Wildfire Smokejumper Trilogy

Chapter 2-2

Mark Henderson, the Incident Commander Air, was up in his usual position on the first level of the fire tower that also served as the MHA air field’s control tower. It was a two-story structure with a glassed-in hut at the top. A wrap-around balcony circled the upper level of the tower. The heavy wooden stairs had a broad landing halfway up and facing the field. It made a natural podium and the teams were gathering around it.

Akbar assessed the crowd when they arrived. They were supposed to have another couple days dark after fighting the Burn, but Mother Nature didn’t always cooperate. It was early enough in the day that most of the smokies were already present.

“Hey TJ,” he came to a stop behind the man who’d only just stepped out of the lead jump spot and made Akbar his replacement. “You know, with you out, my team’s average age dropped by like a hundred years.”

TJ slapped his arm in greeting. “Not one of you damn punks over thirty, are you guys even old enough to know a fire when you see one?” Then he hurried up the stairs to check in with the controllers.

Ox was thirty-five and Chas was forty, but that wasn’t the point. Of his two dozen smokies, not a one had under five years in the fire. There’d only been two women so far, but Krista was his number three. It was a good team. The chopper and support teams were of all sorts of ages and had a good spread of women, but being a smokie was tough.

The one thing they had in common, other than a hatred of wildfire, was almost everyone wore fire t-shirts—about half of them were from the Burn. The word Tillamook, half on fire and half burned char, angled down across their chests. “I fought the Burn!” in water-blue letters that dripped down and had doused the fire on the middle of “Tillamook.” Akbar had considered framing his, it was one of the best shirts he’d seen in a long time.

TJ now stood beside Mark up on the mid-stair platform listening to his portable radio. He’d jumped over to being the ICG—Incident Commander Ground, opening the number one smokie slot for Akbar. He still missed jumping second to the old cuss, but being on the same two-man stick with Tim made up for a lot of that.

People were still pouring into camp; a number of them lived in cabins nearby. A text would have splashed out across all of their phones.

Henderson casually flashed out three fingers then moved his hands as if tightening the straps on a jump harness. Three more minutes before the briefing started and they would need the smokies geared up. He, Tim, and a number of the smokies bolted into the bunkhouse and pulled on their cotton underwear and Nomex jump suit, including leather boots laced over the pants so that the fire had no chance to sneak up a pant leg.

He slapped the various pockets of his jump suit. A line of rope filled the pouch along the outside of his right calf. Med kit to the left. Foil fire shelter on his hip. The chutes and hand equipment would be aboard the jump plane. He tugged his high collar into place that would protect his neck during the jump and pulled his helmet with its wire mesh face mask from the hook. They grabbed their personal gear bags—which were always stocked with water, energy bars, and dried MREs, Meals Ready to Eat—then raced back out to the tower.

Akbar did a quick scan. The entire first load of smokies was already present and geared up even though this was supposed to be a dark day on the schedule. He made sure he got eye contact with each of the dozen men who were all ready to climb aboard MHA’s DC-3 and get gone. They were committed and Akbar wanted each man to know that he was proud of them being prepped and that he was damn proud to be jumping with them. Krista was also suited up and about half of her second load of jumpers were suited. He gave her a sharp nod as well. She’d be ready.

“Here we go,” Henderson called out and everyone quieted. “We’re off to the Siskiyou National Forest.”

There was a universal groan that rippled through the crowd, now numbering over forty between jumpers, pilots, and ground teams. MHA boasted two jump planes, four small choppers plus the heavy-duty brand-new Firehawk, and one of the best crews in the business. Mount Hood Aviation had been in the wildfire business for over thirty years and even with all of that collective experience, the Biscuit Fire—named for Biscuit Creek near the start of the half-million acre fire that had ripped the heart out of the Siskiyou Mountains—had been particularly challenging.

It had hit three years before Akbar joined his first crew, and still he’d heard stories about it like it was yesterday.

“TJ tells me,” Mark’s voice boomed over the crowd and everyone shut up to listen. He softened his voice only a little and still it carried far and easily. “Back in July 2002 there were hundreds of small, lightning-strike fires down there, all started in a three-day period. But it was a hot and dry season and firefighters were spread thin, so there was insufficient personnel available to fight them properly. That delay was a disaster and the fires joined and roared out of control. It took from July to December before we were able to kill it off. Well, that’s not going to happen this time.”

“Thank god!” a number of the older crew muttered.

“So,” Mark always kept firm control on his briefings. A former Major in the military—the Special Ops kind—he was fair with the teams and ruthless with the fire. An attitude he and Akbar shared. “I know you all could use another couple days off after fighting the Burn, but we need to kick this one in the a*s before it gets away from us. We have fifty acres involved and no one on site. A civilian pilot called this one in.”

Mark looked around until he tracked down Akbar in the crowd; only took a moment, find the tallest person in the crowd and then find Akbar next to him. They didn’t even have to say anything. Akbar nodded his team was good to go and Henderson acknowledged it.

“First jump plane is airborne in ten minutes, unless you can do it in five. Second plane is ten minutes back. This fire includes all choppers. We’ll be based out of…”

It wasn’t like Henderson to stretch out something, especially during a briefing. But he did.

“…a field only TJ and Chutes are old enough to remember.” That got the laugh and lifted the mood. Akbar could feel the residual exhaustion slide further into the past and realized that even though the man was relatively new to smoke and fire, Akbar still had a lot to learn from him.

TJ made a raspberry noise, but then jumped right in. “Folks, we’re going to central nowhere. Shut down in 1981, the Siskiyou Smokejumper Base is only ten miles from this blaze. Retardant tanker trucks are already en route. And any rumors about high times there? Forget about it. Nothing but trees and mountains.”

“And fire,” Akbar called out.

“And fire,” Mark repeated. “Saddle up. You now have eight minutes to get the first flight aloft.”

The crowd broke up into a well-organized mêlée.

Chutes McGee, one of the original MHA smokies, was now the paracargo master. He kept the plane fully stocked. Parachutes, chainsaws, Pulaski hand axes, any other gear they’d need was stacked down one side of the plane behind heavy cargo nets so that they wouldn’t shift in flight.

They were airborne in six minutes.

Akbar worked his way down the plane. They were an hour out, so he took his time. The smokies were sitting sideways on hard, fold-down seats all along one side of the plane, pulling on the chutes then leaning back against the curved hull of the plane trying to appear relaxed. Only the most seasoned guys would be able to sleep—sure enough, four of them were catnapping with arms crossed over their reserve chutes because who knew the next time they’d get to sleep.

He personally checked every person’s gear, using it as an excuse to check in with them. They’d all slept, no one was hung over. Chas had taken a bad fall during the Burn, spraining an ankle and a wrist. But the doc had signed off on his jump card, so he was good to go. Akbar redid the assignments so that Chas was paired with Gustav who was called Ox for a reason; his strength would give Chas a slightly easier time of it until he was back to a hundred percent.

After he got back to his seat, he settled in to do what the ones who weren’t sleeping were doing. From the plane’s grab bag, he’d dug out a second breakfast of protein and high carbs, then began hydrating as much as he could before the jump.