LITMIR.BIZ

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tossed it into the fire. The sawyer moved uphill and started with the chainsaw, cutting another clump of burning brush while his swamper pulled the limbs into the black. A firefighter with a pulaski took up position between Reger and the sawyer, and put on his attack. The three with shovels spread out and began cutting a line along the edge of the fire, pushing burned materials into the black, and unburned into the green.

      “Bump,” someone called out. They all moved forward a little, up the hill. The sawyer kept the lead position, cutting back the largest brush, and leaving what he could for the others.

      Jack Chastain looked back at Paul Yazzi’s squad. He wished he could send the more aggressive squad to attack the head, but Yazzi’s was at least on the move. They now had twenty feet or so of scratch line. Flames pushed them back, causing their line to diagonal down the slope, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He had to worry about the safety of the other squad.

      He followed Reger’s squad up the hill.

      Cool, heavy air slipped down off the mountain, but with no sign of increasing relative humidity. How could that be? The fire was growing hotter, pushing across the slope.

      The squad pushed back.

      If it was bad here, what was it doing below? If the wind drove this fire to the bottom of the hill, it would run like a madman up the other side. Those homes will be ashes.

      Stay focused, Jack told himself. There’s a squad upslope. He fell in behind, digging with his shovel, trying to move them faster up the hill.

      Headlamps appeared. Finally. The squads closed the gap between them.

      Another headlamp cut through the smoke, someone following the line.

      “Sack lunches are right behind me,” a man said. He stepped around the firefighters finishing their tie-in. The words, ‘Division Supervisor,’ reflected off his red hard hat. He scanned the personnel, and zeroed in on the helmet that said ‘Crewboss.’ He took Jack aside. “I’m Ambrose,” he said. “What’s the situation now?”

      “Take a break,” Jack shouted to the crew. He watched them plop to the ground and then turned back to Ambrose. “We’ve got another squad trying to get around the head.”

      “I hope it’s your best squad.”

      “They’re all good.” He wished he felt sure of that. He reached for his radio. “Yazzi, this is Chastain.” No answer. “Yazzi, Chastain.”

      They waited. Then suddenly, “Can’t talk. About to lose it.”

      “Paul, what’s happening?”

      “If you got extra people, we need them.”

      “We’re on our way,” Jack said. “Everybody up,” he shouted.

      “What about food?” someone asked.

      Jack pointed them down the hill.

      Slogging down the line, they moved fast, sliding, barely staying on their feet. The fireline now seemed endless. They passed the spot where Yazzi’s squad began its scratch line. It was holding, even thin as it was. A little further and the line turned downslope. They hurried on. Through the trees came the glow and sound of fire, trees torching. They stepped up their pace. Yazzi and his squad came into view, throwing dirt, trying to knock down the flames.

      The other squads spread out, throwing dirt with shovels or using hands and feet. A sawyer attacked a fir, trying to quickly drop it to slow the spread, but the downslope winds pushed fire into its top. It torched. He stood back and watched as two more trees ignited below. They moved downhill and started over. Fire picked out more targets, sending flame rushing through their crowns. Holding ground was impossible.

      Ambrose moved back, out of the way. There was nothing he could do or say. He glanced anxiously through the trees at where the fire wanted to go, and then back at the firefighters giving it all they could.

      It wasn’t working.

      More trees torched.

      The wind pushed.

      Yazzi stopped. “Give me your fusees,” he shouted.

      Jack pulled out his fusees. Ambrose and Reger did the same. Yazzi handed them out to his squad, and pointed them down slope.

      Through the trees, Jack could see the other side of the drainage. Too damn close.

      “This is our only chance,” Yazzi shouted. He signaled everyone else out of the way. He offered no explanation.

      He moved into the brush below another line of pines, spreading his squad along an arc. They lit their fusees and frantically began lighting everything they could.

      It was going too slow—fire kept moving toward them.

      Yazzi pushed up a pile of needles beneath the limb of a pine. He lit it off. Then another. They started to burn. The little fires were nothing compared to the big one moving their way. Another tree was about to torch.

      Yazzi needed more fire. He needed it fast. He dashed into the middle, firing off strips, piling needles under brush, under conifers, under anything he could get to burn, trying to force his fire to jump into the trees. A limb started to burn. Fire laddered up the tree, slowly, then it torched. Air rushed in. Another ignited.

      This was not going to work unless Yazzi’s burn could overpower the downslope winds.

      Yazzi kept lighting. The gap heated up. He ordered his firefighters back into safe positions.

      The fires fed at the fuels between them. The shift began, gradually, convection taking hold, pushing from downslope. Fire jumped from one tree to another, torching it. The heat rose, flowing over and through the next clump of trees, igniting them all. Embers carried up and into the black.

      The trees along Yazzi’s arc were now blackened skeletons—a barrier to a crown fire—but the litter at their feet was burning, trying to sneak downslope. Yazzi pointed. “Get a line around it.”

      His squad fell into line along the edge of the fire. The others joined them.

      The Division Supervisor stepped over to Jack and turned back to the fire. “Good crew. You just saved some homes.” Then, he let out a sad little laugh.

      CHAPTER 2

      Jack Chastain stood perched on an outcropping, looking out over the valley, watching the crew make their way across the slope on the other side.

      Hell of an assignment. Walking the edge, looking for sleepers—embers that might be laying low, smoldering since the night before—making sure they didn’t spring to life at the hottest part of the day. It was good of Ambrose to think they needed an easier job, after working most of the night with little more than a catnap, but this job was not exactly easy. Not with the lowest parts of the drainage so steep and treacherous. At least they could pace themselves until the end of the day, then get carried back to camp for a full night’s rest. They needed it.

      Jack saw something he did not like. He keyed his radio. “Tammy, stop your squad. Some of them are below Paul’s people.”

      “Copy.”

      They stopped. Jack watched them re-stagger themselves across the slope, and then start their trudge, moving as a perfectly spaced unit. A rock kicked loose. The firefighter downslope and behind stepped back and watched it roll all the way to the bottom.

      “That’s why,” Jack shouted.

      The excitement settled down.

      Idle chatter began to drift across the drainage.

      “Me too,” one of them said, agreeing with jumbled words. “I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed.”

      Another wanted to see his wife and kids.

      Jack let out a quiet chuckle. Signs of homesickness. Being tired of it all. He couldn’t blame them. He was feeling it too, but being crew boss he couldn’t

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