I wake up scared. I'm breathing heavy, my pulse galloping and I'm all sweaty. I'm holding my forearms crossed in front of my face, to protect my head.

Automatically I control my breathing. I imagine the beach house where we took vacations. I'm a kid again. Ruggers, our 70-pound Golden Retriever Doggie licks my face. I smile. I'm safe, Mom is nearby.

It's bullshit but it works. My breathing steadies. I hold my breath to listen. The other five guys are asleep. In a bunk room you learn to be careful of waking anyone up. I grab my clothes and silently creep to the lockers.

I remember enough of my dream that I don't need to remember the rest. It's always the same dream anyway.

I go to my locker. If I was at home, I'd have a shot of medicinal whiskey. (Actually, I'd have medicinal tequila. I ran out of whiskey.) At work I don't dare risk falling into a bottle. I get a book out of my locker. This time I take the college level geometry text I found in a used bookstore.

I have no use for this knowledge. But I bury myself into it. It's logical proofs more than shapes. Mathematical proofs start with basic things and then go to slightly less basic, then slightly less and so on. It does its' job, the dream fades.

()()()

Uncle Clem taught me how to play backgammon while I was growing up. It can be a social game, a way for two people to pass the time. That's the way I played.

Some of the time it's the way he played. But for him, the game was also a vice. Sometimes he let himself get sucked into big money games.

I saw him lose $492 in one night, gradually, as the dice rolled, and the pieces marched. As I was young, I was impressed, to me that was a lot of money, especially back then. He paid up without hesitation and told me afterwards, "If you play, be ready to pay." Then added "If you can't pay, don't play."

()()()

I'm up nearly 30 minutes. Lose myself in that egghead stuff. My pulse is back to normal. I put the book back in my locker, next to the one with color photos of impressionist paintings that used to do the trick but doesn't anymore.

I'm halfway to my bunk when the tones go off. After enough loud tones to get us ready it comes. Engine 74. Station 51. Engine 19. Truck 104. Battalion 16. Structure fire. 1391 DaCosta. Cross street Lincoln. Time out 0309."

Being already up, I'm first to the rigs. Actually, I go to the map first. Roy, the other driver, joins me. We check the map, it's a simple trip.

I follow Roy. We pull into the night. Flashing lights, no siren till needed. We hop on the freeway then hit the sirens. It's a hot summer night. Stars are out.

Not a good thing. Not when I just had the dream. I remember another hot summer night with stars three years ago. Even at this speed, with all traffic pulled over, I can think as I drive. As happens too often, I remember THE night.

()()()

I was on Engine 12, behind Captain Wilson, as we pulled in.

"Engine 12 to Engine 61. Where do you want us?

"Take an inch and a half. Connect to our rig. Join us on the third floor. With two lines we might make headway."

Captain Wilson checks out the manufacturing building. Two story brick building. 'Faraday Chemicals' on the sign. He says "Big building. Let's take four lengths to be sure."

Buck and 61's engineer connect the first hose length to Engine 61. We put our air tanks on our back and each carry a length. I remember going in as the man I was. A man who felt mild fear but overcame it. An ignorant man but a brave one. A man I wish I still was. A man I pretend to still be.

()()()

Back in the present, Engine 74 has radioed on scene minutes ago and presumably started an attack.

Now the radio beeps "Engine 74. We need two ambulances on scene."

"Engine 74. Two ambulances. 1391 DaCosta." Dispatch confirms.

As I hear this, we get off the freeway and slow our speed to the lower 40s. We keep our sirens on, people sleeping or no. Two ambulances needed, probably a serious blaze. I see flashing lights behind me and study the rear-view mirror to see what he'll do while watching the street ahead of me. The other flashing lights slide into formation behind us. A few turns and we're there.

Three story house. Engine 74's crew is outside by their engine. One hose line connects the engine to the hydrant, another stretches from the engine to inside the open front door. Smoke is coming out the door. Two patients, a woman and a fireman. A distraught kid, maybe 11, beseechs us "Hey Firemen! Firemen! Save my MOM!"

Cap radios dispatch. "Station 51 on scene."

Dispatch confirms "Station 51 on scene, 0316."

Behind us I hear "Truck 104 on scene."

Dispatch repeats "Truck 104 on scene, 0316."

The three captains confer quickly. Engine 74's turns to Truck 104's and says "We did the primary search already. Smoke condition is horrible. We need you to open the roof." 104's captain nods and yells at his crew. The truck's stabilizers come out, then the engineer begins to raise the big ladder. The others get their tools ready.

Meanwhile, John and Roy each take a patient. John gets the woman. The kid is incessantly begging "Save my mom. Save my mom."

John says "She's breathing, and her pulse is strong. That's a good sign."

Roy talks to the injured firefighter. "I need to see your injury." He pulls down his pants (but not his boxers). Roy examines an ugly looking large gash and starts to bandage it.

74's captain is still briefing my captain. "We thought the fire was in the attic. We went upstairs but smoke was severe, and we couldn't find the way to the attic. We found two civilians and Delancey got hit by a falling light fixture. We dropped the hose and evacuated."

"Firemen!" We look. Another kid, about the same age. Maybe a friend of the mother's son. This kid says, "I've played in the attic, the attic stairs are through a closet in the bathroom."

"Where's the bathroom?" My captain asks.

The kid closes his eyes and moves his hands to remember but does it pretty fast "Up the stairs and on the left."

"Good job son." The kid beams.

My captain turns to the other captain "My crew is fresh. Once the roof's open we'll take your line and try again."

Their engineer goes back to the control panel.

We don our air tanks but don't start breathing from them while outside. Cap gives his orders. "Kelly, I'm holding you in reserve. Listen on the radio. Stoker, you finally get a turn on the nozzle. Lopez, you back up Stoker, and I'll be right behind you."

He says it like it's just another day at the office.

I hear the power saw starting on the roof. Truck 104 should have it open in a minute or two.

Not that I need even one minute to run through the memories. I've done it so many times I can go through it much faster.

()()()

It was three years ago. I was on the nozzle, in front of the rest of my crew on Engine 12. We went into Faraday Chemicals brick building and went up the stairs. Engine 61 had gone left at a fork in the corridor so we went right. The smoke was bad but that was nothing I hadn't seen a bunch of times. Captain Wilson radioed to charge the hose and we moved forward.

BRIGHT FLASH! And a LOUD wordless NOISE! Somewhere in front of us. Too late, I hit the deck as my left shoulder suddenly hurt like hell. I thought I'd been shot. Also blinded. Took over a day before my vision was anywhere near normal.

()()()

Later someone called it a chemical explosion. It was a glass bottle that flew at me and hit my shoulder. Another one shattered against my helmet. Willie and Buck came out fine. Captain Wilson got the worst of it. A bottle bounced off the floor and then shattered in his chest.

After a few months in the hospital, he took early retirement. Only he got bored so he got a part time job at the museum.

I was out of the hospital in two days. Then I nursed my injury and missed a few shifts.

The bad dreams stated immediately and never went away. Dreams of being killed or crippled or even just blinded. Often in my dreams, after the explosion the fire comes out and has its' way with me while I lay there helpless to resist.

()()()

The worst word in a firehouse isn't f-k or d-n or even d-n with the Lord's name in vain attached to it. It isn't a racial epitaph, or an impolite word used for women, or a word used for practicing homosexuals.

I turn and look at the house, so Cap, Marco and Chet will think I'm sizing up the fire as the ventilation process begins. But it's really so they don't see my eyes.

The worst word in a firehouse is c-d. As in c-o-w-a-r-d. I don't want Cap or Marco or Chet to see my eyes. To know I'm struggling to control my breathing. To know I'd practically rather die than go in there.

()()()

I was seven when dad died. I was ten when mom remarried. Young enough to bond with my stepfather.

He had a small ranch. Raised horses. He had a rule. It's a common rule, "You fall off a horse, you git your backside back on a horse."

When you're ten it seems cruel. Something to resent. When you're sixteen, you see he's making you into a man.

()()()

I didn't used to have fear this bad. After high school I joined the army. Tank crewman. Started as a driver, went all the way up to tank commander in one two-year enlistment. My regiment was in West Germany, waiting for the shooting to start with the Soviets. I remember no fear.

Is it my fault I was too young for Korea? And old enough I was on the department here when Vietnam started?

Before Faraday Chemicals, I went on a lot of fire calls. Most were false alarms or trash cans or dumpsters or even just cars. But I played the hand I was dealt. A few were working fires. I did my part. Except the time I got all turned around. But on that morning, I at least tried.

After Faraday Chemicals, I needed to get back on a horse. But when I went back to work we didn't have any fires. For three weeks, not even a trash can burned.

After three weeks, my promotion went through. I became an Engineer and got A shift on Engine 51. I've caught structure fires as an Engineer. Lots of them. Strangely enough, every SINGLE time, we've been the first engine on scene. And I've been working the engine, pumping the water, passing it to the nozzleman. It's an important job. It's like in lots of sports, where someone needs to pass the ball to the scorers.

But it's only inside the walls, in the thick of the smoke, on my belly trying to crawl beneath the heat but still feeling like someone needs to close that oven door NOW, that I can face my fear.

Last year I was at a big brush fire. But that didn't trigger me. Building collapses, crashed aircraft, water rescues, downed power lines, high altitude saves, they don't trigger me. (Besides, we usually send the Glory Boys in. Roy and John like to feel special.) Even the time that really big guy at the bar I drink at had one too many and came at me with his fists. None of it triggered me.

And every day that it didn't happen, the fear grew.

()()()

I see black smoke pouring out of the house on DaCosta. Actually, it's more a matter of the starlight that I don't see.

I glance around. The guys are starting to look at me expectantly.

It's time to get back on a horse. I put my air mask over my mouth and began following the hose line.

()()()

As I get up the stairs the smoke gets worse. (My hearts running a mile a minute. Haven't been this hyper since my first fire, that corner apartment fire on the third floor off Pelican Drive, where I got my cherry popped.) I pick up the hose line and move ahead till I find the nozzle. (I'm trying to steady my breathing. This air tank won't last forever.) I look left and find the bathroom door. (I'm still breathing too fast, a lot faster than when I used to do this.)

It's a standard bathroom. Turn right, find the closet. Smoke is getting worse, but manageable for an experienced firefighter with an air tank. The attic steps are right where the kid said they'd be. At the top there's a locked hatch.

I set the hose down at the top of the attic steps.

I'm about to expose myself to my nightmare. But not in a bed, in REAL LIFE. In the moment I realize I JUST CAN'T DO IT. So I turn to crawl the other way. It's my LAST chance. Behind me I see Marco.

Marco. Cap. Chet. Roy. John. When I bolt out of here, they'll all know I'm a DIRTY C-D. And I'll never be able to face those guys again.

I'm trapped between two fears. Suddenly, I wish I'd taken the test for deputy sheriff instead, because if I had a gun, I could stick it up my mouth and…

I don't have a gun. I ask myself which fear is worse…

The answer comes surprisingly quick.

It turns out, I'm more afraid of the guys knowing. So, I go up. What the heck, maybe it'll be OVER quick.

I feel the hatch. It's locked, but I find the hook and move it.

Now it's really time to get back on a horse.

I open the hatch and pick up the hose line. No point hesitating now.

The smoke is manageable. Even the heat. My old habits are returning. I crawl towards the hot spot, over there. I feel Marco behind me. It's just like in the old days. When I judge the heat is hot enough to match the right distance, I open the nozzle. Suddenly the attic is wetter. Rotate the nozzle in a clockwise direction. Inch forward as the flames retreat.

The nozzleman and the flames. I've done this dance before. And I'm doing it now.

And I remember something, something the back of my mind knew, and my heart forgot. This is FUN. I'm starting to grin as I push the fire round the attic.

Never mind surviving. I'm winning.

()()()

The other companies come in to check for extensions (hot spots hiding in the walls, ceilings, and floors.)

I need a shower when we get back home (Station 51.) Also, a change of under ware. But I've got that in my locker.

In the meantime, I try not to smile too much when we come out. Just another day at the office. That's how experienced firemen like us play it.

I'll call Liz tomorrow at her work and offer to take her out for dinner. I need to celebrate with someone tomorrow. A nice steak house should do the trick.

And if that dream ever comes back, I know where to tell it to go to.

I got back on the horse. And if next shift we get a fire that I'm not needed on the pump for, I know I can handle it.

()()()

A/N- In 1972, PTSD was not as well understood as it is now.

I fast-forwarded through early episodes. Up until 2 x 13 "Drivers", EVERY SINGLE structure fire 51 was at, 51 arrived first.