CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brock
The fire was out of control, the heat nearly unbearable in the stiff Texas air. After swiping the sweat from my brow every few minutes, I finally gave up, letting it fall like rain until it slid down the side of my face and disappeared inside my neckline.
I hardly had time to think about what lay before me. The air sizzled and popped. A troublesome windstorm had evolved under treacherous dry conditions. Nerves jumped inside my veins.
This wasn’t my first forest fire but I was older now, my reaction times slower. I hoped all my strength training would give me enough gusto to do what I had to do, lead me to where I had to go, and get me and anyone else I happened to encounter, out safely and alive. The thing about fires of this magnitude was they were totally unpredictable. We needed to contain what was there, keep it from spreading further, and faster
I was the only one of our group with wilderness training so I took charge of the men from Intercourse Company. After sending each of them into the calmest part of the forest wearing respirators and heavy gear, I ducked my head as I boarded a chopper in a blinding whirlwind of dust, and thick smoke. I needed to get to the top of the highest hill.
“How bad is it?” I had shouted to the pilot not knowing whether he could hear me above the copper blades. “We’ll talk later.” It wasn’t easy, wearing all my gear, but I managed to , settle myself in and throw on a lap-belt. The plane lifted off the ground, the whapping of blades echoing our ascent.
When we were high above the smoke, the pilot glanced over at me, shouting out the worst. “It’s pretty bad. We’ve already lost three men, and that was just the first day. If we don’t get this monster under control, a whole forest could be destroyed.”
That was not what I wanted to hear. Sabine National Forest wiped out? I couldn’t think of anything more devastating. It wasn’t just forest and wildlife that would be destroyed; there were homes that weaved in and along the Sabine River and businesses that made a living on tourism.
We shouldn’t have been surprised. For years, locals feared the Indian Mounds Wilderness, which had nothing to do with actual Indians, with its falling pine timber and ground-level fuel would start a forest fire one day. I guess that day had come.
As we turned around the bend, I peered out the helicopter door, trying to see through the haze. Finally, there was a break in the smoke. Civilization loomed below.
“See that farm over there?” asked the pilot. “There’s about twenty thousand head of cattle plus four families. There’s also a refinery on the far back.”
The severity of the situation hit me in the pit of my stomach. All those families. Their livelihood. They’re lives. They’d all be destroyed.
“If you have any ideas,” said the pilot. “I’m all ears.”
I leaned over the back of the pilot’s chair. “If we can divert the fire to the lake… Maybe we can save at least those few acres.”
“Might work,” shouted the pilot. “That is, if the wind starts to fade or doesn’t change course. If it does, who knows what the hell will happen.”
“How many men do we have?”
“Not nearly enough, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry. Those guys are tough and they’re the best of the best. If anyone can get this thing under control, they can.” I patted the pilot on the shoulder. I had great respect for bush pilots. It was hazardous enough flying in these conditions. I wanted to, on some level, project as much confidence into him as I could.
“Really,” I said. “I have seen worse.” Actually I hadn’t, but I wasn’t telling him that.
The chopper dropped me on the top of a steep mountain along with about twenty other seasoned and trained fire companies called the Hotshots from other parts of the country. Even though the wind was blowing the fire downhill, my face, hands, and body were covered instantly in hot sweat.
As I ran out from under the blades of the helicopter, I met a man with short grey hair and a goatee. He stuck his hand out to greet me. “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Brock Fitzgerald,” he said, shaking my hand profusely. “I’d know you anywhere, you old dog.”
“Hello, Jack,” I said, not mincing any words. I hadn’t seen the man in fifteen years. Not since he saved my life when we were caught inside a structure fire gone bad. “No time for small talk, I’m afraid. What’s the plan?” Judging by the power saws and hand tools all over the ground and fifteen or so men digging a trench, I had a pretty rough idea what he was going to tell me.
“We need to make a fire line,” Jack said. “Five maybe six feet down, light a back fire, and see if we can get the wind do the rest.”
“What if the wind direction changes?”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”
It was risky, but, there wasn’t any other way. We couldn’t get in front of the fire and Jack explained they’d already tried shooting foam from overhead and on the ground but it hadn’t worked.
I grabbed a shovel and began digging.
The plan involved pushing the fire down-hill—into the primary blaze. After what seemed like forever, we lit some unburned fuel to get it going. With a little luck, we would lead that sucker to the lake. It worked like a charm and I started to see the forest through the trees, so to speak. The wind had slowed , the smoke a grey mist of sizzling misty ash. We continued to trudge on, cutting and digging until we were ready to light the back fire.
Two hours later, we were halfway down the slope when the wind suddenly shifted.
“Shit!”
The trees in front of us erupted into massive explosive flames.
Some of the men panicked. Their wild eyes searched for an escape route as they ran in all directions. Those who kept their heads, looked to me for direction. Copying my actions, they understood. Quickly, they put on their oxygen masks but one hadn’t donned it fast enough. He dropped with heat exhaustion.
I scurried over and place his mask on the fallen man’s face. He slowly opened his eyes, then I turned to the rest within hearing. “Keep calm. And we’ll get out of here alive.”
Several of the men attempted to go back up the trench trail but it was no use. That was on fire too.
“Take your packs out! Take your packs out!” I reached over my shoulder and pulled out an aluminum foil-type cloth, my emergency tarp. I threw it over myself and then dropped to the ground, tucking the edges below my feet. It wasn’t sure if it would work. We hadn’t had time to prepare the ground, but I had to try. Then I got an idea.
n a rush of inspiration, I threw off the tarp, found my pick axe lieing on the ground next to me, and began chopping a giant ring around myself before shouting, “Dig, Dig!” I cleared away as much dirt as I possibly could, hoping I had reached the mineral soil underneath, and then I curled myself into a ball. I pulled the tarp back over my head and waited, pray the rest of the men were doing the same, but not having the time to monitor them. In the great scheme of things and no matter how much I tried to protect them—in a fire, each man was on his own.
I crouched like that for hours—feeling helpless and terrified.
I didn’t know what was happening, only that that bone-melting inferno raged out of control around me making me incredibly hot inside my little cocoon.
The sound of trees exploding and people shouting made me certain I couldn’t move from where I hid. Not yet.
I gasped. How long before I ran out of oxygen? Without cool refreshing air? The oxygen near the earth sucked into the fire.
I took small cleansing breaths while coughing so hard I thought my eyes would pop out of my head.
This is it, I thought. I’m going to die.
Then, everything went blank.