Prologue September 26, 2012 The 911 calls started pouring in at 11 a.m. A four-story tenement home was shooting flames from every first-floor window. It was a massive building constructed one hundred years before the implementation of modern day fire codes. Sixteen apartments loaded with the belongings of forty people added to an already staggering fire-load. When Engine 4 turned the corner, Lieutenant Walls called for a second alarm before he even got out of the truck. “Lou!”— the chauffer of Engine 4 used the slang for lieutenant. “We got hangers!” “Fuck me.” Lieutenant Walls grabbed the microphone. “Engine 4 to Fire Alarm.” Dispatch answered, “Go ahead, Engine 4.” “We have people hanging from windows on Side 2. We’re making grabs. Engine 3’s gonna have to be the primary attack.” “Roger that. Fire Alarm to responding companies. Engine 4’s confirming a Code Red with people trapped on Side 2. Engine 3 is to initiate the primary attack.” Lieutenant Walls tightened the shoulder-straps on his SCBA tank, turned on his air, and headed for the side of the house where a screaming woman was about to drop a baby into an old woman’s arms. “Wait!” Lt. Walls pushed her out of the way. The baby fell ten-feet. He handed it to the old woman and then turned to help his back-step man set the ladder. They barely had time to lean it against the house before the woman pushed another screaming kid out the window. “Jesus, lady!” Lt. Walls scrambled up to the terrified kid. “Take my hand!” With the black smoke choking her out, the frantic woman dropped a third kid on top of the second and both rolled onto Lt. Walls’ helmet. Then she launched herself head first down the ladder just as the window exploded into a blowtorch above her. With two small kids draped across his head and shoulders, Lt. Walls backed down the ladder. The mother, burnt and singed, was only relieved her kids were alive. She crawled head-first down the ladder toward them while making reassurances like only a mother in the middle of an inferno could. Arriving fire trucks poured out of side streets from different directions. Ladder 2 was already swinging into position for a shot at the roof. “Jimmy!” Lt. Walls shouted to his chauffer. “Hook a hydrant up to the 3s. Me and Ronnie are heading in!” “Roger, Lou!” “Ronnie.” Lt. Walls turned to his back-step man. “Let’s clear the first-floor.” He clicked his microphone. “Fire Alarm, Engine 4A and 4B have pulled four people out of the second-floor. We are now headed into level one for a primary search.” “Roger, Engine 4A and B conducting a primary search of level one.” The chauffer of Ladder 2, alone since his officer and back-step man were part of the search teams, advanced the telescopic ladder seventy-feet until it stopped a foot short of the peak. The guys from Ladder 1 couldn’t get through the bottleneck on the tight urban street, so they climbed up Ladder 2 with chainsaws and axes. Their job was to cut a 4’x4’ hole in the roof to provide an instant chimney for the 1600 degree gasses and smoke trapped inside. Battalion Chief Riggs, in charge of the Second Battalion (B-Shift) for the last six years, knew who he could trust. As he watched the roof team readying to drop onto the peak, he swept the fourth-floor windows for fire but only saw smoke. Still, because of the balloon-frame construction prevalent in the 1800’s, he knew fire could’ve already climbed straight up inside the walls to the attic. He ordered in two more attack lines and it seemed progress was being made. Primary and secondary searches of all four floors were negative, so now they could focus on extinguishing the growing inferno. One hose team was just protecting the staircase so the guys from Engine 3 could bail out of the second-floor if it got too nasty. “Ladder 1 to Command.” B.C. Riggs toggled his mic. “Command, go.” “Chief, we got one hole cut. You want another on the A-B corner?” B.C. Riggs saw fire and smoke roaring out of the hole. “Negative. Clear the roof.” Windows on the third and fourth floors abruptly exploded. A mask-muffled voice shouted on the radio, “Engine 3 to Command!” “Command, go.” “Chief, we’ve pushed halfway through the second-floor—” “Evacuate the building, lieutenant. We now have fire above and below you. Copy?” “Roger!” “Command to Fire Alarm. Put out an Urgent Message for all companies to evacuate the building.” “Roger, Command.” Dispatch triggered the Evacuation Tone, a series of beeps that chirped across everyone’s radio. “Fire Alarm to all companies. Evacuate the building. Per order of Command, evacuate the building.” In case those inside had not heard their radios, firemen jumped into the trucks and wailed the air-horns in this universal message. A helmet suddenly bounced down and off the roof as B.C. Riggs looked up in time to see the peak collapse. He only saw the upper half of Lieutenant Strawchek, which meant his legs were dangling in the flames. “Oh fuck!” He toggled his mic. “Command to Fire Alarm, get me a ground ladder to the roof on Side 1! We have a roof collapse above Ladder 1 and they are trapped.” Lt. Strawchek pulled himself out of the hole and crawled face-first down the roof. His back-step man, Bobby Casper, steadied him on the edge of the abyss. Above them, the roof was gone. Below them was a forty-foot drop to nowhere. Fire was eating up the last ten-feet of roof behind them. Four firemen frantically lifted and placed a massive thirty-five-foot ladder. Casper and Strawchek barely waited for it to touch the gutter before immediately bailing off the roof. B.C. Riggs saw his own hand shaking on the mic and had to refocus. “Command to Fire Alarm. I want an immediate accountability.” “Roger, Chief.” Dispatch hit an Alert Tone. “Fire Alarm to all companies. Prepare for accountability. Fire Alarm to Engine 1.” “Engine 1 all present and accounted for on Side 2.” “Fire Alarm to Engine 2.” “Engine 2 all present on Side 4.” “Engine 3?” Silence. “Fire Alarm to Engine 3? Status?” Silence. “Fire Alarm to—” “Command to all companies. Prepare for R.I.T.” B.C. Riggs tried to corral a mounting panic. It helped that he didn’t have to ask twice, because twenty guys were already gathering at the front door with tools and bottles and fresh hose lines in case the others left behind were already burned through. Inside, Engine 3 was missing. ***
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AuthorTom Trabulsi was born in the Midwest, attended high school in Rhode Island, and graduated from Boston University with a degree in American History. He was a bike courier in Boston and New York City, worked construction in the mountain west and east coast, and is currently a firefighter in a northeast city. Archives
August 2022
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