From the Publisher: “Tony Moretti has hit bottom.
He’s tried several occupations in the fifteen years since he graduated from college, but this one is his biggest gamble yet. He’s been accepted to the firefighting training program at Reynolds International Airport in Central Pennsylvania. This means uprooting not only himself, but his wife, Lisa.
Once there, though, Tony finds it’s not the perfect fit he’d hoped for. The physicality humbles him, and he struggles, both with his skills and with the other firefighters in his platoon. His marriage feels the strain, too, even before he finds a new running partner in operations manager Allie Robinson.
Tony’s bosses give him three months to fully commit himself to his job and his skillset as a firefighter, and as he does, he learns new things about himself, about what he’s been looking for, about who he wants to be-and who the job challenges him to become.
Through a series of escalating incidents unique to life as an aviation firefighter, Tony is tested by situations unlike anything he’s experienced. He will need all his skill, strength, and courage to meet what’s coming…”
More info About the Author: “B. A. Colella, who holds a PhD from the University of Pittsburgh, is a lifelong resident of Western Pennsylvania. He blends his expertise in the aviation and firefighting fields to craft Out of the Fire, a fast-paced, high-stakes tale of courage and determination.
An avid runner, history buff, amateur photographer, classic rock fan, and 2nd generation Camaro enthusiast, he enjoys visiting Pittsburgh’s many parks, coffee shops, libraries, and bookstores with his wife, Karen.”
Author Site
Chapter One
Thursday, August 4
Thick plumes of black smoke billowed into a cloudless blue sky, fifty feet above the steaming fuselage.
Tony Moretti, in the lead position of the three-person hose team, gripped the nozzle against his chest as the afternoon’s last training evolution commenced. The revving engines of two flanking crash trucks rose to a crescendo as hundreds of gallons of water from their roof turrets washed over his head, enveloping the aircraft simulator in mist and soaking his turnout gear with overspray. The edges of his facepiece bit into his skin, soot stung his eyes, and his shoulders sagged from the weight of the air cylinder. As the scene dissolved into an unfocused blur, he ran a gloved hand over his fogged-up visor, but it was futile.
He’d performed well in his other two training scenarios, but only in supporting roles. This was his chance to show what he could do, and much depended on his next actions. He needed the approval of the fire academy staff, and his colleagues, to gain admittance to the firefighting fraternity, perhaps his last shot at a stable career. And he didn’t dare let Lisa down…not after what he’d put her through during the past fifteen years. His Personal Alert Safety System chirped a warning and he shook the chest gauge of his breathing apparatus to silence the high-pitched tones.
Tony’s radio squawked. “Attack teams from command, get ready,” Lieutenant Carl Abington ordered.
He inclined his head and keyed his lapel mic. “Attack-1 copies.” He turned to his crew. “Go on air!”
Tony caught a whiff of propane as he removed the lung demand valve from his waistbelt, snapped it into the receptacle on his facepiece, and took a deep breath. Cool air washed across his face and he drew it deep into his lungs. His vision cleared. That was better.
“All units from command. Rescue-21 is shutting down,” Abington radioed. “Attack-1, move in. Attack-2, back them up.” Despite the background noise, the LT’s baritone boomed over the airwaves. “Rescue-22, give them a wide covering fog.”
That was the signal. Time for the ground teams to take over the fight. Tony tensed; trepidation roiled his stomach. Then doubt overtook him and he hesitated.
The radio crackled. “Get that line moving, Moretti!”
The spreading fire, given a reprieve when the turret from Rescue-21 shut down, rose in a solid wall of flame and licked the underside of the wing. How could he keep those flames away from the fuselage? Focus, he told himself. I can do this.
“Let’s go, Tony!” urged Robbie Stegler, the hose team’s backup.
Blistering heat penetrated Tony’s gear as he waved an arm toward the plane and led the trio into the inferno. He grasped the bale of the nozzle; he wanted to move the metal handle to the open position, but not yet. Wait for the order.
“Attack-1 from command. Hit that fire. Narrow pattern.”
Tony yanked back on the bale and staggered into Robbie as sudden pressure from the stream forced him backward. Grunting, he regained his footing and swung the hoseline left to right and back again. The water spray provided some protection from the heat, but not enough. He was standing in the middle of a blast furnace.
“Attack-2 from command. Move up and cover Attack-1.”
“Hit the base of the fire, Tony! The base,” Robbie shouted.
Tony aimed the nozzle down. The backs of his gloved hands began to tingle. Waves of radiant heat danced across the wing.
“Attack-1 from command. Get some water on that fuselage!”
Tony elevated the nozzle and swung it toward the plane. Clouds of steam formed as cold water collided with hot metal. He swept the stream fore and aft along the fuselage. The superheated skin sizzled while the flames rolled toward the hose team.
Robbie urged him forward. “It’s blackened down. We can get through it. Move in.”
Move in? A no-risk suggestion while Tony’s six-foot-three, 210-pound frame shielded his partner from the heat. Before he could respond, a watery jet knocked him sideways. Firefighters from Attack-2 were moving up and directing their stream over and around their struggling colleagues.
“Knock that fire down, Moretti!” The lieutenant’s command was personal. A direct challenge to Tony’s competence.
“Let’s move!” Tony said. He had the training; he could do this. Stay calm. He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and closed with the main body of the fire. Attack-2 drew even with Attack-1 and the flames sputtered as three hundred gallons per minute from two overlapping hoselines took effect. The heat subsided. He let out a breath. It was tolerable again.
Abington issued a fresh set of commands. “Attack-1, get that line into the plane. Use the overwing hatch. Search-1, ladder the wing and follow them. Attack-2, watch their backs.” The orders were clear and concise, short phrases with no unnecessary words. The LT was a pro.
“Command from Search-1. We’re moving in now.”
Dave Jarvis, carrying a sixteen-foot ladder along the skin of the aircraft, led the two-person search team into the hot zone while Tony extinguished the spotty flames in their path.
Search-1 reached the leading edge of the wing, stuck the feet of the ladder into the gravel, pivoted ninety degrees, and lowered the beam against the steaming metal edge. Jarvis heeled the ladder and shouted to Tony, “You’re good to go.”
With Attack-2 covering their approach, Tony pushed the bale forward to stop the water flow and strode to the ladder. Infused with energy and determined to get the job done, he clamped the hose in his armpit, climbed to the wing, stomped his right foot three times to test its viability, and stepped onto the leading edge. “It’s solid,” he shouted.
Robbie climbed up to join him, followed by the search team with their forcible entry tools and hand lights.
At the overwing hatch, Tony dropped the line and grabbed the exterior release lever. Heat shot through his gloves. “Damn! It’s too hot; I can’t get it open.”
“Hold on.” Robbie scooped the nozzle and doused the hatch with a burst of water. Steam rose from the hot metal. “Try it now.”
Tony grabbed the handle again. Still too hot. No matter. He spun it clockwise. It moved halfway and stopped. He tried again. It wouldn’t budge. “Come on!”
“Wait!” Jarvis came up with a raised Halligan tool and hammered the twenty-pound bar onto the lever. It moved. He hit it again. The lever spun free and the hatch fell onto the seats.
Tony reached through the open wing exit, grabbed it, and angled it out of the plane. He groaned as the hot metal reacted with his sweaty palms. The hatch slipped from his grasp, hit the wing, and slid off the slick trailing edge.
“Get in there, Moretti!” Jarvis said as black smoke found the opening and poured from the cabin. “Stop fucking around or I’ll take that damn line myself.”
Tony ignored him.
“Show them how it’s done,” Robbie said as he tossed the nozzle to Tony.
“Okay. Stay close.” He crouched and stepped cautiously into the wing hatch, testing to make sure the floor was still intact. He glanced toward the cockpit and spotted a dull red glow. “The fire is forward.” He was on his own. Robbie couldn’t help him in the tight cabin.
“Command from Attack-1,” Robbie reported. “We’re entering the aircraft. Search-1 is right behind us.”
Engulfed in darkness, Tony positioned the rigid hose in his outstretched arms and duck-walked his way toward the flight deck. Airplane aisles weren’t designed for firefighters in bulky turnout gear. His back spasmed but he gritted his teeth and moved on. He passed the first three rows but spotted no victims. Irrelevant. His job was the fire.
The orange glow intensified as he advanced. No one up front would have survived in such conditions, but passengers in the back might. Press the attack. Give the search team a fighting chance.
“Attack-1 from command. Status report.”
Robbie answered the LT’s query. “We have fire in the main cabin, forward of the wing hatch. Making our attack now.”
Tony couldn’t see Robbie through the smoke but knew his partner was feeding the hose forward. Flames migrated toward him and heat stung his ears. He hoped his Nomex hood was still tight against his facepiece. Going home with burns on his face would do little to reassure his wife that firefighting was the occupation for him. He dropped a knee to the floor and allowed his training to take over. He grabbed the rubber bumper, spun it clockwise to set a concentrated pattern, and opened the nozzle. One hundred fifty gallons per minute penetrated the gloom and met the approaching flames. It worked; the fire subsided and the cabin grew quiet.
Was the fire out? Calf muscles burning, he got to his feet.
Robbie came up behind him. “Sweet! Let’s get into the cockpit and finish this thing.”
Tony closed the bale halfway and stepped forward, then stopped as he spotted yellow flickers. A wall of flames erupted and swept into him. His mind raced. Use the line as a shield. He spun the bumper counterclockwise and the pattern spread wide. Confined by the cabin, thousands of tiny droplets converted to steam. The fire’s thermal column became unbalanced, sending ferocious heat toward the floor.
“It’s flashing over!” Robbie’s words were barely audible over the crackle of the fire and the whoosh of the superheated air as the flames sought the aircraft’s only exit, the wing hatch behind them.
The next seconds passed in a blur. A wall of flames tore through the aircraft. Searing heat sliced through Tony’s turnout gear. A thousand bees stung his face and ears. The hoseline escaped his grip and he dropped to his stomach. “I lost it…can’t reach it.”
The uncontrolled hose, still discharging, whipped up and down. The nozzle struck Tony’s back, then bounced off his helmet. Dizziness blurred his vision.
“Oooommph.” A body fell on top of him. Robbie.
The blow knocked the wind out of Tony and dislodged his facepiece. Precious air hissed out and smoke entered through the broken seal. His PASS alarm chirped its warning, but he couldn’t move his body to silence it.
“I’ve got you,” Robbie said. “Oh, shit…can’t grab the…aah.”
His partner was taking a beating from the bucking nozzle, but Tony, with Robbie’s weight pinning him to the floor, was helpless to intervene. Body immobilized, he couldn’t breathe. The PASS device leapt into a sustained, high-pitched warble. Panic gripped him.
A garbled transmission: “Rescue…thir…shut d…”
The flames petered out and the hose went limp.
“Command from Instructor-2. That was me on the emergency stop button. I’ve terminated the evolution and I’m venting now.”
The floor vibrated as the roar of powerful fans filled the cabin. A stream of cool air replaced the steam. Robbie’s weight was gone. Tony took a deep breath as sweat poured off his face. A hand reached down, reset his LDV, and silenced the screeching alarm.
“Hold on; I’ve got you,” a voice said.
Tony strained to look up. Evan O’Brien stood over him. The fire academy instructor had operated the control pendant to cut off the gas-fed flames and bring the training scenario to an abrupt end. In less than a minute, the fuselage of the simulator cleared.
“You guys can get up,” Evan said.
Tony rose to his knees and Evan hoisted him to his feet. His anxiety eased, but a new fear arose; repercussions were sure to follow. The last scenario of the day and he’d screwed it up. He wanted to crawl away.
“Nice work, Moretti. I’d say we’d all be dead just about now.” Jarvis again.
Tony removed his dangling facepiece, reached back to close the cylinder handwheel, and headed for the forward door.
“Hey!” Jarvis called. “I’m talking to you. That nozzle could have killed someone.”
Tony met the man’s vindictive glare. Anger rose, but a deep shame tempered it and he had nothing to say.
“Do you hear me? I said you could’ve killed someone. Maybe me. I feel like a lobster because you couldn’t put out the fucking fire.” He spat into one of the metal seats.
“I’m…I’m really sorry, Dave. I thought I could—”
“You thought what, you dumbass? I’ve had it with your screwups. We all end up paying for them. I swear if you do anything like that again…”
“Okay, boys. That’s enough,” Evan said.
“Thanks, Instructor O’Brien,” Tony said. “Sorry about the evolution.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” O’Brien spoke in the cool, matter-of-fact tone of one who’d seen this situation a hundred times before. “How about you, Stegler? Going to live?”
“Yeah, Instructor O’Brien,” Robbie said. “I’ll be fine. My back is a little sore.”
“I bet it is. Get over to the pavilion and let the EMTs take a look.”
“What about your team, Jarvis? You guys both okay?”
“Oh, we’re just fine. We couldn’t finish our search, but we did rescue these two professional firefighters here.”
Tony knew who the biting sarcasm was intended for, and his shame increased.
“Save the commentary for the hot wash,” O’Brien said. “It’s almost two-thirty and the after-action review with Lieutenant Abington starts promptly at four. I’m sure you guys want to get out of here on time.”
“You got that right, Instructor O’Brien,” Jarvis said. “You’re the boss.”
“I want all of you to hydrate before we clean up the field,” O’Brien said. “You know the drill. Get yourselves and your equipment outside. Remove your gear; head to the garage or relax in the shade. Once you’re out of rehab, roll up the hoselines, clean up the rest of your equipment, and wash your bunker clothes.”
With that, the final training evolution of Reynolds International Airport’s firefighter recruit class ended. Tony sat under a pin oak tree with his eyes closed during the half-hour rehab period. When his seven fellow students began to police the grounds, he worked alongside them without speaking. Nor did he make eye contact with anyone. An hour later, when Lieutenant Abington gathered everyone in the garage for a final debrief, he stood alone in the back.
* * *
After showering and changing into shorts and a t-shirt, he remained in the locker room after the other recruits departed. The place smelled of sweat and dirty socks. He hadn’t moved from the hard wooden bench in twenty minutes. Or was it thirty? Who knew? He was so angry with himself, he couldn’t think straight. Damn. He had thought he was ready. He knew what he had to do. He’d been determined to do it, and yet he’d failed. What will Lisa think about today’s fiasco?
The longer he sat, the more frustrated he became. Firefighting came so easily to everyone else in his academy class. Almost like second nature. No one had his problems. His classmates were prototypical badass firefighters. And he knew they looked down on him.
“You still here?” Evan O’Brien asked.
Tony hadn’t heard him enter the locker room.
“It’s almost five-thirty and I’d like to vamoose.”
“Sorry, Instructor O’Brien. I’ll be out of here in five minutes.”
“Call me Evan. Your academy days are over. And don’t be so glum.”
“Hard not to be. I seem to be the biggest screwup around.”
“Oh no. I’ve seen far more impressive screwups.” He laughed. “You’re not even close.”
Tony welcomed the show of empathy and forced a smile. Evan was a good guy. Tall and athletic, he was a pure Irishman with a shock of wavy red hair that was never under control. A fifteen-year firefighter and an instructor second only to Lieutenant Abington at the academy, Evan was also number one on the promotional list for lieutenant. He specialized in ARFF operations and tactics, and his enthusiasm for his work was infectious. He was, in Tony’s opinion, the finest teacher in the department.
“This is a complex job. It’ll take longer than four months for you to master it. Keep working and you’ll get better. Now get going; I’m meeting the wife for dinner. She got a sitter for the kids and I’ll be in big trouble if I don’t get there on time. Besides, you have a graduation ceremony to get ready for. Make sure you’re here early tomorrow. You guys are the setup crew.”
“Sounds good. I’ve got to pick Lisa up from work. Her Civic is in the shop.”
As he left the academy, Tony felt a little better. Maybe he was being too hard on himself, but while he hadn’t yet processed the four months of training he’d endured, he knew he had to pick up his game, and fast.
This excerpt is published here courtesy of the author and should not be reprinted without permission.
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