such equipment remained a luxury until the early 1970s.

Lieutenant Claire Johnson of Squad 141 had a term for the likes of Bobby and Clark: “Fire Breathers.” It was a nod to those who battled blazes without the aid of breathing masks, who faced the inferno with nothing but their courage and wits.

In Dave’s eyes, had his father and uncle still been with us, the fire at the road construction site would have been extinguished before it could escalate to a third alarm. Their legacy was not just in the fires they fought but in the wisdom they imparted, the lives they saved, and the indelible mark they left on the hearts of those who followed in their footsteps.

Dave Waterson leaned against the sturdy frame of Ladder Co 16. As I approached, the lines of fatigue and loss etched into his face became apparent. Dave was a man forged in the fires of legacy, carrying the Waterson name—a name synonymous with bravery and sacrifice.

He spoke of his father, Bobby, and Uncle Clark, with a bittersweet smile. They were men who lived for the thrill of the call, the rush of the flames, and the camaraderie of the firehouse. Retirement was a foreign concept to them, an unwelcome guest in a life dedicated to service.

Dave’s journey to the fire service was a path paved by admiration and expectation. Bobby had always assured him that pride was not tied to the uniform, yet for Dave, the firehouse was a second home, a place where childhood memories intertwined with dreams of heroism. It was there, among the tools of the trade and the laughter of his father and uncle, that his future was shaped.

His marriage to Capt. Linda Richter, a woman whose lineage was steeped in firefighting history, was a testament to the bond that only those who dance with danger can truly understand. Together, they represented centuries of dedication, a living history of the fire service.

The visit to the vehicle yard, a graveyard of twisted metal and charred remains, was a pilgrimage for Dave. It was there, in the silent rows of fire engines and ladders, that he confronted the ghosts of his past. The sight of Fire Station Five’s fleet, reduced to unrecognizable husks, was a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the cruel hand of fate.

In that moment of reflection, a piece of Dave’s heart was left among the ruins. Yet, from the ashes of sorrow, he drew inspiration. He adopted a practice from a battalion chief in the city of Chocolate, a tradition of writing letters to be read in the event of a firefighter’s death. It was a poignant embrace of mortality and a promise to honor the fallen by living fully in their stead.

From the gritty heart of Empire, I stand as a testament to the unyielding spirit of our fire service—a fraternity steeped in valor, unity, and an unwavering commitment to one another. Yet, within these hallowed halls, the winds of change stir restlessly, challenging the entrenched norms of gender roles. As a woman among the ranks, where 32% of Little Bird’s bravest are female, I’ve borne the heft of silent scrutiny, the unspoken inquiry of my capability to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with my brothers in arms.

But let me tell you, our legacy is woven deeply into the fabric of this city’s history. Cast your mind back to the 1890s, to an Empire barely more than a fledgling settlement, when a merciless bacterial plague struck down the menfolk. It was then that the women of Empire rose, not as mere surrogates but as rightful guardians of the flame. They clad themselves in the gear of their ailing kin and stood firm against the inferno, their resolve unshaken through the bleakest epoch of the 1853-1919 Recession. In those shadowed times, they etched an indelible truth into our story: bravery is not bound by gender.

This narrative is not just historical lore; it’s etched in my bloodline. Take, for instance, my cousin-in-law Linda—her lineage is steeped in firefighting lore, tracing back two centuries. Like her forebears, Linda’s kin—from her father to her siblings—are encyclopedias of firefighting wisdom. Yet, I’ve observed a stark contrast in our ranks. In Empire, some of us are pigeonholed into blue-collar trades, while others navigate the white-collar realms, a division more pronounced in the urban sprawl than in the towns of Little Bird. Here, amidst the towering office monoliths, many of us are versed in the cerebral rather than the mechanical, a reflection of the city’s architectural giants.

Then there’s Captain Linda Richter-Waterson, a scion of a storied lineage. When I look into her eyes, I see the flicker of recognition, a silent homage to her great-great-great-great-grandaunt, Empire’s first female fire commissioner from 1888-1892. A pioneer who, despite her rank, would rush headlong into the fray. Her legacy was sealed in an act of ultimate sacrifice—a daring rescue in a gunpowder-laden industrial plant that claimed her life and those of her fellow firefighters. I believe, were she here today, she’d don her gear without a moment’s hesitation and lead the charge, for she was, and forever will be, a leader from the front lines.

But in my opinion, Captain Linda and her company of Rescue Squad 17, including Rescue Squads 18 and 53 are kinda useless at this nighttime road construction site fire where while they’re the most experienced members but their job is to save lives not fighting fires so they’re just standing by their respective apparatus where their job falls anything for technical rescues or anything that a Engine or Ladder Company can’t handle. And how since it’s nighttime there’s no road worker in harm's way and that the raging inferno is in one area being hit by water from Engine Companies 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 23, 47, 53, 59, 68, 71, Ladder Companies 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 23, 47, 53, 59, 68, 71 Foam Companies 23, 33, and HAZMAT Companies 23, 33 where we’re just hitting the fire from all around with water, foam, dry chemical, and dry powder.

I had to watch where I walked due to the hoses that crisscrossed the area we were at where the concrete ground was crisscrossed with both four inch and five inch supply lines that are connected to various hydrants or standpipes and that the ground was also crisscrossed with the 1 ¾ and 2 ½ inch attack lines and 1 ½ and 2 ¾ inch high rise attack lines with the latter being hooked up to the standpipes in the modern as of 1950s/60s.

Soon there was an explosion which made us all run but not all of us could run away in time. Some got caught in the fireball and that their screams would haunt us for the rest of our lives where we were able to put them out and sent them off to the hospital intensive care unit burn center for their fourth degree burns but some of them their backs were so burned that they had to be put on the stretcher while laying on their stomachs than their backs but in my opinion is that the eight that got caught in the fireball won’t survive where their lifespan is just a few minutes maybe a day or two.

I then overheard the 18th Battalion Chief just say, “Get on the line to get Ret. Battalion Chief Kai Richter down here.”

Now that some old blood is going to come down to the scene and one of the few firefighters who is specially trained in more or less everything not adding he came on at a time when many of the firemen back then were veterans of World War 2 and the Korean War. Back then many of them back in the 1930s worked in many public projects that put millions of men to hard work but the problem is that 98% of the older members are either retired, lost their memory and went senile or are dead.

After sometime after moving the destroyed hoseline and moving in a new hoseline to replace the destroyed ones but at the same time i got to see the destruction of the fireball. Several different fire engines and trucks were scorched and the windows, lights shattered even a lot of the windows in the apartment building. The heat was hot enough to shatter a majority of the windows in the apartment building.

Soon retired Battalion Chief Kai Richter came wearing his obsolete steel toed hip boots, black canvas jacket and helmet. He started to bark orders like having the Rescue Squads and non other firefighting apparatus to be relocated out of the area of operation so only the Engines, Trucks, and Squad Companies can be in the AO without the fire department’s non firefighting apparatus being in the area. After all with the presence of the Rescue Operations Logistics, Special Operations Command Support Unit, Utility Support, and Rebreather companies on scene because there’s a few Engine and Ladder companies that cannot be close to the scene to shoot water onto the fire

By sunrise, I went back to Squad 769’s position. I saw it destroyed with the right half burnt beyond recognition with the left half still red even though the seal burnt but the officer door window some part of it was cracked with a piece of the window gone.

Once the fire was out we just kept spraying water onto the still smoldering construction equipment then we went down there to start to do salvage and overhaul of just clearing debris, and tearing out walls and ceilings in the construction trailers to make sure there was no fire hiding within and removing filthy asked-choked water also finding and saving any items not destroyed by the fire. While it’s not shown in media of firefighters doing salvage and overhaul but it’s important for ‘em to make sure there’s no hidden fire so they can leave and not come back because sometimes there’s been times where all of the companies would go back to their respective quarters only for the fire to reignite and cause another fire.

“Hey Dave,” I said, “Have you ever put out a fire then it reignited and caused another fire in the same building that you just fought a fire in?”

Dave replied, “Several even if we do Overhaul and Salvage there’s a few times that happened. July 1st, 96 almost one year on the job was a two alarm fire in one of those buildings that’s a restaurant on the first floor and apartments on the upper floors where the fire got up to the cockloft and we didn’t even know so we just done salvage and overhaul on the Chinese restaurant and the apartments right above the restaurant and I can say that the company that I was then on which was Engine Co 16 we just turned onto the street that Firehouse Sixteen is on but over the radio we were called back. That was the best ham I made that day too. Oh there was another time seven almost eight years ago back when Lusty was first pregnant in her 2nd trimester. God I hated that CFR class back in ‘95. But yeah fire at a bank we put it out and well the floors and ceiling are made of tiles you know marble floor tiles with masonry even though to me that's an hazard but the fire got into the vault and burnt up all the money and got in between the first floor and second floor mezzanine.Long story short that bank was out of business for several days due to fire, smoke, and water damage. Final time that it happened because I remember it like yesterday.”

“You do?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Yup it was the day that LIly and Rose were born. It was apart of an agreement that if I donated my sperm so she could have a child well apart of the agreement was that every other week that Lily and Rose and later Margaret, Mabel, Bella, Chloe, and Charlotte that every other week that they have to spend time with me and Linda so they can be with their biological father. Don’t believe me then you can ask your girlfriend yourself or ask her to look up the agreement that she and I signed. Where was I? Oh yeah it was at a strip mall the buildings were Trend Threads: Was the go-to clothing store for the latest fashion at affordable prices. Whether you’re looking for casual wear or something for a night out, Trend Threads has it all. Smoke & Roll Emporium: Was haven for tobacco enthusiasts, this shop offers a wide selection of cigarettes, cigars, and smoking accessories. It’s a place where connoisseurs can find rare blends and share their passion for the leaf. Grill & Chill Bar: The heart of the strip mall, this bar and grill is where friends gather to enjoy hearty meals, watch sports, and unwind after a long day. With a menu that’s a mix of classic and innovative, there’s something for everyone. Burger Blitz: Fast food doesn’t mean low quality at Burger Blitz. Here, you’ll find gourmet burgers made with fresh, locally-sourced ingredients, served up quick and with a smile. Lux Couture: For those with a taste for the finer things, Lux Couture offers high-end fashion from renowned designers. It’s an upscale boutique for the discerning shopper looking for that perfect outfit for special occasions. Tech Haven: Your one-stop electronic shop, Tech Haven is where the latest gadgets and gizmos live. From vinyls to recording consoles, if it’s cutting-edge technology you’re after, you’ll find it here. Green Relief: As the name suggests, Green Relief is a medical cannabis store providing a variety of strains for medicinal use. Knowledgeable staff are on hand to assist customers in finding the right product for their needs. Well there was a fire and spread out across the entire strip mall and quickly went to fourth alarm but after the fire went out well we went 10-09 because of Lusty going into labor where we just took her to the hospital instead of radioing and waiting for an ambulance but hey it was my decision for it and while yes I did get scolded by HQ but I stand by my action that any situation could’ve happened. But yeah when the strip mall caught fire again the four engine companies and three ladder companies returned while we were off the air meaning unavailable.”

As the dawn broke, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, we, the weary but vigilant firefighters of Squad 769, began the meticulous process of scavenging and overhaul. The eight-alarm blaze that had engulfed the road construction site was now a smoldering memory, and it was our duty to ensure every ember was extinguished.

Curiosity piqued as I surveyed the charred remains, I turned to my cousin Dave, who was inspecting a charred bulldozer. “Dave, how often do these apparatus get replaced?” I inquired.

He paused, a reflective look crossing his face illuminated by the rising sun. “Well, Macaroni,” he began, using the nickname that always brought a smirk to my face, “it really hinges on the company’s call volume. You see, the officers from each company, the three captains and one lieutenant convene like a council of architects, sketching out designs on paper, tailoring each rig to specific needs. That happens every eight to ten years.”

I listened intently as Dave continued, “The department’s analysts are like our strategists; they study the fire map, dissecting data from annual responses, even those pesky false alarms. They prioritize the busiest companies for replacements, with the slowest companies getting the newer apparatus last.”

He motioned me over to the side doors of our truck, pointing out the serial numbers etched into the metal. “These last four digits,” he explained, “they tell a story—the year this steel truck joined our house. Take Sixteen Truck here; ‘2004’ marks the year it became part of our legacy, a far cry from the rig my dad rode—‘1967’ was its badge of honor.”

Dave’s tale took a whimsical turn as he recounted a mishap from before the digital age, a time when human error led to fire trucks being delivered to the wrong towns. “Imagine Clearlake expecting ‘24’ and getting ‘5’ instead, a truck fit for the urban sprawl ending up in a rural haven, and vice versa,” he chuckled. “It wasn’t until computers entered the scene in '77—the year Linda and I came into this world—that such mix-ups became a tale of the past.”

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January 17th, a day like any other in Clearlake, Little Bird. To me, this town is a slice of heaven, reminiscent of Moonlight Cove and Sunset Vale. It's where the heart of our community beats strongest in the park. Here, families spread out their picnic blankets, anglers cast their lines hoping for a catch, and it's not uncommon to bump into a new face during an evening stroll. Our town is a charming blend of the old and the new, where futuristic buildings stand shoulder to shoulder with structures straight out of the 1950s American suburbs.

Cadence, Mitchell's better half, suggested I drop by this quaint restaurant on Main Street. The name “The Vintage Vineyard”, but it's the one with a cozy table tucked away in the back. That's where I found Mitchell, Cadence, his sister Twilight, and their half-sisters Mackenzie, Aurora, and Lavender. Jack and Sam were there too, decked out in their Army Service Dress. Odd, considering they'd never served in the Little Bird Army, but the Little Bird Marines instead.

I couldn't help but overhear Sam and Jack. They were deep in conversation with Twilight, who was recounting her time in the military. Many Little Birdens, like her, fibbed about their age to serve in the war. She was part of the 2/7/5/B – the Second Infantry Division, 7th Regiment, 5th Battalion, Baker Company. They saw some of the fiercest battles in the Allied-Soviet war, with the division enduring 47,534 casualties and 22,321 wounded. Despite the odds, Twilight survived, joining a company that had grown wary of greenhorns. "Three week wonders," they'd call them, skeptical of their survival on the battlefield.

I then sat down adjoining from Mitchell.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to Mitchell. "So, what's your role in the military? Covert operations?"

Mitchell leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "Macaroni, in our line of work, plausible deniability is everything."

He wasn't wrong. In Little Bird, agencies like the Office of Intelligence Strategic Services and Actions, and the various Special Forces Groups, including the Silent Serpents and Golden Talons, operate under a veil of secrecy. Their mission is clear yet shrouded: "Conduct effective covert action as directed by the war department and the president." That's all Mitchell could disclose, bound by the law and the shadows of his profession. Whatever he did never happened, where he went he was never there.

“So the patch on your uniform,” I said.

Mitchell replied before I could finish, “Airborne, 39th Regiment. The regiment I’m assigned to because it’s a normal Airborne unit.”

Soon Nighthawk came in and sat down.

“Wonder if this place serves any hot chocolate,” Nighthawk said.

Sam replies, “Yeah this place serves homemade hot chocolate. I’ll be back.”

Sam then got up from the table and went into the kitchen.

“How much did this place cost to rent out for this birthday?” I asked.

Cadence replied, “When I asked Mr. Skybolt of how much he just told me to have Sam come and that we can stay for the entire day as long as we ordered stuff every other hour.”

I then looked at the menu which is not a lot in which I get that because if there was a lot of things on the menu then the costs for food would be a lot higher but two sides on the inside has everything and oh look specials on the back,” I said while looking at the menu.

Soon Carter came in.

“Oh great this guy’s back” I mumbled.

Mitchell replied, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh Carter, my former co-worker, he's a sexist, misogynistic pig,” I said, “Since day one he's been trying to crawl into my pants. Last time I saw him he was with my mother who wants me to have a child to give her a grandchild so I took a shotgun to his leg in response.”

Not entirely surprising that Carter didn’t go for me this time he went for Nighthawk which was a huge mistake.

“Hey there baby doll,” said Carter.

Nighthawk replied coldly, “Beat it punk. You’re not worth the time nor effort.”

Carter then put his hand on Nighthawk’s shoulder.

“Touch me one more Goddamn time then you’ll be regretting it,” snarled Nighthawk.

Nighthawk isn’t mixing words where she may be an Asexual lesbian but she wasn’t no push over either. Not adding she didn’t get the rank of Captain in the 22nd Helicopter Transportation Wing by sucking up to her Commanding Officer but she done it by putting her nose to the grindstone and by doing things that would be called a daredevil move but she done the hard work and put in the work to be promoted. But she was and still is going to be willing to go above and beyond but what made her Captain in the first place was on December 25th, 1999 at 0130 hours due to the amount of Soviet Anti-Aircraft weapons but she knew that while it was dangerous even told that it was a suicidal run but to her she wasn’t going to leave those special forces soldiers behind where even though her helicopter was filled up with lead but she made two trips and rescued twenty special forces soldiers but she got scolded for it though but what she did deserved her being scolded but at the same time she was praised for rescuing elite special forces soldiers that takes a very long time to train.

As I stood there, the weight of my firefighter gear suddenly felt lighter when Carter boasted about his military service. I couldn’t help but squint skeptically.

“Really, Carter? The Army?” Sam’s voice cut through the tension, his disbelief mirroring my own. “Which unit claimed the misfortune of having you?”

Carter’s eyes darted around before he stammered, “Uh, the 77th infantry regiment.”

Sam’s retort was swift and factual, “The 77th Infantry Regiment disbanded in '42, Carter. It split into the 37th and 38th Armored Battalions within the 18th Mechanized-Motorized Infantry Division. Try again.”

Carter’s face reddened as he scrambled, “I meant the 77th Marine Regiment.”

Jack joined in, his tone laced with sarcasm, “And I’m the Queen of England. There’s no 77th Marine Regiment, Carter.”

I watched as Sam and Jack dismantled Carter’s facade with precision. In the Little Bird Army, the Mechanized-Motorized Infantry Division might have five regiments each, but the 77th along with several others were reformed into Armored Regiments before WWII. Those not assigned to tanks joined the elite Airborne Divisions.

Then, with a smirk, Sam delivered the coup de grâce, claiming his place in the 2nd Marine Division, while Jack declared his service in the Seventh Marine Division. They spun their tales with the ease of veterans, leaving Carter speechless and exposed.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as Carter’s deceit unraveled. In our line of work, trust and truth are as vital as the water we use to douse the flames. And just like a fire, lies have a way of consuming everything—especially when you’re caught in them.

When Carter said that both the 2nd and 7th Marine Divisions don’t exist Jack told him to fuck off and tell him to read a history book because the Little Bird 7th Marine Division suffered heavy casualties in the Italian Campaign and later suffered heavily casualties in the Vietnam War. Not adding Sam said that the Little Bird 2nd Marine Division was the vanguard for the Little Bird Marine Corps in World War 2 by always volunteering for the dangerous islands even at a 100% casualty rate among the twenty thousand Marines they still would’ve done so but in Nam most of the 2nd Marine Division played a similar role to the American Military Assistance Command, Vietnam – Studies and Observations Group aka MACV-SOG.

Sam and Jack were asked what Battles they took part in. Sam in the 2nd Marine Division was ordered well tasked with guarding the 2nd Infantry Division northern guard but took part in Operation: Cauliflower where the 2nd Marine Division was tasked with going west and securing the western side of Rostov-On-Don and go north to Volgograd

But like many Divisions in the Little Bird Armed Forces, many of its soldiers and marines, many of these men and women are in their twenties, and some of them aren't even out of their teens. And like the 2nd Infantry Division where the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th, 7th Marine Divisions also suffered heavy casualties. But they were taught that death comes two ways which is fast and peaceful or slow and painful but during Operation Cauliflower many of the Little Birden soldiers and Marines got killed in a graphic way they were just labeled as “A Soldier of the Third Great War” or “A Marine of the Third Great War” not adding throughout the war they saw soldiers on both sides sitting in cover with their hands on their heads or over their ears because they cannot take the fighting, gunfire or shelling anymore while some walked around in a daze confusion due to shell shock. But Jack, Sam, Twilight, and Mitchell say the same thing of “You don't need to understand a word. Pain and suffering is the same in every language." not adding that they were told that “You are not expected to survive” when they were deployed too.

Sam gave Nighthawk her hot chocolate. Sam just threatened Carter to hit the road or he’s going to be rolled out on a stretcher but when Carter refused Sam slid over the table like in a 1980s Action Cop Film. Carter knew it was time to turn tail and run because not one but two Marines were about to kick his ass but Carter then fled.

When Carter did flee he ran into another Waterson outside walking alongside his wife in which Carter saw how the woman had dark mascara on.

“What you hit yourself in the eyes?” Carter said all smug like.

The Waterson male replied, “"If you even implied that I hit my wife then you're going to get a beating that your father never gave you because a real man doesn't hit a woman and the last man that hit my sister the police found his body fifteen years after his disappearance where my ex brother-in-law was beaten so badly that there was hardly any bone left!"

Carter didn't know that all of the Waterson males keep their wives happy and treat them as human beings. But if someone hurts their lover, spouse or significant other then they take the gloves off to fight dirty because many of the male Watersons work in the military doing unconventional warfare including fighting dirty. Not adding that Carter took a quick look and saw that the Waterson that was about to kick his ass that he has two Medal of Honors and three Distinguished Service Crosses in his thirty four years in the military.

Sam just said, “Pull that stolen valor act in front of seven vets. I spotted that a mile away. Dumbass tried to pull that Stolen Valor in a place that had been owned by a Marine Veteran since 1975.”

I replied, “A vet owns this place?”

“My dad,” said Sam, “2nd Marine Division 1967-68 got injured in the Tet Offensive. But don’t you love it when they pull the ‘war hero’ excuse?”

Jack then went on to say how on Little Bird stolen valor isn’t protected by free speech and is a federal offense where in Clearlake the last time someone did that was back in 1919 and was sentenced to death by burning at the stake.

Sam then took me to a plaque on a wall that’s dedicated to the men of the 2nd Marine Division, 8th Regiment, 2nd Battalion, C Company. There was also another plaque on the wall also dedicated to the 2823 firefighters who died, twenty-eight of them were from Clearlake in where for almost two months members from the Port Sarnia Fire Department occupied the Clearlake Fire House until twenty-eight were trained for both shifts.

After that, we returned to the table.

“Carter is the type who will be those when Revelation 9:6 comes,” I said.

Cadence replied, “What’s that?”

“Revelation 9:6 says ‘During those days people will seek death but will not find it; they will long to die but death will elude them,’ That's what it says,” I said.

As I stood in the Vintage Vineyard, my gaze fell upon the plaque commemorating the 28 firefighters lost in 2003. It was a solemn reminder of the sacrifice and bravery that runs deep in the veins of this town. Jack’s voice broke through the silence, carrying a weight of history and pride. He spoke of his family’s legacy, one marked by courage and tragedy. As the sixth brother out of ten, he recounted the harrowing day when his four eldest brothers answered the call of duty, knowing full well the risks that lay ahead in the towering inferno.

The eldest, burdened with survivor’s guilt, had hoped against hope to find his siblings alive amidst the chaos. The second brother, after reporting back that the elevators were non-operational, had to climb up to the 99th floor to fight the fires. The third and fourth brothers, on the 65th and 44th floors, stood their climbed, determined to save every last soul before considering their own escape.

For two weeks, hope flickered like a flame in the wind, as Jack’s eldest brother clung to the possibility of a miracle. But as the third week dawned, reality set in with the crushing finality of steel and concrete. The aftermath revealed the devastating power of the disaster, with emergency vehicles mangled beyond recognition, and even the sturdy ladders of the fire companies torn from their mounts.

Yet, in Jack’s eyes, his brothers were heroes of the highest order. They were the kind of men who didn’t ask when it was time to leave; they simply knew it wasn’t time until everyone was safe. They were selfless, always putting others' safety before theirs, and to Jack, even at the age of thirteen, they were nothing short of superheroes. Their legacy is not just etched on a plaque, but in the hearts of all who remember their valor.

But Jack talked about his 2nd, 3rd and 4th brothers with pride in his voice knowing that his brothers would’ve been there where he knew that his 2nd, 3rd, and 4th brothers would’ve rather died on the job than at home. But Jack also says that his first four brothers, while adults, they were also like children where the first four lived for fires and emergencies and just were bubbly even though the eldest brother lost that.

But the revelation that Jack and his 5th brother were met with indifference from their parents over the loss of their siblings was a bitter pill to swallow. It’s a kind of pain that doesn’t just scar the heart; it carves out a hollow space that can never be filled. The younger brothers, untouched by the memories of the ones they never knew, carried a different kind of silence within them. But for Jack, the absence of his 2nd, 3rd, and 4th brothers was a void that echoed with the ‘what-ifs’ and the ‘if-onlys’.

Yet, life has a way of marching on, and we found ourselves back at the celebration of Mitchell’s birthday. The menu was an adventure in itself, with my choice of spicy boneless chicken wings adding a kick to the festivities. Time seemed to slow down as we waited for the cake, a decadent chocolate affair crowned with strawberry frosting—a silent serenade to Mitchell’s taste buds.

The traditional song of ‘Happy Birthday’ was absent, a collective decision born from Mitchell’s aversion to the tune—a sentiment forged from the relentless repetition of school days past. Mitchell’s presence was a reluctant one, his mind wandering to the gym or any other activity than being the center of attention. Yet, he showed gratitude instead of being ungrateful because his wife threw it for him.

In the end, it wasn’t about the cake or the song; it was about the people gathered around the table, each with their own stories, coming together to mark another year in the life of someone they cared about. It was about the unspoken bonds, the shared glances, and the quiet understanding that, despite everything, we were there for each other.

After the party.

“Hey Mitchell if you don’t mind me asking,” I said, “But if you don’t mind me asking but how much do you pay for rent?”

Mitchell replied, “You don’t know the saying Macaroni. The saying of you never ask a woman her age nor a man his salary. But it’s $71 a month.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Back in the city of Empire on the following Tuesday.

I got a tool box and went over to Squad 769 rig where I was able to lift the cab up and I started to work on the engine.

“What are you doing Macaroni?” asked Captain Harris.

I replied, “Preventive maintenance. Following my cousin Dave’s style of maintenance of doing it a minimum of biweekly after all in a scenario would you rather prevent something from breaking down or would you rather wait until something important breaks like the transmission. Would you want to be called to a fire with a worn out transmission that said transmission breaks leaving us on the side of the road unable to move so dispatch would have to dispatch another Squad Company or another Engine company to take up our spot and leave someone unable to be rescued.”

“Never mind go back to it,” said Captain Harris.

I did one of the first things I did was turn the Rescue Engine on to get an accurate level of transmission fluid. I decided to put some more transmission fluid into it where on Little Bird the fire apparatus all of their engines have those truck engines for tractor trailers well those big rig trucks but I just put a few gallions into the transmission because the manual says that we should have it topped off and the stick says that it’s at half full so that’s what I did. Even for the sake of it I even checked the oil level in which that was fine.

Soon a white shirt came in where he told us that we all have to report to HQ for “sensitivity” training in which was the first time I’ve heard of an career on Little Bird is having it’s employees go through “sensitivity training” because on Little Bird that people are told to have thick skin because when I was back in University that when I was assigned for a ride along for Firehouses Sixteen, Thirty-Three and Squad Company 525 that the men and women of firehouses Sixteen and Thirty-Three and the men of Squad Company 525 that in the kitchen that the men and women they just sit in the kitchen just messing around just and do something call “ball busting” where they just joke around where everyone gets joked about and talked about and it’s a place that many firefighters I know that they would rather be in the kitchen making jokes and not being offended.

_________________________________________________________________

Headquarters in a classroom looking room.

As we entered the classroom I saw Carter sitting up front and center sitting like a good boy for his first day of school.

Oh thank you Lord above for this day to have Carter’s sexist ass to partake in this sensitivity training, I thought, Now Lord please send a bolt of lighting to fry his ass or send a group of people to beat the shit out of him. Please and thank you Lord. Amen.

I sat in the farthest spot which was by a window where I wasn’t interested in being here and I would rather be at work.

“Alright, listen up, this class takes ten hours,” said the same guy who came and got us. “I can safely say that this class beats than risking your life in a fire.”

I interrupted, “I'd rather die in a fire than take this horseshit class because I refuse to sleep with a microcystic pig.”

Carter then looked back at me.

“Keep your eyes facing forward or I’ll come up there and give you a beating that your dad never gave you,” I said.

Soon a man in a suit came.

“Hey I got a question and that is if we’re here then who’s going to cover our shift if we’re here to take this damn course for the next ten hours?” I asked.

The man replied, “Your house has been temporarily closed for the next ten hours.”

“I bet if Eastside was a rich neighborhood they would probably move ten firehouses into the neighborhood but since it’s a poor neighborhood, so be it. After all it’s just a bunch of poor impoverished people that have to suffer,” I mumbled.

The man then asked if any of us were prejudiced. I raised my hand in a heartbeat.

“Who do you feel prejudice against?” asked the man.

I replied, “My family, misogynistic pigs, and people with soft skin.”

“You have?” asked the man.

I replied, “I’ve been called Bosche, Kraut, Jerry, Hun, Fritz, Heinie, even a Goddamn Nazi so many times I can write so many books to fill up a library shelf. Last person who called a Nazi was my cousin Natalie who called me a Nazi because she took my root beer that I had and I was just getting out of the swimming pool and when she called me a Nazi I bitch slapped her into next week.”

“You think that was the most okay thing to do?” he asked.

I replied, “Slamming her face into the wooden table or dragging her up stairs to throw her out of a window into the pool hoping her feet or legs hit the concrete so her legs could be broken would be a better alternative?”

"Well that's the reason why we're here," said the guy.

I replied, "No the reason that's 100% accurate is that there's a sexist misogystic here that got hurt when a woman told him to fuck off because said woman aka me refused to sleep with a sexist. Don’t believe me ask Carter’s ex-wife about how Carter is around women just go over to 136 Engine and the main reason we’re here because he’s all sore all over that I told him to fuck off when he couldn’t take the hint that I’m not interested in him and it ended with him getting a 12 gauge magnum buckshot to the leg."

“Okay I got a video that I want you all to watch,” said the guy before going to a tv on wheels.

I just closed my left eye, and leaned my head against the window and pretended not to watch the film as I just watched cars and pedestrians go about down below. But after some time after the video ended.

“What did the video demonstrate?” asked the guy .

I replied, “This is bullshit the only reason we’re here is because a sexist misogynistic pig got all sore because he was rejected. All this is good for ass covering purposes. Where are we here? It's because the one sitting up front and center has friends. We came a long way from duals to settle scores. Next time I run into a burning building or respond to a car accident and refuse to save someone that’s a sexist misogynistic pig or someone who ain’t the same color as me then you can drag me back here.”

I then got up, went to the door and left.

I just got a cheeseburger and fries for brunch and just went over to firehouse sixteen to spend the day there but when I got there I saw the men and women of Engine and Ladder Company Sixteen sit at a table in the kitchen where they’re just joking around.

“Can I help you?” asked a female voice.

I replied, “Yeah I just came over here to be with my cousin. He’s the Captain for Sixteen Truck.”

“Well Engine 16, Super Pumper 12, Ladder 16, Field Comm Unit 47, Swift Water Rescue, Urban Search and Rescue 3, and both Ambulances are full.” said the lady, “But since the company secretary is out so you can fill her shoes for the day.”

I replied, “As long I don’t have to go back to sensitivity training.”

“What the Hell is sensitivity training?” asked the same woman

I replied, “Nice try,”

She looked at me.

“Sensitivity training is a technique that uses group discussion and interaction to increase individual awareness of self and others, especially those of different gender, culture and abilities,” I said.

She replied, “What happened to the days of doing something good then you get called something good and insulted? I made a lot of mistakes and I got called every female derogatory term in the book. I got tired of hearing that my former crew made up new terms to call me. Who’s making your crew go through that sissy training?”

“Carter over on 525,” I replied.

She replied, “Jesus might as well have Satan himself drag your crew there himself.”

“You have a history with him?” I asked.

She replied, “History? I wrote the original definition of ‘blueballed’ because he slapped me on my ass and this was back when we were wearing rubber boots, and rubber jacket not this kevlar nomex gear. Doesn’t help that he was engaged and proudly wore his engagement ring before getting wed. A man who cheats on his fiancee later turned wife for almost two years is not a man I want to be friends with.”

She then left and got her crew of Engine Company 16 went and left. I settled into the chair beside Dave, the clinking of chess pieces a subtle backdrop to our conversation.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. Aren’t you with Squad 769?” Dave inquired, his gaze not leaving the board.

“Yeah, I’m with 769,” I began, my voice steady, “but we’re benched. Carter’s tantrum over my refusal to entertain his sexist remarks has the whole squad on timeout. I’d rather dodge traffic than give him the time of day. And frankly, I’d prefer the company of like-minded women over a conversation with him any day.”

The fire bell’s urgent ring cut through the station, and I rose, ready to face whatever awaited us.

Amidst the haze of a smoke-engulfed midrise, Dave’s voice found me.

“You thinking of getting Carter handled?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.

I shook my head, “No, I’ve got my own plans for him.”

Dave laughed, “The low road, huh?”

I countered, “Low road? Please. You’ve been skirting the middle path since you were in first grade honesty laced with cunning. Like that time in '92 when you lied to your dad about his '58 Chevy. He taught you a lesson with his belt so well, you couldn’t sit for a year.”

Dave nodded, “Yeah, that stick he used wasn’t just any branch. It was the perfect switch, and it left its mark.”

I recalled a memory from my Alabama days, “I remember a couple at the diner where I worked. They believed in old-school discipline—switches and birching. But Carter? I’ll handle him my way.”

“If you want to go solo, that’s your call,” Dave conceded. “But a little backup never hurts. You sure you don’t want me to make a call?”

I was resolute, “Carter’s just a thorn in our side. Besides, there’s wisdom in the Good Book about dealing with his kind.”

Dave raised an eyebrow, “The Bible talks about fistfights with misogynists?”

“Not exactly,” I replied, “But it does talk about justice—‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ I know the scriptures that serve me.”

Dave chuckled, “Just remember, ‘you reap what you sow.’ Be careful. Ever thought about taking a break?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Dave leaned in, “The department’s shrink. Spin a tale, make it convincing, and you could get a breather. Linda did it—turned her nightmares into extra leave.”

I pondered Dave’s words, weighing my options. “I’ll think about it. But for now, I’ll deal with Carter in my own way. So Linda has nightmares?”

“Several,” said Dave, “On September 17th of 2000 fire over at the Eastside Mall her adoptive brother Kevin was a firefighter over on 33 Engine well we were fighting a mall fire and for whatever reason the mall had corrosive acids and when he jumped off a second story pedestrian pass to get to Linda. And I on the first floor he landed in the corrosive acid where I had to pull Linda out where the moment Kevin landed in that acid he was already dead but we got permission to use explosives to implode the mall. Later that day/night well Rescue Company 17 responded to a turned over gas truck on the bridge and Engine 69 was on its side for whatever reason how that happened is a mystery but the crew of six out of seven were scattered across the road so Linda and five others rescued the six firefighters from Engine 69 but the Rescue Squad Captain went inside to rescue the chauffeur of Engine 69 but a spark lit the gasoline that was spreading and it was all around Engine 69 but the Engineer told the Captain of Rescue Squad 17 to save himself and to her she can still hear their loud and agonizing screams.

"And finally in 2003 on that fateful day that Linda’s company was in the city of Chocolate going back to Technical Rescue School for requalification when that day happened where she and her company responded to the emergency even though outside of their jurisdiction but she entered with a crew of six not adding herself or adding her it makes seven but out of her crew four never returned home because they were killed but for weeks after the attack. The only thing you could hear around the scene were nothing but the PASS Devices from the firefighters going off. But to Linda she just said that one week after our wedding which was on October 3rd of 2003 one month after the event Linda just said ‘Our job in the rescue squad is to rescue trapped firefighters but they just recovered 141 of them within one month of the event and there’s 2628 still missing’. Well all 2823 have been found and given funerals but I just do what my dad would’ve said and that is that you can cry when you’re off shift because when you’re on shift there are still a lot of people that need help.”

I glanced at Dave, the weight of the question in my eyes. "Has she found peace, knowing not everyone can be saved?"

Dave nodded towards the door. "Let's get this open."

I wedged the Halligan bar into the frame, and Dave swung his ax, the metal clanging with each strike. But the door wouldn't budge under my force. With a grunt, Dave took over and with a skilled twist, the door gave way.

I stepped back, frustration simmering. "I couldn't even open a solid oak door."

Dave's voice was reassuring. "Oak doors are heavy, Mac. They can weigh between 50 to 100 pounds”

I shook my head, the fire of determination in my voice. "We trained just as hard as the men at the academy. If they've lightened our load, they've underestimated us. We didn't ask for concessions. We wanted to prove we could do the job just as well, without any special treatment."

Dave's nod was solemn, an unspoken agreement between warriors of the same battle. "You've proved it time and again, Mac. No door's weight can measure your strength."

“You don’t mind me asking?” I asked

Dave cut me off, “Back in ‘95 the fire academy the dummies we had to drag and carry weighed around 140 pounds. The forcible entry training we done was done with a piece of wood blocking the door and not adding that one part of the training is a firefighter down training of that a trainee has to rescue an unconscious firefighter in a smoke filled tower so that was backbreaking of having to carrying a 140-180 pound male with 75-100 pound gear on.”

“Same for us,” I said.

We then searched the apartment thoroughly but we didn’t find anyone in it.

“I’m just saying that I’ll be pissed if they lowered the standards for us in certain fields during training at the academy,” I said, “Many of the women including myself reject any form of accommodation or special treatment, in part because they wish to prove themselves in the same way as their male counterparts, and in part because we fear it will make them a target for harassment. Some women in my class couldn’t pass the entire training but that didn’t stop them from trying over and over before the final test of doing the entire test within the allotted time of seven minutes. My time was six minutes and forty nine seconds.”

Dave replied, “Linda and Chloe were the same in their days at the academy. But I think that is because of them coming from a family of generations of firefighters not adding that her father was a highly decorated battalion chief before retirement and some of her brothers are Captains and Lieutenants respectively. Hell her brother Kenny who’s a Captain on 82 Engine he put off to attend Linda and mine's wedding but the chief that approves or denies time off request denied Kenny’s time off request but Kenny just told the guy that it’s not his problem that if 82 Engine would be without an officer for two hours.”

“Honestly I can believe that Carter had us go to that sissy training,” I said. “He’s all sore all over because I’m not whoring myself out to him. If he wants to get laid then there are prostitutes out there that he can have sex with and probably every sex disease there is in humanity. Well if he does I hope he gets Aids, HIV, and STD and every other disease that people get from having sex.”

Dave replied, “I still suggest having someone to back you up though.”

“Carter is the type that probably jerks off into a gym sock when things don’t go his way,” I said.

________________________________________________________________

Back at the firehouse.

“Hey, can I run a quick-ish errand real quick?” I asked.

Dave replied, “Yeah go for it.”

I then left and got into my car where I went to a Cafe where I waited outside where I saw Carter come out with a coffee and something to eat in his hands. He went to a table to sit down to eat.

I got out of my car and went over to him. I slammed his face into the table a few times before grabbing his coffee and throwing the hot coffee onto his crotch.

“See you in cell block six asshole,” I said to Carter before leaving.

______________________________________________________

In another smoke filled building.

The cluttered room was a menagerie of the neglected and the bizarre. "How many animals does one person need?" I muttered, eyeing a slinky creature in the corner. "Is that a ferret?"

Dave glanced over, "That's no ferret. That's a rat. A big one."

I reached down, fingers grazing something hard and cold. "And what's this?"

"A dead turtle," Dave said flatly.

I recoiled, dropping the lifeless shell. "This place gives me the creeps. Let's get out of here."

Dave's next words stopped me cold. "You good with snakes?"

I felt a shiver run down my spine. "Hate them. Why?"

"Don't look down," he warned.

But I did. A Black-headed python, its scales a glossy tapestry of dark hues, was coiling around my ankles. I screamed, a primal sound of fear, and bolted. The snake, perhaps as startled as I was, released its grip, and I didn't stop running until I was sure it was far behind me.

Black-headed pythons, I later learned, are non-venomous and generally not aggressive unless hunting. They're more likely to hiss or strike with a closed mouth when disturbed¹². But in that moment, all I knew was terror—and the overwhelming urge to escape.

Stepping into the daylight, Captain Nova’s eyes widened at Dave’s recount.

“A snake? You mean an actual snake?” she asked, incredulous.

Dave nodded, “Yep, a Black-headed python, to be precise.”

Captain Nova let out a low whistle. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

Dave leaned against the truck, a smirk playing on his lips. “In my time here, I’ve rescued all sorts—dogs, cats, birds, even ferrets and snapping turtles. But spiders, snakes, and the like? They’re where I draw the line.”

He paused, a distant look in his eyes. “There was this one fire over on Flurry Street, right at the corner with Mackenzie Street. An iguana was part of that day’s rescue roster. But rats and spiders? No, thank you.”

As we were about to debrief, another firefighter jogged over, urgency in his step. “Captain, you might want to get Animal Control on the line. We’ve got an alligator situation in the bathtub.”

The crew exchanged glances, a mix of disbelief and resignation in their eyes. Just another day in the life of a firefighter—unpredictable.

“My guess is that it’s probably an illegal animal shelter of someone going to different countries and bringing back pets and creatures from different countries.” said Dave, “You know bringing back non native but invasive creatures.”

I replied, “Oh Jesus this is just a nightmare. I’m not going back up there until every single damn animal both deadly or not, is removed by animal control!”

_________________________________________________________

The following night.

I was at a bar having a few drinks where I just put $2.55 onto the bar because I had three shots of whiskey and one cup of coffee.

As I walked out of the bar I checked my phone where I got a lot of messages from an unknown number so I checked and they were all from my mother so I just decided to block that number because my so called mother got a new phone or a new number.

“You Mackenzie Waterson?” asked a guy.

I replied, “Who wants to know?” then turned around where three guys came out of the bar that I was in.

“We’re Carter’s friends,” the same guy said.

I replied, “That’s your problem not mine.”

The three guys caught me off guard and they beat the living hell out of me until I was down where they then kicked me for a few moments.

But when they left was when I got up and just decided to go to my cousin Dave and his wife Linda’s apartment when I arrived at apartment 1418 knocked on the door which opened.

“Nice to finally meet you off shift Captain,” I said to Linda before walking in and falling over face first.