It's quarter to seven when I park my SUV outside the station and kill the engine.
My palms are damp and my stomach hard with tension as I get out of the car. I'm familiar with the layout of the station and walk up to the glass doors and push them open.
"Good morning," a middle-aged dark-haired woman says with a smile. "My name is Catherine and you must be Ace Carter. I work the reception part-time.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She grins. "Welcome.”
I look around. It seems so quiet though there wouldn’t be a lot of activity in the reception area.
"The guys are about to change shifts. Go on in, everyone is in the dayroom."
I inhale deeply. "Thanks."
I push the door open and enter a huge room arranged with comfortable chairs as well as a huge TV. Everyone turns to me and those who are seated stand.
I'd met the chief for a briefing the previous week. He’s a burly but kindly man called Mason. He steps forward.
"Welcome Carter!" he bellows and grips my hand. "We've been expecting you."
My nervousness is immediately dispelled as the guys welcome me into the fold. This is what I’ve been missing since leaving Afghanistan. A sense of brotherhood. Of belonging. Of working for a larger cause, knowing that I was contributing to making the world a better, safer place.
Someone pushes a cup of coffee into my hands. The names fly by me, but I know over time I’ll come to know them well. Soon everyone in my shift arrives and we all sit down for a briefing from the team leader of the shift that’s leaving. Then with waves and calls to be safe, the guys leave and I’m officially on shift.
The chief instructs his deputy to keep an eye on me and make sure that I'm comfortable.
"We'll get a lot of false alarms," Collins tells me but we're pretty busy, being in downtown LA.”
I accompany him outside and we chat as we inspect the vehicles and do some light maintenance jobs. The PA crackles as we are cleaning one of the engines.
The lights of the station come on and there's a flurry of controlled activity as we change and gather our gear. There is a palpable air of tension. Adrenaline flows through my veins. This is it. My very first call.
The call-out is for fire and no one likes a fire. I learned that during my training. There are five of us in the truck and seconds later, it’s cruising down the road, sirens blazing.
The commercial building on fire is on Bay Street but luckily, the building is at the end of the street. Heavy dark smoke rises to the sky and orange flames hiss out of the ground floor of the building.
We jump out of the truck and grab our gear. My insides clench as I wonder whether there are any people trapped in the building. I know how it feels like to be blinded by smoke and the panic that follows as you inhale the poisonous air. My chest tightens and my breathing accelerates. My training kicks in before my emotions can get the better of me.
For the two hours, we battle the fire, changing hoses and manpower intermittently until we get it under control. By the time it’s over, I'm exhausted but proud of myself.
As I follow Collins out of the black shell that is one side of the ground floor, a loud creaking sound rises above the noise of seeping water, before a bang sounds.
After that, my mind goes blank and the next time I come around I'm seated in the fire truck with Collins and the chief on either side of me. My breathing apparatus is off and my overall is unbuttoned and so is my shirt. My chest is bare.
I glance from one to the other in confusion. "What happened?" I’m thinking a blast went off and I happened to be close to it. But it doesn’t appear as if I have any injuries.
The Chief looks at me with concern in his eyes. "You lost it a little in there. You started screaming for everyone to get down.”
I cover my face as my memory returns. I remember hearing a loud noise and after that my sick brain transported me back to Afghanistan. I vaguely remember crouching down and urging Collins to do the same. I recall grabbing what I thought was my weapon and aiming it toward the noise. Shame floods me. I must have looked insane. A grown man crouching on the ground holding a pretend weapon.
The chief pats my shoulders.
"I'm sorry," I say. I can’t fucking believe this has happened on my very first day. So much for making a good impression.
"Hey, we understand. You've been through a lot in the last couple of years," he says. "You were great out there," Collins says but I don’t register that. All I can feel is shame and disappointment.