~One~ Trees on fire… …The water-held helicopter let-loose of hundred of gallons of water onto the forest-flames... Which plumed high-above the pines... The radio-signals, from the ground-crew called a ‘thanks’ and yelled-for more. The emblazoned-woodland had gotten eaten-up 40 square-miles and was burning trees like toothpicks. Albert Simmons, had never known such vegetation to ash-in 240-hours. He and five Oregon-based Elitists fire-fighting-forces brought-in as main-counter insurgent. He and his comrades; Joe Sinkle, David Garr, Sam Thetis and the two-brothers; borne-on as the cubs of the group... ...Tom and Gene McThenis and the rest, fought-together around-the-clock for three-days. Sam had an anniversary coming-up soon. ‘Divide the line, men... We need to stake-and-run.” Joe, was Albert’s second-hand man; he knew all Albert(Al) knew… As the ten-day-old burning hit further upstate. It was late-Fall, when the air was becoming ‘rigid’. And everything was still-moist; flashed and sparked. Sam was tiring, as his-Commander moved with speed. Al glanced-at Sam then at the rest of the crew, who-were black with soot. He yelled-orders while his-men reacted-in sequence. He ran-up ahead of them as they carried-out fire-fighting technique, against-the-odds. The copters, were conveying-back and forth. ...Al was out, ahead of the flames. His-crew were struggling-behind, but still-following their-Chief. ...He sat on a ridge-awaiting of his-men; decided-it was time to do something, out-of-the-ordinary… “Sam!” Yelled David. With Joe, not far-behind, trying to breathe through all the smoke. “Where is Al?” Sam did not know where Al was. But he knew, he wouldn’t leave them. ….David, was a well experienced-fighter, he was taught what to do, and what not to do. The fire kept-up an invisible honor-line; each pitching and plowing-dirt, putting-up break-lines, and moving-on. The group was well-skilled the best, coming from the countryside of Washington and taught every aspect of every-contention. Gene was the ‘tooler’ of the group. Of the rest of the crowd, he was the least-liked... He had a drinking-habit, a broken family life, occasional-bouts of anger and periods of depression... He lived-up in the mountains where he stayed-in solitude. With long-times alone and at peace, he was getting back-on his-feet. None of his struggles put him out of doing his-duties. He was both, given the job and proven-worthy. For that reason, his rural-lifestyle had given him Wilderness-‘smarts’. Although, he had to work as a team, he proved himself, fully-competent under all circumstances. He at 27, was still considered a ‘cub’. His brother, who was 8-years younger joined the crew, after he did. He enjoyed-adventure, and was preparing to join the Marines. But he had unsettled-business with his-brother, whom he cared-for, and wanted him to retake-hold of his-life. Tom was more of a ‘buck’, but he had taken himself very-serious. Which was one of the reasons his brother and the rest of the crew thought it was a well-worthy occupation for him… He was now-inhaling smoke as he had taken the ‘lit’ cigarette-end of the job...as they called-it. His youthful-energies and simple wild-instincts, often gave him the ‘brunt’ followed-by his older-brother. Gene could see the shadow-of-flames behind him and the spray-of sunlight ahead, where safety lay. David was forestry-commissioned, he was under direct-command by the department of U.S.F.S. A strategic-tactician, he was the one given the ‘order’ to be parachuted-in. David, was responsible for his party and to keep abreast of his-sector of the fire-zone. Although, he was not a demanding-officer giving others the operational-lead as he saw fit, and was being qualified as one of the abilities in his-position. He was keeping-watch as the next water-copter unway-layed its load. He was planting himself near the heat-zone, but he knew exactly, the risks. He was planning to join forces with Tom and Gene, then signed Sam and Joe to converge at an open stretch-point, then head to the next-rise to regroup. Joe was smelling of methane and soot, he’d watched the flames curl in the lower-valley, which meant it was turning into the wind. Joe ran toward the natural-path where the men were moving quickly, up the valley; he could hear a radio-receiver meaning the coordinator was sending-calls... Even though, it was cool and moist the trees’ natural-burning effect to sow seeds of burning pine-combs, was getting even-louder. ...Which meant the fire wasn’t too hot, and smoke was getting-thicker. He yelled-for the four-men down the shunt and ran-on to find his-company. The trees burned-steadily, as the fierce-view from atop, became the plumes of furnacing-fodder. Time-was running-out, the team was now heading to their boss’s beckon. David had regrouped his men, they then headed-up the brush-trail, as he looked on further he saw the pitch-point; where the trees were beginning to just catch. He heard Joe’s voice, he could hear the Mc Thenis boys deeply-breathing trying to keep-up. He knew they were taking the last-action before bugging-out. He looked-back, to see just where they were and arm-fetched them-on, as he headed-out onto the pre-clearing site of the next-stop... With a typical forest-fire the flames would have had acres in its-path that meant a 2,600 acre flash would come to be an million-acre disaster. .. They were at its heart that was their-job, the ‘flash-pan‘ and responsibility-for not getting kill and survive into a fire. So every instance was critical and had to be an exact-act. David knew this as the rest-of the crew... ~~~ It was warm in that summer, as each in the last three-years... The Northern-western states were experiencing a dry-season with storms coming, sporadically. In each of their-course; there were fires, springing-up like dandelions. The Oregon state Elite-Brigade had seen fires come every seven-days... Running from site to-site, from Oregon to Minnesota. Joe had ran the Unit, as an instructor; for in-coming enlistees. David-had done an exemplary job, earlier that season; he’d enjoyed being a spearhead in each fire-fight. He was an effective-coordinator. Gene and Tom, were involved-in the timberline-business; cutting lumber up-stream and sending it in large-numbers down to the mill-works. That’s were Tom honed his treeing-skills; while Gene handled the bartering-side to lumbering and lucidity, as wise-ruralist… He had taken to caring for his-brother, like the child he never had before. They were enlisted as optional volunteer-Elitists. Which they proved early that Spring. Tom was proud, as he was more reserving, and competent. They both had been passed-over in every-other fire-event as they were working and sought only under ‘under-siege’ circumstances; his-basic job was simple; he did like the excitement, almost as much as his younger-brother... Sam was a conservationist, animologist and environmental-researcher; who’d spent the summers in the same areas-of work… ...He was 16, when he worked through-out Helena State Park when seven-days later, while his-parents were shuttling him home from his outing; the mountain-exploded... He remembered how dark the sky became almost pitch-dark. He had never seen such disaster in his-life… The summer, for him was absorbed in planting-scanner-tags of certain animal-populations, and charting their-habits. He was also, on an ever-involvement in the projects of ‘hit-and-miss’ forest-burning, long a controversial-idea. He gave in, on that side of his-belief he presented in Conservation-classes. Dave was in and out of the fighters’ brigade-barracks, being on-call with the crew that he marked his-helmet with scratched etchings of trees... Once a military-man, a Naval-man during the Vietnam-conflict...running along the Macon-Delta with gun-ships, assaulting Vietcong-insurgents... He was hand-picked to be an ordinate, to a fire-defense unit; to take-charge of a crew... Although, he knew what he had to work with as an indigenous, un-adept number-of men... He didn’t waste time. Although that summer, he went-over plans to make sure that the Elite-group had the performance-backgrounds, and a sense of the job. He’d been jumping with a number of groups from Iowa to Minnesota... All the factors, issues and intricacies that he had become accomplished and skilled to followed-through upon... He posted a regiment for what that profile of his men would work under. Most of the men, he encountered were good-firefighters. But he needed more basis for application and ability; to focus on ‘urgency’ and ‘reliability’. To deem men ‘worthy’ had taken a lot of proficient and efficient-research... With summer’s end he had 80-men, willing to join and 20-who were good-candidates. He made the last-decision, by super-imposing them in each of the unique-circumstances. Of the 20, he narrowed that down to 8. Into Fall, he trained these-8, intensely. Finally, six were chosen. Patrick Wilcox, was a helicopter-flyer for fires, vacationers, and wild-animal research, he loved his job. But one warm-summer day he was heading-up into the mountain-range with explorers when his chopper crashed, killing all men on-board. The bodies were found 75-miles into wilderness country. Patrick was buried as David Garr had just-approved the his approved official-orders… It was down to five. The high-mountains were growing snow-capped, and the Elk were working their way down valley.