The heat was unbearable. The fire raged around me, making huge trees crumble, crackle, and snap like fragile twigs.

“Tyler!” I howled, my voice strained and weak. I looked around and tried to stand up, falling down again and landing on my fractured rib cage, screaming. I leaned against the destroyed plane and stood up, legs trembling like a newborn deer.

“Tyler!” I screamed again, looking around. My vision got blurry. My throat was dry. This is it, I thought. This is the end.

My name is Bryce Tora, and I am a firefighter. An aerial firefighter, to be more precise. I’ve been on the force for two years now, and have just been promoted to the rank of captain, which is impressive since I’m still relatively new to the team. I work at the Montana Forest Fire Control And Prevention Center (MFCC), or the West Yellowstone branch to be exact. I had a lot of money, which mostly came from my dad. He passed away when I was a teenager, and I inherited his fortune, including all his companies. He was a billionaire, so… yeah. You might be wondering why I’m a firefighter, and it’s because the Japanese are all about honor and contributing to the community.

I pulled into the parking lot of the fire station and entered the building. It was a huge circular building about 40 miles away from Yellowstone National Park, at the foot of one of the many mountains that make up Madison Range. It had four runways for the planes and a helipad on the roof. My first week on the job I got lost inside of it multiple times. I went inside and walked through the winding hallways and corridors, finally reaching the plane hanger. I push open the swinging doors and am greeted by Tyler, my best friend, and co-pilot.

Tyler Blanks and I joined the force the same year, me when I was 37 and him when he was 36. We went through training together and were assigned to the same station, group and plane. We went on every mission together, so naturally ascended the ranks together as well. But Tyler is still a fourth-degree private since he didn’t score into the next rank on his flight test a week ago. Since I’m a captain now, I get my own plane and get to choose my co-pilot. I chose Tyler, of course.

“Hey, Bryce! How are you doing? Or should I say Captain Tora?” he jokes, a grin creeping onto his face.

I smile and playfully punch him in the shoulder.

“How’s the plane coming along?” I ask.

I was referring to the Phoenix, the plane we use for missions. About a week ago, the ground crew accidentally crashed the tail of the plane into the wall of the hanger and it cracked. Currently, they are working on repairing it.

“Good,” Tyler said. “But I think we’ll still have to use Orange Fury for now.”

Orange Fury was the plane Sergeant Anderson (basically our boss) assigned us to use while Phoenix was being fixed.

Since we were technically a patrol and emergency contact team now, Tyler and I just hung around and waited for a call to come in when we weren’t on patrol, which was today.

“Let's go to the break room,” I suggest.

The break room was next to the hanger, so pilots could respond fast if they were needed. It consisted of a pool table, a few arcade games, a snack table, a fridge, a few couches, and a TV. We walked inside and started a game of pool. Right as I am about to win, and get five bucks, Sergeant Anderson runs in and orders us to get ready.

“Tora! Blanks! We have a category four crown fire about forty miles from here, on the other side of Yellowstone! If we don’t take care of it soon, the fire might spread inside the park! We need you dressed and ready in one minute! Also, Orange Fury is being oiled, so we need you to use Phoenix! The crew has tied on a temporary replacement tail for this mission!” he hollered in his signature raspy voice.

A crown fire is a fire that engulfs the whole forest, both the ground cover and the wood and leaves of the tree. A category four fire meant that it was at least five miles in diameter and it was maximum intensity. So, basically, this was the worst possible situation.

We rush to the hanger and pull our gear on. We sprint to the plane (as fast as we can in our bulky stiff suits) to the plane.

Nathan, one of the mechanics and veteran firefighter, stopped us on our way to the plane.

“We strapped a V-12 fifth edition replacement tail to the plane. It isn’t a perfect fit but should be okay for this one time. Make sure not to take the plane too close to the fire, though, since we haven’t coated it with heat resistant paint and it could burn.” he tells us.

“Got it, thanks,” we say,

We run outside to the plane, already lined up on the runway, engines fired. The crew has already run the pre-flight tests, so we climb into the cockpit and start our takeoff.

With the replacement tail, the takeoff is a little shaky and it takes a while to get used to it, but in a few minutes we are hitting 200 mph and cutting through the air like a hawk. The radio crackled.

“This is control center. Copy.”

Tyler reaches towards the radio and presses the speak button down.

“This is team A7 in Orange Fury, heading southwest towards the western Madison Range. Copy”

The radio crackles again and Sergeant Anderson’s voice blares out from the speaker.

“Tora! Blanks! There’s a lake a few miles east of the fire, so if you run out of water, then you can refill there. Make it quick, I haven’t eaten breakfast yet and can’t leave the control tower until you guys are done!” We roll our eyes. Good ol’ Sergeant Anderson.

The radio beeps, signaling the end of the transmission. After a few more minutes of flying, we finally reach the fire. It hits us by surprise. It is huge,  like nothing I’ve ever seen on simulations or practice drills. It must be at least seven miles in diameter! We can hear the fire crackle, mischievous and evil. The fire is hungry, devouring everything.  It gives me bad memories of the huge fire that devoured my home.

“So, where do we start?” Tyler asks.

We do a flyby, where we examine the fire and decide if we should start in the middle or on the edges. We decide to start on the edges to push it back so it wouldn’t devour Yellowstone.

The second time we fly over it, we glide across it low, getting ready to release the extinguishing solution. We fly to about twenty feet high.

“Get ready!” I yell to Tyler over the roaring fire.

Suddenly, a jolt of turbulence makes us swoop down. I clutch the joystick and jerk up just in time, the tail just barely scraping the top of a tree. Good thing it’s fireproof … wait! The tail! I realized that it isn’t fireproof just as I hear a boom and the tail explodes, sending us spiraling down into the fire.

We hit the ground hard and the plane shatters. I am flung out of my seat and shot out of the plane, hitting a tree. I hear a crunch as my ribs crack and I scream out in pain. The heat is unbearable. Our suits have moderate fire protection, but they are made for pilots, not land firefighters. I look down and see that my legs are on fire. Since the ground and fallen leaves are burning, rolling would be of no use. So I sprint back to the plane (as fast as I can with broken ribs and burning legs) and locate the cockpit. It was ripped from the rest of the plane, which is nowhere to be seen. That doesn’t matter, though, since all the medical supplies and fire extinguishers are in the cockpit. Speaking of fire extinguishers, I grab it and spray myself and the ground around me. I grabbed the medical kit, flare gun, and extra extinguisher for Tyler … Tyler! I look around and frantically call his name.

“Tyler! Tyler!” I called, my voice hoarse and throat dry.

I look around. Suddenly, my legs give way and I collapse on the ground. If I didn’t get out soon, I wouldn’t make it. I would have to leave Tyler. I clicked the emergency button and my coordinates were sent to the control tower. I look at my compass and run northeast since I know we entered the fire southwest. The fire crackles around me, and burning leaves hiss under my fireproof boots. I know the boots won’t last too long in an inferno like this, so I pick up the pace. Suddenly, I see daylight up ahead, peering in through the smoke clogging up the sky. That means that the fire is less dense here, and I am getting close. Then I see a clearing up ahead that hadn’t been lit up yet. I have reached safety. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge tree tumbles down in front of me, crashing into the ground ablaze, shooting sparks and ashes up into the sky.

I dive out of the way and into a ditch. I roll downhill and crash into another burning tree, fracturing another couple of ribs. The air is wrenched out of my lungs and I am gasping for breath. I inhale smoke and ash and the air tastes hot and dangerous. I cough, each time my chest screaming out in pain. My eyes sting and I feel all of my hope streaming out of me. I think about just giving up. I could just let go, and everything would be okay.

No. I couldn’t. What would my mom do? She needs me for support. What about all my friends? About everything I love and care about? No, I can’t give up now. With renewed energy, I push myself up, and ignoring the pain, I limp towards the edge of the fire. Towards salvation. Towards victory. I give one, last, final push, and I stumble out into daylight. Into freedom. The thick layer of smoke and ash is gone, and I can feel the sun shining on my ash-coated face. I can see another fire plane coming towards me and letting loose a torrent of water. The fire screams upon contact with the water, crying out in agony, the hissing getting softer and softer and finally stopping. Remembering that I had a flare gun, I shoot a flare up into the sky and wave up at the plane. I stumble into a bigger, nearby clearing as the plane lands in it. These planes are built to land in tight conditions like these. The door opens and Sergeant Anderson himself jumps out of the rescue plane. He looks awkward in his hastily strapped on suit, his helmet dangling by his ear. Somehow, I find the strength to chuckle.

“Bryce!” He yells. Two medics rush out of the plane with a stretcher and I am strapped in.

“You’re going to be okay,” Sergeant Anderson reassures me.

Suddenly, I remember Tyler.

“Tyler!” I holler, struggling.

“Okay, okay.” Sergeant Anderson says, pushing me back down. “I have a little surprise for you in the plane. We picked him, uh, it, up on our way.

The medics carry me into the plane and turn me so I can see into the passenger section. Sitting on the bench, with a cut on his right cheek but otherwise completely unscathed, was none other than Tyler Blanks.