Tara smiled. “Fires there are tough to fight. Thanks, Tupa.”
He gave her a curt nod.
“I’m Schwartz. He’s Wolfgang.” A medium-built gangly guy dipped his head toward the hairy guy next to him. Wolfgang wore round wire-rimmed glasses and had a sizeable space between his two front teeth. His eyes bugged out, giving him a forever astonished expression.
Tara sized up the two. Schwartz had a widow’s peak like Silva, but with salt and pepper hair. He resembled a vampire.
“Schwartz and Wolfgang, Bateman and Robin. Tupa. Got it.” Quirky names. But at least she’d remember them.
“Tara Waters. Good name for a firefighter. Water puts out afi—the Samoan word for fire.” Tupa nodded and glanced around. Others nodded with him.
“Good point.” Tara hadn’t thought of her name that way. “Okay, let’s head to our brush clearing site.”
“Tupa, you have saw certification, right?” Tara asked as they loaded hand tools and saws in the back of the truck.
Tupa nodded. A chainsaw was like a plastic toy to this guy.
Tara started the truck and drove to their work site. She had a good first day getting acquainted with her squad and thankfully everyone got along as they worked.
As part of a fire-fuels reduction project for the Steese-White Mountains, Bing Pickel had asked Silva to assign Aurora Crew to clear brush from certain sites. For the next several days, the crew’s three squads felled standing, beetle-killed trees and dragged them to nearby cleared areas to burn when it became safe to do so.
One of the mornings, Rego and Hudson showed up and Silva assigned them to Payson’s squad. Tara only saw them at breakfast and dinner meals and breathed relief at not having to work with them.
For the rest of the first week, Aurora Crew stayed divided into the three squads, familiarizing themselves with the station fire engines and practicing with hose reels from nearby lakes and rivers. Silva drilled the squads on fast and efficient engine response to road accessible fires.
The second week, Tara and her squad pulled guard duty at the Tideman Hot Springs airfield, to make sure no one screwed with the aircraft standing by for fire response. One late afternoon as Tara drove back to the Chinook Fire Station, an enormous white bird with a thick neck landed on the truck's windshield. The massive wings stretched across the glass, blocking her view of the road.
She slowed the truck. The bird paused, staring at her with wise, yellow eyes. This must be a snowy owl. She admired its elegance and splendor. The graceful bird lifted off and she watched it soar over the spruce and fade into the sky.
Her squad slept soundly; no one had stirred. She didn’t bother to wake anyone. This moment was her private gift to treasure. Not all things must be shared.
She considered the snowy owl as a good omen.
Monday morning, Ryan rose at his usual 4:05 a.m. for his daily workout. He never set his alarm on the hour; always five after, as a reminder of the five people who lost their lives on his watch. Ever since that tragic day, the number five figured prominently in his life, like a corporal punishment.
After working out and showering, he grabbed his jump gear and hauled it to the Ready Room in the Jump Shack. He hung it on his locker. When Zombie finished roll call, Ryan prepared his equipment. He and Gunnar were on the jump list as second load, first stick.
Lightning strikes had kicked up hundreds of fire-starts all over the state. While Ryan waited his turn to go, he packed firefighting tools and food supplies into cargo boxes, then inspected and repaired parachutes. Gunnar worked on harnesses and repaired equipment in the manufacturing room. Ryan’s shoulders felt lighter now that he was back on jump status.
The siren sounded and the first load of eight jumpers raced to the Ready Room. Ryan and Gunnar hurried to assist them into their Kevlar suits, then helped them do safety and gear checks.
The eight waddled out to the tarmac in their weighty jump suits. They walked up the metal ramp to the open door of the Twin Otter, props whirring. Fires had sprung up in the Tanana and Galena zones. This jump ship was heading to Galena.
“O’Connor, Alexanderson, second load, front and center. You’re flying to Tanana Zone. Hustle, boys,” hollered Zombie, clipboard in one hand, radio in the other.
After Ryan and Gunnar helped fellow jumpers into their gear, they suited up themselves. Seth Boone, a third load jumper, helped Ryan into his gear.
Boone yanked Ryan’s harness, tightening it. “Too bad you aren’t going to Galena where the best food is.” He grinned, straightening twisted straps, and securing Ryan’s PG bag. Ryan auto-piloted through his checks: Reserve chute, fire shelter, survival gear.
Another Twin Otter pulled up on the tarmac outside the Jump Shack. Ryan, Gunnar, and six other jumpers boarded. He shuffled to the back to claim his usual place on the cargo boxes to take a nap during the quick flight to Tanana. Gunnar claimed the space opposite him.
As the plane began to taxi down the runway, Ryan’s thoughts drifted to Aurora Crew and how they were faring at Chinook. Alaska’s Interior had the usual high number of lightning strikes, so no doubt they were busy.
He thought of Tara. Both had said things to piss each other off. He pulled out the folded, crinkled Incident Action Plan he had stuck in a pocket of his jump suit a few days ago. He read through it and shook his head.
Should have chosen another option. Like sticking with my rule of no relationships with firefighters. He didn’t have time for a girlfriend anyway. No smokejumper did.
Alaska is a big place. Chances were remote he’d even see Tara again. He tore the paper into small pieces and stuck them in his pocket. He’ll toss them in the fire when he hits the ground.
And watch them burn.
Chapter 17
“Wake up, fire call!” Tara
