This Corner of Hell

When I stepped outside the command center at base camp, all the leaves along the perimeter were on fire. The view through the transparent front shield of my helmet was like looking at the outer edges of Hell itself. Trees were like huge torches. Bushes were reduced to nothing but piles of dust and ash on the ground. The temperature gauge on my right wrist read 200ºC and still climbing.

I don't think I had ever felt that much heat before, except the first time I left the reservation and visited the foundry where my father worked. Without an employee's protective clothing, I could only watch from behind protective glass what happened in the blast furnace. Thick as it was, the protective glass still felt warm to the touch. I just couldn't imagine working in such extreme conditions until the day I decided to become a volunteer firefighter and went through training. “And you thought a foundry was hot?” my father asked. “That's nothing compared to what you'll experience.”

Parked near the command center were half a dozen mobile water tanks about the size of minivans. I headed for the nearest one. As I did so, the wind suddenly changed, blowing flames and heat towards me. I ran to the water tank, grabbed the hose on the side of it, turned it to “full”, and aimed it at the base of the nearest flames. Sparks spat out in all directions. The fire immediately spread sideways, as if attempting to surround the base camp. But as long as the water supply held out, the fire wouldn't move any closer to where I stood.

I had the feeling that the fire wasn't too pleased with being blocked from burning everything that got in its way. And don't try to tell me that fires don't have feelings. Because they do. Especially when they find new fuel. They're overjoyed. And when they run out of fuel, they grumble and sulk.

Or maybe it's because you aren't a Native American like I am. To us, the entire world is alive, whether it's an animal or tree, rock or arrowhead, rain or fire, or the stars in the sky. There are spirits in everything. When one of my uncles was showing me how to carve totem poles, he would tell me that there were spirits in them. I never saw them at first and wondered if he was just kidding me. One day, though, I thought I saw eyes on the totem poles, but when I blinked and looked again, the eyes were gone. I've never seen them again, but I know that they'll always be there. My grandmother once said, “If you're wise, you don't take the world you live in for granted. It is a gift, not a given.”

With that in thought, I closed my eyes and prayed silently, “Please protect us, water spirits, that you cleanse the earth and shield us from harm. Please protect us, earth spirits, that we do not trip and fall when walk upon you. Please protect us, fire spirits, that we may walk among you and never burn.”

I opened my eyes and saw more firefighters coming out of the command center, until there were six of us. Each of us stood next to our mobile water tanks, spraying water at the fire. For now, the fire kept its distance.

The captain spoke to me through the radio link: “Sahale – you, Thompson, and Lopez take the right flank. Jiang, Ellis, and I will take the left flank. Watch out for falling debris and sparks, and don't let the flames trap you. If you get trapped, call for help immediately. Don't try to do anything heroic. We'll try to get to you as soon as we can. Any questions? Then get moving.”

The three of us nodded and headed off to the right, following the torrents coming from our high-pressure hoses, feeling the occasional tug from the mobile water tanks behind us. I've heard from Jewish and Christian friends about a religious story about a leader named Moses who led his people through an opening across the Red Sea. Only, there weren't walls of water on both sides of us. Instead, there were walls of burning trees and flames on both sides.

Over the roar of the fires, we couldn't hear the sound of the planes flying overhead in the orange sky, dropping water. To be honest, we could barely see their blurry shapes through the waves of heat above us. Elsewhere, we knew that there were other groups of firefighters, but we couldn't see them. It felt rather lonely in this corner of Hell.

Then what looked like an armored car towing a large RV-sized mobile water tank rolled up beside us. There was a turret on top of the armored car, with the end of a hose attached to the front of the turret. Water poured out of the turret's hose in greater amounts than what our hand-held hoses could manage, spraying in a steady stream in a 120º arc in front of it.

“Thought you could use some help,” a woman's voice said over the radio link.

“Much appreciated,” I said. “Are there more of you available?”

“Joining the fight as soon as possible,” she said. “I'm the first of at least a dozen. They're being brought in on the back of flatbed trucks. Not just in this section, but all over.”

“The Great Spirit be thanked,” I said. “If you'll take the lead, we'll cover your flanks.”

“Consider it done,” she said.

Her armored car rolled into the wall of fire ahead of us, clearing an opening just wide enough for it and us.

Beyond the opening, it only looked a million times worse. An inferno. How could we possibly contain any of that?

“Jesus,” Thompson said.

“Mamma mia,” Lopez breathed in awe.

“And this isn't even the worst section,” the armored car's driver told us. “You should see it over on the nearby ridge. It looks like the center of Hell itself.”

“What nearby ridge?” I asked, unable to see what she was referring to.

“The one this fire is blotting out,” she said. “All right. Let's get going again. This fire isn't going to be put out if we just stand around talking about it.”

We nodded and followed her armored car deeper into the burning forest, like soldiers following a tank into a flaming jungle. I wondered if this was what it felt like during the war in Vietnam.

The ground beneath us was covered with burnt grass, needles, branches, and fallen trees. Sometimes we caught glimpses of dead animals: a bear with its fur all burnt off; an elk with blackened antlers; several raccoons that looked more like large scrub-brushes with melted bristles; and a rabbit whose ears were nearly burnt down to its skull. There were also the burnt and gutted houses and vehicles, long since evacuated by their owners.

“Dios mios,” Lopez breathed.

“You said it, mi amigo,” Thompson said.

“Are there any reports of containment yet?” I asked the armored car's driver.

“It's been slow but steady,” she said. “If we're lucky, we might get 5% by the end of today. Some rain would be nice. Been dry way too long. Just as long as there aren't any thunderstorms. We don't need more dry lightning. This forest was like dry tinder waiting for a big enough spark.”

“Agreed,” I said. “It isn't poor forest management that causes fires like this. Dry lightning and a drought are the usual culprits.”

“Tell that to the politicians,” Thompson said. “They won't believe you. If it were up to them, there wouldn't be any forests anymore. I guess they prefer the Sahara instead.”

“Keep it down,” the armored car's driver said. “If all goes well, we can argue politics over a mug of ice-cold beer back at base camp after this shift is over.”

We nodded and concentrated on the job at hand. As we did so, the thought of an ice-cold beer sounded pretty good. The only problem was, the thought just kept disappearing. Like a snowball. Some things just couldn't survive in Hell.

Moments later, a spray of sparks from fires on nearby trees landed on us. Lopez and I managed to dust ourselves off in time. The armored car just shrugged off the sparks. But Thompson suddenly stumbled and landed on his hands and knees. He kept trying to reach the oxygen line connecting the oxygen tank on his back with his helmet. I saw why: the line had melted when several sparks landed on it, melting through it. He looked desperately at us as we tried to remove his helmet as quickly as we could. The armored car's driver jumped down from the hatch on top of the turret with an emergency oxygen tank in one hand. We did what we could for Thompson but it was too late. Even a minute would've been too long. He slumped onto his side, his eyes closed and his mouth open. Dead. Suffocated from too much heat, smoke inhalation, and lack of oxygen from the tank on his back.

“Captain!” I called over the radio link. “Man down! Man down!”

“Stay where you are, Sahale!” the captain called back. “We're on our way!”

The captain, Jiang, and Ellis arrived several minutes later, breathing hard, their mobile water tanks rolling to a stop behind them.

“Report,” the captain told me and I did so. “Apparently we needed more air drops in this section. Damn it.” He swore a string of monosyllables, then turned to the armored car's driver. “Can you transport Thompson's body back to base camp?”

She nodded.

“We'll escort you along the way,” the captain said. “We're running low on water anyway and need to refill our water tanks.”

Back at base camp, the other firefighting groups were returning, tired like we were. They saw Thompson's body and their reactions weren't much more polite than the captain's had been. The captain called for a helicopter to transport Thompson to the nearest hospital. The coroner in the hospital morgue had to sign his death certificate (not that there was any doubt of what had killed him). But legalities had to be honored, if they seemed a bit much at times. Otherwise, a dishonest lawyer might decide to sue the firefighters' association, claiming that Thompson had been put into a dangerous position against his will or some other baseless reason. Which would've been an outright lie. Thompson had been a volunteer, just like the rest of us were. He'd known the risks that the job sometimes had. But it was the job that he'd wanted more than anything, even though it cost him his life. He would've said that the price was worth it, though. Paying our respects to his memory would just have to wait. Maybe until his funeral.

Inside the command center, reports from other sections were coming in, updating the map on the wall screen. But there were just too many fires, too many evacuations, and not enough containment. The forecast for rain was more hopeful than potentially helpful.

At least we could rest here for a short while. Next shift wouldn't start for another few hours. Shifts were usually eight hours at a time, but with the extreme heat and increased chances of exhaustion, shifts were reduced to four hours at a time. You could request an additional shift, but such requests weren't usually granted. Not because they didn't think you wanted to help. But because they didn't want to lose more firefighters. A tired firefighter is one thing. An exhausted firefighter could make a serious error and end up dead.

Inside the command center's mess, there were a few firefighters sitting at one long, narrow table, talking as they ate. I sat down at another table, with my back to it. I wasn't alone there for long.

“Christ,” Ellis said as he sat down next to me. “I heard how horrible it was on 9/11, Sahale. So many of our brothers died on that day when the towers fell. But this … this feels worse … much worse. At least, so far, the casualty count here has been far less than it was on 9/11. Not much comfort to those who lost their homes, though.”

I nodded agreement. “I wasn't there on 9/11, but I lost buddies there. They were halfway up the north tower when it fell. I hope it was quick for them. Not a long, slow death from burning.”

He leaned forward, hands on his knees, looking at the floor. “I don't know what's worse anymore. Fire's a fire, no matter where it is, no matter how much damage it does, no matter how many die in it.” He shook his head. “Maybe I'm just getting too old for this job.”

“You're not too old,” I objected. “There are elders in my tribe who are much older than you are.”

Ellis shrugged. “That's nice of you to say it, but maybe it's time to quit after this fire's contained. I mean, good God, I've been doing this for over thirty years now. Thought I'd stick around for my fortieth, but now I'm not so sure anymore. My old lady's been wondering for years if I'll survive until retirement. I've been wondering, too.”

For the first time I noticed that his hair was grayer than it used to be. How long had it been that way? I didn't know. Things get busy and you don't notice the little things. And suddenly you realize that one of your fellow firefighters had to be about sixty years old, when you're barely thirty.

“You're just tired,” I said. “Get some sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll probably be back to your old self again.”

“Maybe,” he said, and stood up. He took a deep breath, let it out. “All right. Ready to return to this corner of Hell, Sahale?”

I nodded and stood up. “Ready when you are.”

“Let's go, then,” Ellis said. “And that better be a pretty damn big mug of ice-cold beer at the end of this day or I'm going to have a seriously huge fit.”

I smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “If it isn't, I'll make sure that you get several smaller mugs to make up for it.”

“Thanks, man,” he said. “Don't know what I'd do without you.”

“We're a team,” I said. “We fight fires together, we watch each other's back.”

Ellis made a face. “Let's just hope we don't have to die together. No offense.”

“None taken,” I said.

We put our helmets back on and went outside the command center. Our mobile water tanks were full again and ready for use. We could see, through the waves of heat in the air, smoke clouds rising into the sky. The helicopter had already arrived and taken Thompson's body away with it.

“May the Great Spirit carry you in its arms until you reach your land of rest, Thompson,” I said.

Ellis nodded agreement and looked up at the sky. “See you in heaven, man.”

We met up with another armored car driver, not the same one as before. A team of half a dozen of us escorted the armored car into the fire. After about a hundred feet or so, I looked back and couldn't see the command center anymore. Like before, it felt like we were in another world, a world of heat, fire, and smoke.

The rest of the shift went without serious incident. Some close calls. Some lost tempers. But it felt like we were making a difference, like we were knocking the fires back. Maybe in a week or so, this section would be contained or maybe out for good. After which, we'd probably be transferred to another section, to assist them. And slowly, slowly, reduce the spread of the fires. It was something to look forward to, along with the mugs of ice-cold beer at the end of each day. A sense of accomplishment, rather than a feeling of hopelessness.

Back at the base camp, we took off our bunker gear, stored it away, and got dressed in casual clothes. Ellis still looked tired, but not as depressed.

“Feeling better?” I asked him.

He thought about it, then nodded. “Wasn't going to let a fire, no matter how big, get between me and that mug of beer.”

“Same here,” I said.

He looked at me. “You going to Thompson's funeral?”

I tended to avoid non-Native funerals. But not this time. I nodded. “What about you?”

He also nodded. “Wouldn't miss it. Me and my old lady'll be there.”

“You know, I've never met her before,” I said.

Ellis looked surprised. “Not even once?”

I shook my head. “Every time there was a chance to, something would come up.”

“Maybe we should get together, then, the three of us,” he suggested. “Before the funeral, I mean.”

“I'd like that,” I said. “Then I could finally see if she really is the most beautiful woman in the whole world. Or if that's just a myth.”

“It's only a myth to those who haven't seen her,” he said. He looked me in the eye. “But after you see her, you can't let anyone know that she's for real. Gotta keep that myth going. Deal?”

I nodded. “Deal.”

Ellis smiled, tired as he was, as we both were. “Come on, Sahale. I can hear that mug of ice-cold beer calling.”

“We'd better answer it before it leaves a voicemail message,” I said with a grin.