by Kayt C Peck
Ted Rome pulled into the field that served as a parking area beside the station and got out of the old Explorer that was the Dulson Fire Department command vehicle. As he walked toward the station, Guy moved into action. He moved toward Brad’s informal tour group, stepping between Ted and the fledgling firefighters.
“Brad, pull the pumper onto the apron,” Guy called.
Brad turned to grin at Judy and her two companions. “Come on,” he said. “There’s room for four in the cab. You all can ride with me.”
The three women were almost as excited as Brad at the new—to them anyway—trucks, and they happily climbed inside. As they took seats in the truck, with Brad in the driver’s seat, they studied the strange configuration of the seats.
“What’s this attached to the seat?” Kathleen asked.
“They’re SCBAs – the air tanks,” Brad answered. “They’re set up so that firefighters can be geared up and ready to go as soon as you get to a fire.”
“Should we do it?” Pookie asked.
“Not on your life,” Brad answered. “I tried earlier and damn near couldn’t get out of the truck. I haven’t figured out the trick to the release latch. We better let Guy or Ted show us how.”
“But you know how to drive the truck, right?” Judy asked.
“Do I know how to drive the truck?” Brad responded derisively. He turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. Ted stepped onto the running board and Brad rolled down the window.
“Did you remember to turn on the battery kill switch?” Ted asked.
“The what?” Brad responded.
Ted opened the driver’s door and directed Brad’s attention to a large toggle switch beside the seat. “You can’t afford to have a dead battery on a fire truck,” Ted said. “Most are equipped with two batteries plus a switch on the driver’s side in the cab that totally disconnects the batteries so there is no drain if the truck isn’t driven for a few days.”
Ted clicked the switch to the on position. Brad hit the ignition switch and the engine roared to life.
Brad blushed. “Guy didn’t tell me about the kill switch,” he said.
“Riiiiiiight,” Judy responded. Pookie stifled a giggle.
Judy watched as Brad pulled the truck forward. The basic operation was easy, simpler than the four-ton tandem axel trucks she’d driven when helping local harvest crews. The mystery came in trying to understand the buttons, lights, and switches across the dashboard. She assumed it was for operation of radio, lights, and sirens, and the pump mechanism. Judy felt like an astronaut studying the controls of a space shuttle.
Once both trucks were parked outside the building, Guy drove the brush truck, the real training began. Everyone watched as Ted and a Dulson firefighter he’d brought along pulled hose from a compartment marked “Preset 1.” They fully extended the hose, laying it beside the truck, the firefighter staying with the nozzle. Ted quickly organized the trainees into groups of four or five, and Ted supervised training on the pumper for one group while Guy did the same for another group on the brush truck. The Dulson firefighter worked with another team, showing them basic operation of the nozzle on what they learned was a standard inch and a half hose. The rookies quickly learned the inch and half with a variable nozzle would be their primary tool in fighting structure fires. Both the pumper and the brush truck were equipped with a spool holding hardier rubber hose with a smaller variable nozzle. This would be their godsend for grass fires.
“This is more fun than a rodeo dance,” Judy said as her team finished nozzle training. She worked side-by-side with Kathleen, Pookie, Joe Bob, and Curley.
“Speak for yourself,” Curley said. He was soaked from the top of his bald head to his now squishy cowboy boats. He hadn’t been ready for the power of water pressure when he took his turn at the nozzle. “Damn thing reared up on me like a crazy colt,” Curley said after the Dulson firefighter helped him bring nozzle and hose back under control.
“Hell, Curley, laughing at you has been half the party,” Joe Bob said.
Tiny Pookie surprised them all when she took a turn at the nozzle. When the pressure hit, she simply dropped to one knee, leaning into the nozzle and maintaining better control than most of the other rookies. Each trainee had a chance to run the nozzle, but they were taught to always work in pairs, with one firefighter leaning into the back of the nozzle operator to help with control, especially when water pressure was high to increase flow and reach. Judy was Pookie’s backup, but she wasn’t really needed.
Their team learned quickly during their turn at the Class A pumper, Ted showing them the process of initial pump engagement from the truck cab, switching the transmission from drive to the Power Take Off for the pump. They then worked at the panel just behind the driver’s side door, learning how to prime, turn on tank to pump, adjust pump speed and pressure, and open valves according to which outlet water should be directed. Ted then gave a quick familiarization on emergency lights, sirens, and radios. Judy felt certain she couldn’t retain it all at once, but it was a start. They would need more practice.
They were the last team to go to the brush truck. Guy saw them coming. He turned his back to the group, turned off the pump at the rear of the brush truck, wound in the hose using the powered recall, and jumped in the cab. Judy and her team stood stunned as their “chief” simply backed the truck into the station bay.
After parking the truck, Guy looked at their team.
“It’s getting late.” Almost under his breath, but still loud enough for them to hear, Guy mumbled, “And I’ve already trained the real firefighters.”
Curley’s bald head turned red, and he balled his hands into fists. Joe Bob placed a hand on his arm, stopping him as he started toward Guy.
“He’s not worth it, Curley. We can learn better from Ted anyway.”
“Dick head,” Pookie said.
“There you go again. Hitting the nail square on the dick head,” Judy said.
“Nasty little sucker, isn’t he?” Kathleen commented.
Judy turned to Joe Bob. “I don’t know if Pookie and Kathleen noticed earlier, but I think I learned something important when we first got here.”
“He’s scared shitless of women,” Kathleen said.
“You saw?” Judy asked.
“I wanted to say ‘boo’ just to find out if he’d pee himself,” Pookie added.
Joe Bob gave his mustache a nervous tug. “That information just might come in handy.”
As Brad backed the pumper into the station, Guy called for everyone to go into the community building for some final business. Muddy, wet, and tired, the fledgling firefighters still chattered merrily as they moved inside and took seats around tables. Guy took a stack of papers and pens from the counter beside the kitchen and passed them to the group.
“I need everyone’s clothing sizes, including shoe sizes. Answer all the boxes and blanks on these forms. I’ll be ordering PPEs for everyone tomorrow,” Guy said.
“PPEs?” Brad asked.
“Personal Protective Equipment,” Pookie answered. Judy wasn’t the only one reading her Essentials of Firefighting.
Guy glared at the tiny woman.
“It’s bunker gear for structure fires and wildland gear for grassland…forestry too, but we don’t have any of that around here,” Guy said.
Ted Rome watched from the doorway. “No bids?” he asked.
“We’ll be using a state approved vendor,” Guy answered.
“But you don’t have your state allocation to buy equipment,” Ted said.
“It’s been approved. This vendor knows me. He’s willing to take and fill the order knowing they’ll get paid as soon as we get our state money.”
“You certainly move fast, Guy,” Ted said.
“The faster we move, the sooner Coldwater will be safer from fire and accidents.” Guy responded. His words seemed civil, but his eyes were cold and angry. He moved closer to Ted. “Thanks for your help tonight, Chief Rome, but I can ha
ndle training from now on.”
Ted stood silent for a long time. His expression was cold and set. “The County entrusted me to train this company. I’ll be back next week.”
“Thank God,” Kathleen whispered. Judy gave her lover’s hand a quick squeeze. She felt the same way. Ted was an ally they desperately needed.
Chapter Fourteen
Metal and Fire
“I feel like I’m having an affair,” Kathleen said as she finished writing sizes and serial numbers on the equipment section of her fire department personnel file.
Brad blushed. “I’m not cheating on the Chief. He just doesn’t understand ranch girls. He thinks you’re a bunch of fluff bunnies who are afraid you might break a nail.”
“Sometimes I’d like to pound a nail into his head,” Pookie said.
“Pookie!” Kathleen hissed.
Judy sighed. “I should get after you too, Pook, but the truth is, I agree.”
“Aw Judy,” Brad responded. “He knows a lot about firefighting. We’re lucky to have him.”
“So what about us? Is he afraid Curley and I are going to break a nail?” Joe Bob asked.
Brad shuffled paper work on the desk. The station was complete, and Ted Rome had scrounged up surplus office furniture from storerooms at the City and County. For the most part, in just six weeks, the Coldwater Volunteer Fire Department was in business. Bob Hanks, the same absentee ranch owner who donated money to build the station, had contributed two computers, a Bluetooth enabled printer, and a year’s satellite internet service.
“Aw, heck, Joe Bob. Damned if I can figure what Guy has against you; maybe he’s afraid you’ll try to take back chief. All I know is he’s doing a bang up job training me and the boys,” Brad said.
Judy snorted with humorless laughter. “I haven’t seen you act like this since high school football. Remember that crazy coach you had junior year? Guy’s got you all in matching t-shirts and strutting around like you’re the ‘jocks’ of Coldwater.”
“Well,” Brad cleared his throat. “Maybe we are. I mean, a firefighter needs to be quick and strong, so being young and athletic isn’t a bad thing.”
The five clandestine firefighters stared at each other, exchanging expressions of amazement.
“Did he really just say what I heard him say?” Curley asked.
Judy collapsed into a chair, elbows on the desk and her head in her hands. “Sometimes, when you claim a soul brother, you have to remember it’s for better or worse.”
Joe Bob’s face reddened. “Brad Kenton, you listen to me. There’s more to succeeding at anything, firefighting included, than how fast and strong you are. He’s got you young bucks horn-swaggled. Man hasn’t called an officers’ meeting since we elected him. That’s not leadership, that’s…that’s…piracy. That’s what it is, piracy. He’s flat taken over our fire company, and maybe he should be worried about me taking back chief.”
“Brad, I’m the duly elected treasurer, and he won’t let me near any of the financial records. I’m really worried; all of us officers are responsible for the company, including the finances,” Kathleen said.
“Well, the financial records are right here.” Brad walked confidently to a file cabinet and pulled so hard the cabinet rocked when he tried to open a drawer. The drawer stayed firmly closed. “Oh, I guess Guy locked it.”
“I know. I already tried,” Kathleen said.
“And why didn’t he call any of us to come get our gear?” Curley asked. “He called you and that gaggle of boys he’s got following him.”
“I’m sure it was just an oversight,” Brad said. “Besides, I came down here to make sure you got your stuff as soon as Joe Bob called.”
“Aren’t you afraid your ‘Chief’ is going to catch you?” Judy asked.
“Naw, I’m just doing my job. Besides,” Brad looked at his boots, visibly embarrassed. “Besides, he went to Albuquerque to meet with some fellow who sells fire engines. He won’t be back until day after tomorrow.”
“That’s okay, Brad,” Kathleen said, a note of resolution in her voice. “We’re just glad you’re issuing our equipment.”
“After we’re all done, I need to show you some basics about the radios and how to wear the gear. Guy showed us some neat tricks, like leaving your bunker pants stored over your boots so you just step into your boots and pull the pants up by the suspenders.”
“Peachy keen,” Pookie said, enthusiastically. It was time to play with the new toys.
aaAA
The smell of acetylene and ozone filled the air. Wearing heavy gloves, Judy held a bent section of metal they’d cut from an old truck hood. Judy taught Pookie how to use each piece of equipment, including the welder, but Pookie was the artist. Pookie found the metal, cut, bent, and shaped each piece, and decided where it would go on the sculpture taking form on the metal workbench. Judy was just the assistant, having no real purpose in the process except to hold pieces or fetch tools. Pookie was a natural at welding, learning quickly. Judy held the metal tightly, a welding mask over her face, as Pookie ran the welder, protected by her own mask. When the bead was complete and the latest addition to the sculpture firmly attached, they both stepped back, expertly flicking their heads to pivot the masks from faces to the tops of their heads.
Pookie breathed deeply. “I really love that smell,” she said.
“Don’t tell Kathleen.”
“Why not?”
“When she first came here, Brad and I didn’t hear her drive up while we were repairing a seed drill. She watched us weld for several minutes and burnt the heck out of her eyes. She had to spend two days in a darkened room, putting ointment in her eyes every few hours.”
“Oh wow! Is that why she decided to go to town today, because we’d be welding?” Pookie asked.
“I’m sure it had something to do with it, but, you know Kathleen is more of a girlie girl than either of us. Sometimes she just likes to get her hair and nails done and maybe shop for some clothes.”
“At Walmart?” Pookie asked, astounded.
“Well, there’s actually a couple of ladies’ dress shops downtown, but you probably didn’t notice.”
“No way! Two dress shops, and I have to get my art supplies at Walmart!”
“Sad but true,” Judy said. She turned her attention to the rapidly forming metal sculpture before them. It was a test – about one eighth the size of the piece intended for the community center – but it was obviously a buffalo. It didn’t have the polish and detail of most of Pookie’s other work, whether one-dimensional or three. Instead, there was a different kind of appeal, made all the better by the fact that it was created entirely from scrap. “Pookie girl, I don’t think you should finish the pieces in adobe and glaze. I think your metal sculpture is just fine.”
“I’m done for today.” Pookie walked around the piece, her head cocked to one side as she studied it. “I think you may be right. This is turning into more than just a frame for the finish.”
“Looks damn good, if you ask me,” Judy said.
Pookie smiled.
The two worked together storing welding equipment and putting away clamps and other tools. Judy flexed her shoulders, working out the kinks from the intensity of bending metal to their will.
“Kathleen said she’d pick up a pizza before she came home,” Judy said.
“That sounds awesome.”
The shop was silent after hours of listening to the sizzle and hum of the welder. Judy walked to the old refrigerator that they kept in the shop and pulled out two cans of Dr. Pepper, handing one to Pookie. She grabbed one of the makeshift chairs her father had built from old tractor seats and spare rebar and set it just inside the open shop door where a cool breeze came in from the outside. Pookie retrieved a chair for herself and took a seat near Judy. They sat drinking soda and staring out on the prairie, on land the Proctor family had stewarded for three generations.
“I never would have imagined I’d be living on a ranch, and I had no clue
how much I’d love it,” Pookie said.
“I thought you looked like a llama in a herd of cows when you first arrived,” Judy said.
“Changed your mind?” Pookie asked.
Judy squinted one eye and studied her young companion, seeing the blue hair and studded dog collar Pookie wore almost all the time. “Well, you still look like a llama, but you’re a darned good addition to the herd.”
Relaxation ended abruptly when both their radios emitted a high-pitched tone.
“Shit,” Pookie said.
“Damn,” Judy added.
An electronic voice emitted from both radios.
“Dulson dispatch to Coldwater Fire. Dulson dispatch to Coldwater Fire. We have a grass fire near mile marker thirty-two on Highway 287. Structures threatened. Repeat, a grass fire near mile marker thirty-two on Highway 287. Structures threatened.”
“That’s the Johnson place,” Judy said. Her hand shook as she pulled her radio from her belt and hit the talk key. “Coldwater four and fifteen responding,” she said, using the language Brad had taught them all.
As they both jumped to their feet, rushing toward Judy’s pickup, they heard over the radio. “Coldwater two responding.” A pause. “Coldwater three responding.” Pause. “Coldwater twenty responding.”
“Good, that’s Brad, Joe Bob, and Curley,” Judy said, as she started the pickup and put it into gear. She started to spin gravel as she left the yard and mentally forced herself to calm down. She remembered Ted Rome’s caution. At one of the first training session, he’d told the new company of firefighters that more firefighters are killed or injured going to a fire than they are fighting fire.
Judy felt a twinge of bitterness as she waited to hear more responders. There was no one from the gaggle of young men Guy was training. That wasn’t a surprise. It was the middle of a workday and most of them had jobs in town.
“Coldwater two to Coldwater four,” they heard over the radio.