Chapter 8

Bruce Place was a short street nestled in a maze of decrepit buildings, some occupied, some abandoned, but all just as dangerous as the next. Only two weeks ago a large fire had destroyed three buildings, two of which were thankfully abandoned. A few weeks before that there had been another building collapse, the cause determined as improper maintenance by the landlord, the same man who owned most of the small neighborhood. After the collapse, Chief McConnicke had held a meeting with all the captains in Battalion 14, instructing various crews to perform fire inspections in the most "at-risk" locations.

"I know it's a lot for us to handle, but given these two major incidents and several smaller incidents over the past three years, it's worth the time to do some inspections, if not for their sakes then for ours."

"Chief?" The confused captains glanced around.

"Men, we've all seen it happen where someone refuses to adhere to the fire code and then there's a fire. Unfortunately, it's too often the case that one of us suffers. Take the garage fire on the south edge of Carson for example, the one from Christmas Eve. That never would have happened if the owner acted to fix the problems and acted to prevent dangerous situations from occurring to begin with. Because he didn't, those paint cans were never moved from the boiler room. When the furnace sparked, those cans almost took out a man from 8s. That's why I say 'for ours'. We know that any emergency in this area is gonna be unpredictable. But maybe if we have a little insight into what actually goes on here, maybe we can avoid one of our own getting hurt."

A somber shadow crept over every face. As captains, they'd had men get injured under their command. Some of them had even had men die.

"Look, it's not something I want to think about, but it's reality. I know I'm preaching to the choir here so I won't ramble on. I'll end this meeting by reiterating we already know: No matter how responsible we are, no matter how much effort we spend trying to educate people about safety issues and prevent adverse situations, there are those out there who lack basic common sense. And where there's no common sense, there's no concept of responsibility."

Responsibility.

As Mike guided the engine down the streets, Hank's chest tightened as the streets narrowed, wide boulevards slimming into thin alleys.

Responsibility.

The word repeated in his head, screaming like the siren. His chest felt more constrained as recognition set in. Mike slowed the engine as he maneuvered the rig around a tight bend in the road, a small park appearing ahead. Hank's vision blurred.

Rounding a tight curve in the road, Engine 86 pulled up behind a gathering of rescue vehicles.

"Okay men," the powerful voice of the Chief boomed through a megaphone, "we will be starting the drill in two minutes."

'Come on Hank, you know what you're doing.' He'd muttered to himself, keenly aware that his captain had gotten much closer to him. 'Don't screw this up.'

When he'd found out that his first day as engineer of Station 86 C-Shift would just happen to coincide with a techniques drill planned by headquarters, Hank was relieved.

'It will give me a good chance to practice in a safe environment.'

But as the days passed, that relief was replaced by dread.

'What if I screw up? My old station will be there, the Chief will be there, the Brass will be there, and obviously my new crew will be there. What if I mess up and they think I'm incompetent?'

Willing time to slow down was futile, yet he'd spent the brunt of the past week wishing for the sun to stand still in the sky, to deny the moon its right to rise over the night.

"Honey, please tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just a bit stressed about my new assignment. I have a new station, new crew, new job. I just want everything to go smoothly."

"Hank, I'm sure it will. You've been a fireman for years. You know what you're doing. Besides, you've been going through the engineer's training program for the past eight weeks."

"It's not that simple Emily." Frustration filled his voice.

She watched him turn away, placing his hands on the window sill as he stared into the garden. Calmly, she approached him, gently resting her arm around his waist. Everything he was about to experience was new; it scared him. He wouldn't admit it, but both of them knew. As her arm took its usual rest around him, she felt his tension ease as his thoughts focused on something he'd been pining for: something familiar.

The sun had never stopped rising, crossing the sky, then setting, keeping the tempo of a continuous routine that long ago someone had decided to call 'time'. His linemen Lewis and Gorgeson had taken their lines, readying themselves for battle against the yet unborn beast. For a moment, Hank felt at peace. There was a certain familiarity to the scene that he couldn't quite place, so he took in the sights and sounds. His reverie was interrupted by the megaphone.

"Engine 45, you will begin the attack first, followed by Engine 127. Circle the west side, then Engine 39 will begin their attack and circle to the east. Engine 127 will remain on the north side. Engine 86 will come in last, attacking the opening on the south side."

Hank turned his attention to the engine, observing the various pressure gauges and switches. Attaching the feeder nozzle to the fire hydrant, doom overcame him. No longer was the scene calm and familiar. It was restless, anticipating. Every man seemed attuned to something, but what was it?

He opened a valve on the engine and observed the roar of water coming through the hose. Returning his attention to the gauge, confusion overcame him.

"What? This can't be the right pressure…" he uttered to himself.

"Okay, charge the lines." The command was given and around the scene lines from three other engine companies were charged, each fireman waiting for their cue. Hank strained to make sense of the gauge.

"Light it up!"

The rubble was set ablaze. It took instantly.

"Stanley!" a voice barked, a tall figure approached.

"Sorry Captain." He felt heat rising on his cheeks, so he returned his attention to the engine, raising a shaky hand towards the nozzle feeding Lewis' line. About to switch the lever, he hesitated.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing Captain. Just missed the Chief's order." He opened the valve to charge the line, the power of the pump vibrating the ground beneath him.

"Begin the attack!" The Chief called out as the fire soared into the air. Engines 45 and 127 fought the blaze. Shakily, he reached for the nozzle feeding Gorgeson's hose, resting his hand on the switch valve.

"Engine 39, begin." The familiar rush of water roared from the engine next to him.

'Okay Hank, just get this line charged and it will all be okay.'

Pulling the lever down, all hell broke loose.

It had been the most spectacular hose break in the history of the Los Angeles County Fire Department. Or so that's what McConnicke had said that evening. Station 86 was a ten-man station, complete with two engine crews and a special rescue unit. Only Engine 86 had been at the drill; Truck 86 and the rescue unit had remained in-service for the day. As the men gathered around the table, sharing a meal of hamburgers and fries, McConnicke recounted the scene for the other men.

"Anyhow, the hose just exploded. Poor Gorgeson over there was wrestling the thing to the ground. By the way, good job on that. For a moment there I wasn't sure if you were going to drown or not."

The guys all laughed as Gorgeson reenacted the scene with a fry.

Noting the guilt plastered across Hank's forced smile, Gorgeson reassuringly slapped his shoulder.

"Don't sweat it Hank. The water actually helped wake me up!" He laughed, but Hank only looked at his empty plate, a single question echoing in his head.

'What if the line broke free and whacked you in the head?'

Gorgeson got up and walked to the sink, washing remnants of grease and ketchup from his hands.

"You know Gorgeson, I'd've thunk you'd had enough water today." Lewis joked. Laugher roared.

"Man Gorgie, I wish I'd been there." Another man piped in.

'Maybe it would have been better if we'd all been there. At least then all the guys would've seen for themselves what happened instead of having to hear it in exaggerated detail.' Hank thought.

Unable to bear the laughter, he slipped away from the table, waiting until most of the men took leave of the table and settled on the worn couches before he made his exit. In one swift motion, he slid through the door and took off running toward the dorm. Sitting at his locker on the far side of the dorm room, he slammed his fast against the wood frame.

"I'm such an idiot." He said aloud, unaware that he'd been followed.

"What happened?" Hank jumped, a flush running up his cheeks.

"I…didn't…I…Hi there." He'd finally stammered out.

"What happened out there?" The man stepped closer, cautiously curious of what his crewmate had to say.

"I screwed up." Thrusting his hands against his face, anger coursed through his veins. He was livid with himself.

"That's not what I heard."

Hank glared at him, scoffing the claim.

"Hank, listen to me. I've known ya for about five minutes. We briefly met this morning, then y'all left for the drill. I didn't eat with y'all cuz I had a report that needed to get done, so I didn't hear what got said at the table. But, Cap told me what happened when y'all first got back. From what he said, I don't think you to be an idiot, but right now you're actin' like one. If you gonna act like one, I'm gonna treat ya like one. So prove me wrong." He crossed his arms.

"Prove you wrong? What is this?" His anger, still smoldering, turned its eye to this man.

"THIS is reality Henry." The use of his real name startled him, but the man kept talking.

"You say you screwed up and ya know what? Maybe ya did, maybe ya didn't. I wasn't there. But where I am right now is here. With you. And you're actin' like some probie dragging his line cuz he don't know how to carry it yet. You ain't a probie. You a damn engineer who knows better. So stop dragging your hose and carry it like a man. Around here, we don't have time for guys who feel sorry for themselves."

Hank wanted to be angry. He wanted to be so desperately angry that he would punch this man in the face and walk away without remorse, without regard for the consequence. But he couldn't be. The wrath smoldering inside him had been inexplicably extinguished, gone without a trace, smothered instantly into ash.

He sought words to defend himself, to rekindle the spark of anger he'd lost. None could be found. Slumped on the bench, an unguarded tear slid down his cheek.

"Okay Hank," the man spoke gently. "What happened?"

He didn't want to answer but like the torrent of water from the broken hose, the truth spilled from his lips.

"I got confused. I went to charge the lines but nothing made sense. I wasn't paying attention to the Chief's order so Captain McConnicke had to come over to remind me that I was supposed to charge the hoses. I couldn't stop shaking. I don't know why I was so scared. Heck, I don't know why I couldn't read the damn gauge. Then when I charged the second line it…" he trailed off, pushing himself upright, then standing to take a few steps away from his crewmate. With a heavy sigh, he looked at the tile floor. "…it…broke."

The tiles on the floor were cracked and Hank desperately wished that a hole would appear to swallow him into the abyss of his misery. Instead, his silent plea was returned with silence. As if the room were a universe separate from the rest of the world, a silence louder than sirens replied to his frustrations.

"It 'broke'?" Hank sheepishly nodded.

"That's about the dumbest description of a hose break I've ever heard, and I've been in this department for 20 years."

"I guess exploded is a better word. I pulled the lever and…" his eyes widened, each as a full moon, "boom."

"Boom?"

"Boom."

He could feel two eyes on him and he could feel the presence of the other man standing just a few feet away. He could feel himself sinking lower and lower. Then a quiet scuffing sound shattered the silence and a shadow stood before him. He looked up. Making eye contact, Hank realized that a mutual agreement had been made between them, something unspoken, undefined, that had transpired when Hank opened up with this man. He had no time to think further on the revelation because he found himself doubled over in laughter. Over the roar of his laughter was that of another, his new friend. When they'd finally calmed enough to speak, his new friend spoke first.

"Hank? You're alright. Maybe today was a little rough, tomorrow'll probably be worse. But you're alright."

"You know…" Hank began, before realizing that he didn't even know the name of the man he'd just spilled his heart to. Fumbling for words, he tried to steal glances at the man's name badge, but he was angled just enough to the right that Hank couldn't read his name.

"You know, I really appreciate you sitting here and talking to me…I'm sorry for being so pathetic about all this. I just wanted to make a good impression, you know?"

"Oh, I know. I was the same way…" he paused, looking over at Hank. "You know, I never did formally introduce myself to ya."

He held his hand out to Hank, joining him face to face.

"Peter Willis, Engineer of Truck 86 C-Shift."

Half horror, half awe filled Hank as he realized who he was speaking to.

'Is this really Peter Willis? The Peter Willis who forgot to put the rig in drive and reversed it into a brick wall?'

"Henry Stanley, Engineer of Engine 86 C-Shift."

He shook Peter's hand. A knowing smile crossed Peter's face.

"So Peter, thank you for talking to me, helping me get my head straight."

"Okay Hank, I know ya heard the story."

"The story?"

"My first day as engineer. It was all over the department. It's been ten years and I still can't live that one down some days."

"I'm not sure I understand." Hank feigned.

"I accidently put the rig into reverse instead of drive and backed up into a brick wall?"

"You know Peter, I can't say that I didn't hear about that…"

The men laughed.

"Hank, you more than alright." He patted his comrade on the shoulder. "Now, you wanna see the dent in the wall? It's still there!"

Author's Note:

Again, I have no clue how a fire engine really works, so please bear with me in this regard.

There was a scene in season 6 (I believe one of the last four episodes) where there was a hose break in front of Captain McConnicke. I wanted to pay homage to that since it added to Hank's anxiety about Chief McConnicke during the series.

I promise that things will come together in this story! I know it's getting a little long, but I appreciate you all sticking it out.