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drewkittyGWOT V - A State Of Desperation - Burn Out
Our Collections agent knocked on the door of our suite with his brisk triple knock. Let himself in after a moment.
"We need you," he said in the room.
His face begged.
"It's four in the morning," I murmured blearily as I found the brighter light by my bedside and sat up.
"We need all three of you, now. It's a hostage situation and I believe you can help."
My guard had let himself in through the connecting door. Saw the agent, only then holstered his handgun. My camera operator had his camera, and it was rolling. He did not put it away.
"There's convoy vehicles downstairs. Dress quickly and come with me. Lives depend on this. I'll explain on the way."
###
In the back of the police van, bottles of water were passed to us. No food, no time.
"We have Forestry Operations Zones. You briefly visited one, on a Red Lion helicopter. We are now going to one, right now. In a town in a FOZ," he pronounced it fauzz, "we have a hostage situation."
My guard spoke up.
"How is that possible? Under your laws, you do not negotiate with terrorists. Try to save the innocent, then hang the guilty."
"It's ... complicated."
"Simplify it."
"He refuses evacuation."
My guard blinked.
"A Polish hostage?"
The Collections agent shook his head. "I don't understand."
"He's in danger and he's threatening himself. A Polish firing squad is circular. A Polish hostage is threatening self-harm."
"That's a way of looking at it." The Collections agent rubbed his forehead as if it ached. Perhaps it did.
"OK, so in a FOZ, we are trying to clean up the forest. We can't do it by hand, we don't have the labor or the fuel and it would take way too long. So we're setting controlled burns. Big ones."
I warily nodded. We'd seen them from the aircraft that had flown us to Redding.
"There's a town in the way. That happens. We evacuate the town. The town is prepped. We know the town will survive. Like the water supply, the major buildings. Some of the smaller public buildings might not. Some houses definitely will not. We've torn down some of them, that's part of prepping the town.
"This man is in a house - his own, that his family built - that definitely will not survive. He is armed. He refuses order to evacuate, which he legally has the right to do. We can't try to defend him or the building because he's armed. But we can't arrest him because he hasn't committed a crime.
"If he really wants to burn to death, we legally cannot prevent it."
"Can't you declare him insane?" Like you did to me, I nearly added, but that wasn't fair. I'd only been put in to a psych ward by mistake.
"No. A field magistrate has ruled. He's competent. He's within his rights."
"My God! Stop the fire!"
My camera operator never spoke up. But this one time, he had.
The Collections agent looked stricken.
"We can't."
###
Still in the van, we were given fire protective gear to wear. Not orange T-shirts and turn-outs as with the hospital fire crew, but yellow blouses and pants. Reflective.
No helmets. Low supply. Hopefully some could be found at our destination.
Traveling in the same van with us was a police tactical team. REDDING POLICE said their vests. They were discussing options in low voices. One was dressed like a medieval soldier, literally in chainmail from head to toe and carrying a staff taller than he was.
"For disarming people with knives," he explained briefly.
The police sergeant briefed his team.
"Rules of engagement. Until and unless the subject commits a criminal offense, we cannot engage. When and if he does, you will use minimal force to take him into custody. Lethal cover is to be provided. Every effort is to be made to avoid the use of deadly force. Even at our own risk."
"Sir. What about the fire?"
"At some point, we will have to evacuate in order to safely withdraw ourselves. If he has not committed an offense at that point, we will have to leave him behind. Almost certainly to die."
###
We were waved past roadblocks.
There was a glow in the distance.
The sunrise.
No.
Not the sunrise. The fire.
I realized that the fire gear we had been issued was not an affectation.
We arrived in a parking lot full of marked vehicles. Mostly fire department. Some forestry, some sheriff and police. A few military, particularly the Army medic-motorcycles I had seen before. One ground ambulance marked Red Lion.
A Red Lion orderly was arguing heatedly with a police captain.
"We only transport the injured. We do not transport detainees. If you arrest him, which is your business, he will not go in our ambulance, which is our business. That is final. And you and your department can fuck yourselves sideways with a rusty crowbar before you lay a hand on my motherfucking ambulance. That is final too."
We were walked past to where men and women, all wearing fire gear, were around a table under a tarp. A map was on the table, held down with radios and oddly enough, an axe.
One wore a vest labeled "INCIDENT COMMANDER." She was speaking.
"We have a change of mission. The original plan was to allow the fire to overrun the town. We have a determination that complete evacuation will not be possible. Therefore we now have to commit to a point defense of the town. We have two bulldozers cutting a wider firebreak now. They will have to withdraw in less than an hour. We don't have adequate water supply and can't get additional portatanks in time. I am therefore assigning four crew strike teams and two engine strike teams. I need a crew module for an extremely dangerous volunteer assignment..."
They continued. I heard as we walked away, "... burn victims will be flown to Northern Medical City as soon as smoke permits..."
Soon we were near a house. Wood shingle roof, large attached decks, clearly built not only in the last century but the first half of the last century.
A man sat out front, on a lawn chair, with a loaded rifle on his lap. Near him was a shovel and a rake. Garden hoses were laid out, as were buckets of sand and water.
Against the glow in the sky approaching, they all were as useful as a spitwad.
Near him, entirely unarmed, sat a sheriff's deputy wearing fire gear over his khaki. He had a holster but it was empty, and other weapons missing from his gear belt.
Clearly he was in the yard only by permission, and not by right.
"Who are these people? More people trying to talk me into giving up my home and my rights?"
"Sir, I'm Jenny, I'm a reporter for the British Broadcasting Corporation," I began immediately, as was my habit.
"Can you tell us why you've made this choice?"
###
[To be continued.]
Our Collections agent knocked on the door of our suite with his brisk triple knock. Let himself in after a moment.
"We need you," he said in the room.
His face begged.
"It's four in the morning," I murmured blearily as I found the brighter light by my bedside and sat up.
"We need all three of you, now. It's a hostage situation and I believe you can help."
My guard had let himself in through the connecting door. Saw the agent, only then holstered his handgun. My camera operator had his camera, and it was rolling. He did not put it away.
"There's convoy vehicles downstairs. Dress quickly and come with me. Lives depend on this. I'll explain on the way."
###
In the back of the police van, bottles of water were passed to us. No food, no time.
"We have Forestry Operations Zones. You briefly visited one, on a Red Lion helicopter. We are now going to one, right now. In a town in a FOZ," he pronounced it fauzz, "we have a hostage situation."
My guard spoke up.
"How is that possible? Under your laws, you do not negotiate with terrorists. Try to save the innocent, then hang the guilty."
"It's ... complicated."
"Simplify it."
"He refuses evacuation."
My guard blinked.
"A Polish hostage?"
The Collections agent shook his head. "I don't understand."
"He's in danger and he's threatening himself. A Polish firing squad is circular. A Polish hostage is threatening self-harm."
"That's a way of looking at it." The Collections agent rubbed his forehead as if it ached. Perhaps it did.
"OK, so in a FOZ, we are trying to clean up the forest. We can't do it by hand, we don't have the labor or the fuel and it would take way too long. So we're setting controlled burns. Big ones."
I warily nodded. We'd seen them from the aircraft that had flown us to Redding.
"There's a town in the way. That happens. We evacuate the town. The town is prepped. We know the town will survive. Like the water supply, the major buildings. Some of the smaller public buildings might not. Some houses definitely will not. We've torn down some of them, that's part of prepping the town.
"This man is in a house - his own, that his family built - that definitely will not survive. He is armed. He refuses order to evacuate, which he legally has the right to do. We can't try to defend him or the building because he's armed. But we can't arrest him because he hasn't committed a crime.
"If he really wants to burn to death, we legally cannot prevent it."
"Can't you declare him insane?" Like you did to me, I nearly added, but that wasn't fair. I'd only been put in to a psych ward by mistake.
"No. A field magistrate has ruled. He's competent. He's within his rights."
"My God! Stop the fire!"
My camera operator never spoke up. But this one time, he had.
The Collections agent looked stricken.
"We can't."
###
Still in the van, we were given fire protective gear to wear. Not orange T-shirts and turn-outs as with the hospital fire crew, but yellow blouses and pants. Reflective.
No helmets. Low supply. Hopefully some could be found at our destination.
Traveling in the same van with us was a police tactical team. REDDING POLICE said their vests. They were discussing options in low voices. One was dressed like a medieval soldier, literally in chainmail from head to toe and carrying a staff taller than he was.
"For disarming people with knives," he explained briefly.
The police sergeant briefed his team.
"Rules of engagement. Until and unless the subject commits a criminal offense, we cannot engage. When and if he does, you will use minimal force to take him into custody. Lethal cover is to be provided. Every effort is to be made to avoid the use of deadly force. Even at our own risk."
"Sir. What about the fire?"
"At some point, we will have to evacuate in order to safely withdraw ourselves. If he has not committed an offense at that point, we will have to leave him behind. Almost certainly to die."
###
We were waved past roadblocks.
There was a glow in the distance.
The sunrise.
No.
Not the sunrise. The fire.
I realized that the fire gear we had been issued was not an affectation.
We arrived in a parking lot full of marked vehicles. Mostly fire department. Some forestry, some sheriff and police. A few military, particularly the Army medic-motorcycles I had seen before. One ground ambulance marked Red Lion.
A Red Lion orderly was arguing heatedly with a police captain.
"We only transport the injured. We do not transport detainees. If you arrest him, which is your business, he will not go in our ambulance, which is our business. That is final. And you and your department can fuck yourselves sideways with a rusty crowbar before you lay a hand on my motherfucking ambulance. That is final too."
We were walked past to where men and women, all wearing fire gear, were around a table under a tarp. A map was on the table, held down with radios and oddly enough, an axe.
One wore a vest labeled "INCIDENT COMMANDER." She was speaking.
"We have a change of mission. The original plan was to allow the fire to overrun the town. We have a determination that complete evacuation will not be possible. Therefore we now have to commit to a point defense of the town. We have two bulldozers cutting a wider firebreak now. They will have to withdraw in less than an hour. We don't have adequate water supply and can't get additional portatanks in time. I am therefore assigning four crew strike teams and two engine strike teams. I need a crew module for an extremely dangerous volunteer assignment..."
They continued. I heard as we walked away, "... burn victims will be flown to Northern Medical City as soon as smoke permits..."
Soon we were near a house. Wood shingle roof, large attached decks, clearly built not only in the last century but the first half of the last century.
A man sat out front, on a lawn chair, with a loaded rifle on his lap. Near him was a shovel and a rake. Garden hoses were laid out, as were buckets of sand and water.
Against the glow in the sky approaching, they all were as useful as a spitwad.
Near him, entirely unarmed, sat a sheriff's deputy wearing fire gear over his khaki. He had a holster but it was empty, and other weapons missing from his gear belt.
Clearly he was in the yard only by permission, and not by right.
"Who are these people? More people trying to talk me into giving up my home and my rights?"
"Sir, I'm Jenny, I'm a reporter for the British Broadcasting Corporation," I began immediately, as was my habit.
"Can you tell us why you've made this choice?"
###
[To be continued.]
