A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and to review/PM me. I appreciate you all so much!

Chapter 4

Hank smiled forlornly as he gazed upon the black and white pictures in the album. He was reminded of just how far the department had come since the days of the horse drawn apparatus.

"From horses to automobiles to boats…," his barely audible musings hesitated as he stared at a faded sepia photograph of the Lumber Schooner Sierra fire at the E. K. Wood Lumber Company Warf. The caption beneath it dated it to March 3, 1926. "Weelll," he whispered to himself. "Let's see what you men had to work with fifty years ago."

The longer he stared at the old photograph the more he was sure he could smell the burning wood of the schooner along with a hint of salty air. The earthy beige tones seemed to suddenly come alive with the colors of the brilliant blue sky, burnt umber planks of wood and the orange glowing fire. The smoke, lifted on the breeze from the water front, blew in a southerly direction as the shouts of men and the echo of bells filled his ears. He looked around him and saw Marco running to the water's edge, Chet directly behind him, as they carried a hose.

"That's it, Lopez…let's draft as much as we can." Hank looked around and saw his engineer busily working at the engine on the opposite end of the hose that Marco had just tossed into the depths of the water. The sudden creaking and groaning of the old schooner as she tilted toward the dock sent several men scrambling, especially a couple of fellows Hank recognized all too well.

"Hey, DeSoto, Gage…get back over here," he yelled waving his arm in summons.

A very breathless John Gage loped over to the place where Hank stood beside the engine. "Did you see that, Cap?" He turned his dark hair in the direction of the lilting vessel.

"Yea…I did. From the looks of it, you two got a close up view yourselves."

"Yes, Sir." DeSoto was heaving like his partner. "But Cap…you really gotta take a look at our boat doing her job."

"She's quite a lady, huh?" Mike's eyes sparkled at the thought of the newest addition to their fledgling department. "Ok, we're drafting, fellas."

Soon, the fire was under control and the wharf had been saved. The Lumber Schooner Sierra was lost but she was the only casualty as the firefighters managed to carry out an assault on the burning ship both from the dock as well as the water thanks to Boat #2.

"Hey fellas, want to come by my house for a little celebration now that the fire is out?" Chet looked around to make sure their superior wasn't around to be heard. "Just don't tell the Big Cheese," he said grinning at his own reference to Captain Stanley.

Johnny recognized the glimmer in Chet's blue eyes. "That depends…what kind of caper are you schemin' up now?"

Chet was known for having a contact at a local speakeasy and could, on occasion, manage to get a little alcohol for the men to drink. Lopez and DeSoto leaned in to listen as Mike kept a watchful eye for their captain.

"Fellas…I've got three bottles of some of the finest bathtub gin you've ever tasted," Chet released a gigantic smile from beneath his bushy mustache.

"How the hell do you manage to get your hands on hooch when…"

"Shut up, Johnny." Roy said, quickly interrupting his friend. "Who cares how he gets it…as long as he shares it with us."

"Yea…and after this disaster, I could sure use a drink."

"And how, Marco," Mike interjected. "Chet, you keep up the good work with your man and we'll keep helping you pay for it."

Five tired soot covered faces snickered as they each looked forward to a relaxing night of camaraderie mixed with a few glasses of the intoxicating, and thanks to prohibition, illegal beverage.

The sounds faded and the picture of the burning schooner faded from color back to the sepia of the small photograph on the page of the book laid out on the table in front of Hank. "So glad we have better equipment…and no longer have to depend on Chet's connection with the mob so that we can enjoy a few drinks together; even if they wouldn't have included me." Hank chuckled as he closed the photo album and reached for the next one in the stack.

E!

At the library, Mike tilted his watch and realized it was almost lunch time. He thought briefly about asking Ryleigh to join him for a sandwich at the deli across the street but then thought better of it. His shyness always seemed to make an appearance when a pretty face was around. He turned one more page in the large album and felt his eyes go wide.

"Ahh," he gasped out loud and then found himself unable to control his laughter. "Aha, ahh ha ha." The image of the engine before him and the attire of the firefighters brought back memories of Roy and Johnny that he knew he'd never forget. Continuing to snicker and wipe away his laughter tears, he took a closer look at the details of the old picture and the caption beneath it dating it to October 3, 1933 but as his crystal blue eyes perused the story associated with the photos, the tears of laughter reddening his eyes were replaced by a different kind of moisture that threatened to spill over onto his pink cheeks. His laughter abruptly halted and the memories of the 'A' shift engine crew at Station 51 laughing at Roy and Johnny in their historic uniforms for the Firemen's parade a couple of years earlier morphed into images of all six members of the crew dressed in like manner and called to fight a fire like none other they had ever been called to fight before.

E!

The Great Depression was in full swing in the Los Angeles County area; a situation that brought out thousands of men who were desperate for work. One of the projects in the fall of 1933 included working in Griffith Park. Over 3,700 men were cleaning and building a new road on that fateful Tuesday afternoon.

"It sure is hot for the 3rd of October," William announced to the rest of the group gathered around to listen to the 1933 World Series on a rickety radio during their lunch break.

"Strange weather," another man commented. "The summer was rather cool and now the fall is hot…something bad's gonna happen for sure."

"Alright men," the straw boss announced, "that's enough yapping. Grab your tools and let's get back to work." A dozen men in white shirts and dark trousers pulled their suspender straps back up over their shoulders and reached for their shovels.

Several crews were cleaning up scrub brush when a golfer at the park noticed a small plume of smoke rising in the distance. Several men near the origin of the smoke made their way to an oak tree where a small pile of debris appeared to have been set on fire. Using their shovels, the handful of men attempted to put out the fire but the winds blew the burning embers across the park and the fire was soon out of hand.

Mike turned the engine onto the dusty dirt road heading to the scene of the brush fire. The remaining five crew members all road in quiet solitude contemplating the battle to which they had been summoned.

"God almighty," Hank said softly as they approached the now raging inferno.

"Winds got it, huh?"

"Yea, I'd say so, Mike." Hank turned quickly glancing over the four men behind them, each one in full firefighting regalia. Red shirts were tucked into navy pants secured by dark suspenders, yellow kerchiefs around their necks completing the ensemble. Each man sported a dark helmet identifying him as a Los Angeles Fireman. Each one also wore a grim face; as professionally trained firemen, they knew the danger they were facing.

Minutes turned to hours as the men shoveled dirt on top of flames, using their boots to tamp out the hot tongues that continued licking their way further into the park. Back fires were started and controlled by the firemen and firebreaks were established while Chet surprised his crewmates with a special skill they didn't know he had. Eventually, the blaze coughed and hissed in death throws until if finally relinquished its stronghold on the dry brittle earth of Griffith Park.

By the time the six weary dusty firemen gathered back around their engine, their faces spoke volumes in the quietness of the evening. One man summoned the courage to speak what all the others were thinking.

"Why, Cap?"

"That's hard to say, Roy." Hank took a long drink from the canteen Marco had passed to him. He had to quench his parched throat before he could continue. "From what I've been told, there were over 3,000 men working here today…most carrying shovels no different than these." He emphasized his point by tossing his dusty tool into the black and red rig.

"Then how'd it get away from them so fast?"

Hank looked into the dark eyes of his youngest crew member. He saw through his sweat streaked dirty face and knew the real question Johnny was asking.

"Well, the wind shifted on them. You know how hard it is to outrun a fire when you're going uphill?"

"But Cap," Chet spoke up through sad blue eyes. "Why were they down in Mineral Wells Canyon in the first place?" He rinsed his gritty mouth and spit the remnants of the water behind the engine. "They never should've gone down that narrow trail in the first place."

"I heard they were setting a bunch of back fires too…they just spread it themselves." Mike was frustrated by the devastation.

"Men," Hank looked at each man individually. "From what I've been told, there may be as many as sixty men who died out here today."

Chet let out a low whistle while Marco mumbled something in the language of his ancestors.

"There were a lot of rugged men with shovels out here doing what they thought was right." He hesitated wiping a filthy hand across his forehead. "But they didn't have what we…," he hesitated waving his arm around in the direction of several other groups of firemen in the area. "They didn't have the training and the knowledge…and the skills that we have."

Hank removed his yellow kerchief and doused it with water. He used the wet cloth to wipe his face soothing the sunburn on his cheeks. He heard the slamming of car doors and saw Pete and Jim stepping out of their squad car and motioning him over. "Excuse me, fellas."

Marco, Chet and Roy made their way to the shade of a nearby tree; each man mimicking the actions of their captain in an effort to rid themselves of the grime and soot from their afternoon battling the gates of hell.

Johnny turned his back to the others and leaned his head against the warm metal of the engine. His mind kept replaying the hideous sight of the men who had been trapped on the hillside scurrying in vain to outrun the flames licking so closely at their heels until it finally over took them. He couldn't get the smell out of his nostrils of the burnt flesh of men who had been living and healthy just a few hours earlier, who only wanted to make a little money for their family during the worst depression in the nation's history. And he knew no matter how long he lived, he'd never be able to rid his memory of the agonizing screams of the men who had found themselves trapped on the hillside as the swiftly moving flames overtook them, snuffing out their lives much too soon. He gulped back the bile rising into his throat as he fought a battle with the contents of his stomach. It wasn't the first time he'd been called upon to remove charred human remains from a scene but it was by far the most deadly fire he'd ever battled. He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder causing him to lift his dark dusty head.

"You alright, Gage?"

Johnny cut his dark eyes at the caring blue ones he saw looking back at him. He quickly glanced around to see that the remainder of the crew had walked away leaving just the two of them. "Yea…I reckon."

"It won't ever get any easier, John." Mike squeezed the shoulder of their newest member. "At least it shouldn't…life is precious and this is…well,…it's unimaginable. It's the worst I've ever seen too. But, you have to look at what we managed to accomplish..…not what we didn't."

"Wha…what do you mean?"

Mike patted the dusty shoulder of his young crewmate. "Take a seat. We're gonna be here for a while making sure there's nothing left to flame back up. Besides…," he looked in the direction of the dirt road and noticed Hank talking to a couple of law enforcement officers. "Cap's talking to the coppers and that'll take a while."

"Why not…my dogs sure are tired." Johnny sat beside his engineer on the running board of the engine, elbows resting on his knees and head held low.

"Gage, we got here as fast as we could, considering the distance we had to travel. Like Cap said, we used our training and knowledge to contain this fire and we managed to get it under control in short order. We set the back fires where they should have been set and used them to stop this thing from taking any more lives." Mike stared at the back of Johnny's head, hearing the sniffles the young man was trying hard to deny. "Hell, I didn't even know Chet could operate that heavy road machinery until he'd hopped on board, lowered the blade and started creating a fire break on that ridge," he said looking in the direction of the place where Chet had ultimately parked the road machine he'd commandeered.

"Mike…we didn't save those men who...," he began through clenched teeth.

"We didn't save them because they couldn't be saved, Johnny." Mike again allowed his left hand to rest comfortingly on Johnny's right shoulder knowing his young friend needed his support now; he remembered how Hank had done the same for him not so many years earlier after a particularly bad fire. He continued to assume the role of big brother and mentor. "They were deep in the canyon, the trail was steep and narrow…," he thought a moment and then changed tactics. "Tell me…what should we have done to save them? What would you have done differently?"

Johnny leaned his face into the palms of his hands momentarily then huffed. He searched his addled brain then looked up shaking his dark hair. "I can't think of anything we could've done…not one damn thing." He leaned back staring into the distance with dark hollow eyes. "I…I guess that's the problem." He exhaled harshly again, coughing from the dust and smoke he'd inhaled. "But I want to make sure this never happens again, Stoker." He looked into the crystal eyes of his engineer. "Whatever it takes, I don't ever want to feel this helpless…useless… again."

E!

"And that's why we need to educate the public, Gage. The more information we can get in the hands of the people, the more lives we can save," he said staring once more at the pictures of the welfare workers with shovels in hand clearing away the brush before the fire swept through.

"Talking to yourself, Mike?"

Mike looked up into pretty framed hazel eyes and felt the heat of embarrassment gripping his ears. "Oh…uh…well," he stammered, his face turning as red as the shirts the crew had been wearing in his daydream.

"I think it's cute," she said sauntering up to his side.

"Cute, huh?"

"Yea," she flashed him a pearly white smile.

Ask her, Stoker…just ask her!

"Ahem," he cleared his throat before he continued. "Can I, uh…come back another day and finish my research?"

Ryleigh tried hard to hide her disappointment but Mike could see it in her downcast eyes. "Sure, no problem." She cut her eyes at him somewhat sarcastically as she turned around. "It's a public library."

Mike stood up scraping the legs of his chair on the hard wood floor. His gut was aching as he watched Ryleigh walk out of the room and back to her desk. Stoker, you're a coward…you fight fires for a living but you can't even ask a pretty lady out for lunch, he chided himself as he stepped into the midday sun and headed across the busy street for a quick bite to eat.

E!

A/N: The Griffith Park fire was one of the deadliest in Los Angeles history. The final death toll was officially listed as 29 but poor record keeping brings that number into question. Most died at the scene in Mineral Wells Canyon when the swift moving fire roared up a hill much faster than the men could reach the top. Two succumbed to their injuries later in the hospital. The men were untrained in firefighting. Once the trained firefighters arrived the fire was contained fairly quickly.