//------------------------------//
// Inside 
// Story: Report From Rescue Company 1 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

Blaze stood. He had been relaxing in his chair, the game of poker having been interrupted by the departure of the Engine on a run. Now it was their turn. He ran to the rig, geared up, and climbed aboard. 

'10-75 for box 7046,' Grey Spike announced, after checking the data terminal on the dashboard. 'Looks like the engine caught a worker this time. Alright, let's roll out!' he ordered. Fairway was happy to oblige, swinging the Rescue onto the avenue with a blast of air horn as several taxis were forced to stop short to allow them to depart the station. It was only a short trip around to the location of the fire, just a couple of avenues away and two streets north of the firehouse. No wonder Blaze had only had time to sit and relax for a minute before the alarm had come in. The radio, tuned to the Manehattan frequency, gave an indication of what they were driving into, as the voice of Pumpkin Punch could be heard.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan.'

'Battalion 9, K.'

'For Box 7046, at this time, we have fire on the second story of a six-story 50ft-by-50ft brick occupied multiple dwelling. Exposure 1 is a street, Exposure 2 is a similar attached, Exposure 3 is unknown, Exposure 4 is a similar detached. We have one line stretched, not yet in operation. Primary searches on the fire floor are in progress. Fire is doubtful will hold, go with the All Hooves, K.'

An All Hooves signal meant that every company assigned on the report of a working fire- four Engines, three Ladders, the Rescue, a Squad, two Battalion chiefs- would be put to work at the incident. It also mandated the response of the Division Chief, the next highest ranking officer, and a RAC Unit, for the recuperation and care of fireponies at the scene. 'We got work, fillies and gentlecolts!' Grey Spike announced to the crew as the Rescue rolled onto 10th Avenue and turned north, pulling up just short of the junction with the block on which the fire had broken out. There was no pressing need for the Rescue to enter the block, and generally it was better to leave the path clear for more Engines and Ladders which might be needed closer to the fire building. Blaze and the others climbed down, and Grey Spike trotted around the corner to the command post. 

Blaze grabbed his tools, a Hoofigan and an axe, and joined the others in heading around the corner. The city block was already busy, with two engines and two ladders on the scene. Another ladder turned into the block; the third-due ladder was assigned as the HOOF Truck. HOOF stood for Helpers Of Other Fireponies, a rather torturous acronym that some bureaucrat somewhere no doubt signed off on because it made a pony-related word and sounded good on marketing campaigns. Other departments used more prosaic terms such as RIT- Rapid Intervention Team- and FAST- Firepony Assist & Search Team- to define the same role. The HOOF Truck's sole responsibility at a fire or other incident was to go into the scene if fellow fireponies needed help to get themselves to safety. A firepony might suffer a fall or other injury and be unable to move themselves, or they might find themselves trapped under a collapse. They might run out of air and pass out, or they might become lost in the confusing layout of some warehouse or hotel. In any of those cases, the HOOF Truck's crew had the task of rescuing any firepony who might need assistance.

The HOOF Truck pulled into the block, followed rapidly by another engine. Blaze knew that his brother was riding as the backup on Engine 25; that meant he would be on that single hose line, just behind Striker. He peered up ahead to the burning building. Be safe, little brother.




'Alright, make entry! Let's go!'

The front door of the building was already open, residents having used it for evacuation as the fire broke out on the second floor. Striker led the way, and Ember Dawn followed, into the gloom and the darkness of the interior. Dark Flash kept control of the front door, making sure it was chocked open and didn't close on and damage the hose line. Coppertop followed them inside.

The hallway was heavily charged with smoke. Ventilation of the roof or the upper stories had not yet taken place, and so there was nowhere for it all to go, meaning it hung in their path like a blanket. The stairs, however, were just ahead, and Striker found them easily enough. Up they went, lugging the hose along with them. It was cumbersome, but it was necessary, vital if they were to have any effect. They had to put water on the fire.

A fire escape in the alley on the Exposure 4 side- the right side of the building, when looking at it from the street- had allowed most occupants to escape, but if any were still trapped, it was not Engine 25's job to focus on them. There were Ladder Companies on scene, and they were the ones responsible for conducting rescues. At least it meant nopony was blocking their path by trying to escape down the interior stairs. They reached the second floor. 

'Engine 25 Nozzle to Engine 25 Chauffeur. Charge the line!' Striker called into his helmet-mounted microphone.

'Engine 25 Chauffeur, 10-4!' Deep Blue replied over the radio. A couple of moments later, the flaccid hose became engorged with water as she let the vital liquid flow into it in preparation. Striker, Dawn and Coppertop approached the door to the fire apartment. With fire venting out of the window, the possibility of a backdraft- the sudden, rapid ignition of superheated gases upon the introduction of fresh oxygen, from opening a door for example- was essentially zero. Coppertop stood by and received nods from both ponies, before trying the door handle with a gloved hoof. It opened, and they gazed into hell.

'Engine 25 Nozzle to Engine 25 Chauffeur. Start water!' Striker shouted. 

'Engine 25 Chauffeur, 10-4!' 

The engine's pump started up, getting water flowing. Striker opened the nozzle, spraying the floor for a few moments to make sure the hose was functioning properly. He then aimed it up and the ceiling, spraying water across the burning gases that had accumulated there. The room was well ablaze, and Striker then set about working the stream over the heaviest concentration of fire. Dawn kept hold of the line behind him, making sure it didn't kink around the doorway as they made entry, Striker kneeling on the mid-joint of his hind legs and shuffling forward. It wasn't particularly dignified, but it was the correct way to enter a burning room, giving maximum control over the hose line, keeping low where the air was cooler, and allowing him to better check for potential obstacles in his path- holes in the floor where the boards had burned through, for example.

The fire had not been burning for that long, however, and together, Striker and Dawn made good progress inside the fire apartment, washing down everything that was burning, spraying water around the room and out of the window. The smoke that was pouring from the building changed from black to grey, indicating to those watching that the fireponies had managed to get water onto the fire and were in the process of cooling it down, and hopefully extinguishing it. 

Dawn took deep breaths from his air tank. The room was red hot, making him sweat profusely, but that was a good thing. It was when he stopped sweating that he had to worry, for that would mean that he had become so dehydrated that there was no moisture left in his body for him to sweat out. That could, and did, happen at longer duration fires, but they had only been inside the burning building for a few minutes. Dawn found that he was not afraid, but instead quite happy. Perhaps that was a side effect of his first ever fire being such a big one, but he felt that this was a good test for him. He had stretched the hose line as required, thanks to the drills earlier in the shift, no doubt. He had not hesitated to enter the building, and he had not hesitated to enter the fire apartment, either. He was surrounded by flames, burning to his left, right, and front, but with Striker ahead of him and the experienced and level-headed Lieutenant Coppertop behind, he knew he was in the company of very capable fireponies, and he felt like they were the ones in control, not the fire. They, the fireponies, had a good handle on it. They would bring it under control soon enough.

Striker washed down the worst pockets of fire, spraying them with a deluge of water, forced into the hose line by the powerful centrifugal pump on board Engine 25. A steady flow was vital to ensure that there was enough pressure to actually extinguish the flames, and that was the job of Deep Blue, the chauffeur, to provide. She manned the pump control panel on the rig in the street outside, keeping the flow pressure and the pump temperature within manageable limits so that the fireponies inside could do what was needed to put the fire out.

Dawn moved the line forward, continually checking to make sure it hadn't snagged on the door frame, as Striker pushed deeper into the room. Members of Ladder 4 were with them now, to conduct a quick primary search of the fire apartment once conditions permitted them to access it with some degree of relative safety. They would be looking for bodies, potential victims of the red devil that menaced the residents of Manehattan every day. But the fact that the apartment door had been closed, but unlocked, suggested that it was possible the resident had been savvy enough with regards to fire safety to have left the apartment, closed the door behind them to contain the fire, but left it unlocked so that the fireponies could gain access without having to waste time with forcible entry.

This was confirmed over the radio a minute later as the truck was searching the three-room apartment, when Chief Firebrand radioed that the owner of the apartment was outside and had called in the fire by cellphone. Nobody else lived with him. The ponies of Ladder 4 conducted their search anyway, just in case, but came up empty-hoofed. Nopony was home, and the search was negative. During their efforts, Striker continued to hose down the fire until it was all just smouldering. The truck ponies opened up the walls with their Hoofigans and hooks, checking for any extension where the fire might have made its way into hidden voids or pipe chases. They did the same with the ceiling, and Striker washed down any hotspots inside. Dawn kept position with him, making sure that nopony stepped on or damaged the hose with their tools as they came and went from the apartment.

Chief Firebrand transmitted the Probably WIll Hold signal, meaning that it was likely the incident could be contained with the units currently assigned, just ten minutes after the alarm had come in, and just as Division Chief Misty Morning pulled up at the scene. The dark blue-and-green unicorn mare trotted down the block to the command post.

'Chief Firebrand,' she nodded to him. 'I'll be assuming command from here on out.'

'Chief Misty Morning,' Firebrand returned her nod. 'You can take up if you'd rather. I just placed the fire at probably will hold.' That signal meant that, under the department regulations, the Division Chief could remain in service and not attend the fire, at their discretion- and clearly Misty Morning had used her discretion to decide to continue in anyway.

'I heard,' Misty Morning replied. 'But since I was here already I thought I would take control myself,' she replied, rather coldly. Firebrand nodded.

'Very well, Chief...the fire is knocked down on the second floor. Primary searches are complete and negative, secondaries underway. One line stretched and operated. Fire apartment is 2A as in Apple.'

Misty Morning nodded and checked out the command board, her white mane mostly hidden under her equally white Chief's helmet with gold frontpiece, Deputy Chief, Division 3 emblazoned upon it. Firebrand permitted himself a single roll of the eyes before returning to the task at hoof. He wouldn't say Misty Morning was a hardass, per se, but merely a stickler for the rules and a Chief who wanted everything done by the book. If the regulations said she was permitted to still respond in after the fire had gone probably will hold, then by Celestia, you could be sure she was going to do exactly that, merely because she could. It was a chance for her to exert her authority, which was something she enjoyed doing. What was worse was that she was not merely some blowhard who would crumble when responsibility was actually placed on her shoulders; she was a damn fine Chief when she wasn't being quite so strict, wasn't riding everypony's backs. She had a long career, first in Ladders and then in the SOB, the Special Operations Battalion, where she had risen to Captain of the Hazardous Materials Company before being promoted to Battalion Chief, and then again three years ago to her current rank and assignment. 

There was no denying that she had earned her place, but so had Battalion Chief Firebrand. He had been in the department even longer than she had, which raised the question of why he was still one rank lower than her. The answer was simple; he had been offered promotion several times, had even completed the tests required on one occasion, but he had still chosen to stay as a Battalion Chief, not because he doubted his own abilities, but because he loved his district. He loved his companies, and he loved his fireponies. Firebrand had been in command of the 9th Battalion for eight years, and before that he had served both in Rescue 1 and Ladder 4, companies located within that geographic area. He had hardly left midtown in his whole career, save for a brief stint down in Stallion Island when a similarly hardass Chief to Misty Morning had sent him off to one of the slowest companies in the city for some perceived minor indiscretion. He had been happy to serve down there, where they were lucky to get more than half a dozen runs in a 24-hour shift, and he had been equally happy to serve in midtown Manehattan, where calls were frequent and varied.

Firebrand had long told himself, and his wife, Cherry Tree, that he would apply for that promotion to Deputy Chief, with the intention of taking it this time, when he reached 30 years of service with the MFD. But that deadline had come, and it had gone, and he had not made his application. The extra money would help, yes, but his two daughters had moved out years earlier, and he only had to support himself and his wife now, and a Battalion Chief still made good money, considering it was a city job.

The truth was that Firebrand was content being where he was. He was happy to be a Battalion Chief, because it kept him on the frontline, like a proper firepony. Division Chiefs and above spent most of their time driving a desk or filling out various forms of administrative paperwork, and there was enough of that at Battalion level. The last thing he needed was more forms to complete. Firebrand was a firepony, and that, fundamentally, was why he had refused promotion. He wanted to be in the thick of it with the ponies who laid it all on the line every shift, because he had been in their boots and he had the utmost, absolute respect for every one of them.

Dawn and Striker left the fire building, having done their job and extinguished the blaze. Misty Morning, exercising her prerogative again, called the dispatcher to let them know the fire was under control. It would have been more usual for her aide to make the call while she focused on the final stage of the operation, but that was Misty Morning. Control was key.

Firebrand trotted over to his nozzle team, the first-due line which had put the fire out in short order. 'Well done, boys,' he acknowledged them with a nod. Striker returned the gesture, being used to it, but Firebrand stopped beside Dawn. 'Well done, probie,' he added, putting a hoof on his shoulder. 'You're doing good. Keep this up and I tell you what, you'll be as big a credit to your old pa as your brother is.'

'Thanks, Chief...' Dawn headed off to pack up the hose in conjunction with the rest of his company. A big, fat smile was plastered on his face. He had done good, and he was happy.