THREAD: The tones and bells go off around 2:30AM. Jerked immediately out of a sound sleep, you first try to remember who you are, where you are and why you're there. That takes about a second as your instincts take over and you pull on your clothes...
You run to the engine, jam your feet into your boots and bunker pants as you hear the dispatch for the house fire. Grabbing your coat and helmet, you swing up and into the back of the engine, where you quickly finish getting dressed. Hood on, coat on, gloves and helmet ready...
As your lieutenant up in the officer's seat calls enroute, the engine roars into the early morning tapping the air horn as the siren winds up. You slide into the straps of your self contained breathing apparatus (SCBA), and pull it free from the bracket in your seat back.
It's been, maybe, 2 minutes since you've been jarred awake by the alarm. But now you're wide awake as you connect your facepiece to the SCBA, grab a radio and the thermal imaging camera. Your partner in the back is doing the same, but instead of an imager, he grabs an axe & bar.
On the radio, the dispatcher informs responding units that there are multiple calls coming in. In the dead of night, that tells you neighbors have noticed, and that this won't be cooking on the stove, or smoldering mulch in the yard from a carelessly tossed cigarette. It's a job.
You'll be on scene in less than three minutes. Now, you start to think. We're gonna be first on the scene. What kind of construction are we talking about? Is everyone out? How much of a start has the fire had? Will we be able to make an interior attack? Questions with no answers.
Up front, the lieutenant has checked the maps and calls back that there's a hydrant two doors shy of the address. Your partner will take care of connecting the supply line to the hydrant. Your job will be to pull the handline to wherever you're going to make entry. Almost there.
Your partner jumps out at the hydrant, wraps it with the supply line, and the driver moves forward to just past the house, leaving room for the truck to get in and set up the ladder. As you hear the hiss of the air brake engaging, you jump out and get your first good look.
You've got a large, two-story home with flames shooting out a couple of first floor windows and heavy smoke pushing out of the second floor and roof vents. You grab the pre-connected handline and take it around to the side entrance opposite the fire.
Your lieutenant, meanwhile, is doing a rapid 360 on the home. He advises there is a walkout basement with smoke, but no flames visible. Another handline will be pulled to that door by the next-in engine crew. The lieutenant requests a 2nd alarm due to the size of the home.
You turn on your air bottle and pull your mask over your face and take a couple of breaths to make sure your SCBA is working. You pull the hood over your head, then put on your helmet and gloves. Your partner joins you and does likewise. You're ready to begin an interior attack.
As you begin your entry, two members of the truck company arrive and go in with you. Their job will be to do a quick primary search to make doubly sure everyone is out. Over the years, you learn not to assume the info given to the dispatchers by panicked callers is accurate.
The truckies head upstairs, the likely place where occupants would be at this time of the morning. You make your way through the first floor toward the fire, which you hope you can knock down in one room, or maybe two. There's much racing through your mind as you move forward.
What's the smoke level like? Light, or heavy and super-charged, banking to the floor? How's the heat level? Will this be the seat of the fire, or did it extend from somewhere we can't see? You and your partner grip the hoseline and crawl on. It is your lifeline to the outside.
You turn the corner, and there it is. The kitchen and what appears to be the dining room, well-off. It's hot as hell. You give a quick burst of water at the ceiling to break up the combustion to get a better view. If you put all the fire out, there goes your light to see.
You see pockets of fire pushing out from the cabinets and from behind the large refrigerator. Beyond that, the dining room is blazing. You report your findings to command, request another truck crew to come in & open up the walls & cabinets, and get back to the business at hand.
You open up the nozzle and hit the kitchen hard, moving your nozzle in a "Z" pattern and then in a circle to get the bulk of the fire in the room. You move forward to the dining room with your parter moving back to help advance more of the hoseline.
When you get to the doorway, the first thing you notice is that there's a ton of fire that seems to be fueled from somewhere else. You look down and realize that the floor is gone and the fire is shooting up from the basement. Right below where you and your partner are kneeling.
Time to go. You report the breach to command, and turn around to start following the hoseline out. You hear command ordering the evacuation of the house, & that the fire will now be fought from the exterior only. As you make your way back down the hall, the floor becomes spongy.
You don't panic. Your training kicks in. You don't stand, you don't run. You move toward the wall and away from the middle of the floor, which is now sagging under your weight. Your partner makes it to the door & you are close behind when you feel the floor give way beneath you.
You grab onto the hoseline as your leg goes through the floor. It's searingly hot as the heat from the basement finds a hole to escape through. Your partner and a couple of other guys at the door grab you and pull you out of the hole and out of the home.
The truckies are already back downstairs and out. You're the last one out. Everyone, including all the occupants you learn, is out of the home. The firefight now goes exterior, and crews will not be allowed back in until command determines that it's safe to do so.
All the interior guys go to rehab. You get to go to the ambulance to get your leg looked at. For the most part, your turnout gear and boots saved you, except for a brief moment when the pant leg pulled up over the boot when you were being dragged out. Equivalent of a bad sunburn.
The battle goes on for several hours, and because crews can't go back in, they are limited in their abilities to stop the spread. The home will be heavily damaged. But in this instance, there will be no tragedy. Everyone will go home. You stop to think about how lucky you are.
House fires happen hundreds of times a day across the United States, and thousands of times a day around the world. None of them are ever "routine." But the thought processes I just described are nearly universal, save for differences in procedure and strategy.
I'm quite certain that Nate Flynn had some of those same thoughts this morning as he was rolling up on that mansion fire in Clarksville. I'm quite certain that he was confident in his training, and trusting in his brothers and sisters on the scene as he entered the home...
I'm also quite certain that those brothers and sisters did everything they could humanly do to rescue their brother. And I am very certain that Nate's professionalism, courage and sacrifice are on the hearts and minds of every one in the fire service tonight.
Next time you see an engine or truck headed down the road, headed to an emergency, we'd all appreciate your thoughts and perhaps a quick prayer for our safety. Because it's never routine, and we're doing it for you. Rest in peace, Nate. We've got it from here.
