CHAPTER NINE

Battling the Flames

By the time they reached the firebreak, men and trucks were streaming down the dirt road from both directions; rangers and volunteers from the logging camps and small towns in the area.

“Do we sit back here like soldiers in trenches and wait for the fire to come to us?” Sandy wanted to know.

Dick Fellows shook his head. “It’s not likely. That’s too much timber to give up without a fight. Most likely the fire boss will try and contain the fire within some area much closer to the front. We’ll construct another fire line—a lot bigger than the one we made, of course—and backfire from that, probably.”

“Backfire?” Jerry looked puzzled.

“Yes, light more fires all along that line.” He had to smile at the boy’s incredulous stare. “Fires that we know we can control. It’s the only way to stop a running crown fire. A running fire picks up a lot of momentum—you saw how those flames jumped our line. The idea is to light the backfires right on the edge of your fire line so that they’ll burn in the opposite direction, toward the main fire. Actually, the air currents created by a big blaze tend to draw in the smaller backfires. Under ideal conditions, the two fires meet head-on and die because all the fuel has been exhausted.”

“That’s a fascinating image,” Russ said. “Like two greedy monsters destroying each other.”

“Now I know where they got that old saying about fighting fire with fire,” Sandy said.

“That’s right,” the ranger acknowledged. “It’s an old trick that goes back earlier than the Christian era. Tricky business, though, and you have to have a gang that knows what it’s doing every second. If anything goes wrong, the backfire may get out of control and leap the fire line itself.”

He looked up as a tall gray-haired man in riding breeches and high boots got out of a truck on the far side of the road and hailed him.

“Dick Fellows! How does it look?” the tall man came across and joined them.

“Hi, Paul! Not too good. We thought we had her for a time. Then everything burst loose.”

He introduced Paul Landers, the district ranger chief, to Russ Steele and the boys, describing their unsuccessful effort to stop the fire before it crowned.

Landers shook his head grimly. “Nice try, anyway, Dick. And many thanks to you, General Steele, and the boys, for lending a hand.”

Russ smiled. “Anything else we can do? We’re still available.”

The fire boss took off his ranger hat and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “Plenty to do, all right, General. Soon as they get my headquarters tent set up over there, we’ll be having a meeting of crew chiefs. I’d welcome it if you’d sit in. You ever had any experience fighting fires? Before today, I mean?”

“I’m a greenhorn,” Russ admitted. “Just like the boys.”

“But we’re learning fast,” Jerry chimed in.

Landers laughed. “Good. That tent’s up now. Come along and I’ll show you how we map out our battle strategy.” He glanced at Russ. “You’re going to find, General, that a forest fire can be as diabolical and treacherous as any human enemy you ever fought.”

“I’m beginning to suspect that already,” Russ said somberly.

Inside the big pyramidal tent, technicians were installing short-wave radio equipment, electric lights and telephones. On a large square table in the center of the tent, a topographical map was spread out; alongside it was a vivid aerial photograph of the same region.

Landers indicated a section on the map shaded in red pencil. “This represents the burned-out area, as it stands at this time. Roughly, the front is about twelve hundred feet across, and she’s spreading fast.”

Dick Fellows whistled. “I’ll say she’s spreading fast. I don’t figure it was more than a hundred feet when we pulled out.”

The fire boss bent over the map and rested both elbows on the table. “She’s got all the makings of a Class E fire all right.”

“What’s a Class E fire?” Sandy asked.

“Forest fires are rated in five classes, A,B,C,D, and E, according to the size of the burned-out area,” Landers explained. “Class E is three hundred acres and up. This one could be a first-rate Class E if it gets away from us. So we can’t afford to take chances.”

He studied the map thoughtfully. “The way I see it we’ve got to give her plenty of room. If we can hold her down to two hundred acres, I’ll be plenty satisfied.” He ran his finger along a ridge that ran off diagonally to the road in a northeast direction on the right flank of the fire. Then he penciled an _X_ at the foot of the ridge directly in line with the head of the fire.

“Our best chance is to start backfiring here, about a half mile due east. That ridge is a natural firebreak because it’s mostly rock with only scrubby vegetation. It won’t take more than a skeleton crew to work that side.”

He addressed two of the gang bosses: “Harry and Ed, you boys take ten men and a bulldozer and start setting things up on that ridge. A three-thousand-foot line should do it.”

Now from the foot of the ridge, he drew a line extending in a southeast direction, so that between them they formed an angled pocket into which the fire was advancing. “We’ll backfire for another three thousand feet on this line. The rest of you gang bosses will round up your men and get to work on that immediately.”

He singled out Dick Fellows. “Dick, you and your three young friends can help out on the south line, if you will, as fire scouts. General Steele, I’d appreciate it if you would help me get things organized here.”

The boys followed Ranger Fellows out of the tent as the gang bosses crowded around the table for a question-and-answer session with the fire boss and to get a final briefing. Sandy was surprised to see that dusk was settling over the forest. He looked at his wrist watch and saw that almost five hours had passed since he had spotted the first thin swirl of smoke from the fire tower. To the west an enormous golden cloud hung over the trees like a halo.

“Doesn’t that look beautiful?” Jerry said.

“Deadly beauty,” the ranger told him, explaining that it was the last rays of sunlight slanting up from below the horizon on the screen of smoke drifting up from the forest fire.

He led them over to the mess tent, where cooks were doling out steaming-hot suppers to the fire fighters from big insulated containers. “Eat hearty, men,” he said wryly as they took their places on line. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

“How can anyone work in these woods at night?” Sandy said. “It gets so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face.”

“It’s not easy,” the ranger admitted. “Normally, Landers would wait until daylight to tackle most fires. The rate of spread drops sharply through the night, then picks up again when the sun rises. Dawn and early morning are generally the best hours to work. But conditions being what they are—this drought and all—the chief wants us to keep on top of it every minute. It won’t be any picnic, though, building that south fire line at night, even if they mount auxiliary spotlights on the trucks and tractors.”

“What gives with this fire scout business?” Jerry wanted to know. “What do we do?”

“Run messages up and down the line so that headquarters can keep in touch with the progress on all sectors at all times,” Dick explained. “I’ll be stationed at the junction of the north and south lines with a walkie-talkie radio. You fellows will relay reports from the gang bosses in to me, and I’ll call them in to the chief.” He grinned. “You’re going to be mighty leg-weary before this is over.”

At the head of the serving table, a grizzled old man wearing a greasy undershirt handed them each a tin plate and a knife and spoon. In quick succession, Sandy received a ladle of hash, a ladle of cole slaw and a slab of bread—at least two inches thick—slapped on top of it all. The last man on the serving line dipped a tin mug expertly into a galvanized can filled with iced tea and sent him on his way. Sandy had intended to ask for something to eat for Prince, but then he saw that the big Doberman was squatting patiently before the entrance of the headquarters tent, waiting for Russ Steele.

When they had finished eating, they scraped their platters clean and dropped them in a tub of soapy, boiling water to one side of the mess tent.

It was almost dark now, but the area was bright in the glare of spotlights that had been rigged up to the heavy power line strung from poles at the side of the road. Dick Fellows stopped briefly at headquarters to pick up his walkie-talkie radio, and then they hitched a ride on a jeep truck. They were part of a long caravan of vehicles moving slowly through the woods toward the foot of the ridge where the fire line would be anchored. The boys could scarcely believe that a road had been cut through the timber in such a short period of time. True, it was rutted, and bristled with stumps, and twisted considerably to avoid the biggest trees, but it was quite an accomplishment nevertheless.

“It’s magic,” Jerry exclaimed. “How did they do it?”

“Bulldozer magic,” the ranger said, pointing to the broken and uprooted trees littering the sides of the road. “We even have some brush-breaker trucks that can plow through a grove of trees up to six inches in diameter as if they were matchsticks.”

The caravan ground to a halt before they reached the foot of the ridge, so the dozers and tractors could complete a huge clearing where the vehicles and equipment could assemble. To Sandy, it was a scene of immense confusion and noise. It seemed to him that the gang bosses were trying to outshout each other; the men were getting in each other’s way; and the trucks and tractors were rumbling about aimlessly.

“What a mess!” Jerry groaned.

The ranger grinned. “It just looks that way. This is as smooth an operation as I’ve ever seen. Wait till they get rolling.”

And in no time at all men and machines were peeling off in orderly fashion to the right and left; up the ridge to the northeast; and southwest through the forest, clearing a strip through the trees the width of two bulldozers.

Behind the dozers came the plows, rooting up the thick bed of duff on the forest floor; then the graders, piling up soil and sand in a high bank against the advancing flames. Working by the light of big spots mounted on trucks, agile volunteers—mainly high riggers from the lumber camps—climbed the trees along the edge of the growing line, lopping off low branches that hung across into the danger area.

“Just to make sure our backfires don’t backfire on us,” Dick Fellows said wryly.

The young ranger set up his command post in the headlights of a jeep; it consisted of a folding table, canvas chair and the walkie-talkie. Quiz was intrigued by the little battery-operated receiver-transmitter. Dick pulled the rod antennae out of the top of the little oblong case until they were fully extended, and flipped the switch. There was a crackle of static and a variety of other interference before he succeeded in getting through to Fire Boss Landers at headquarters. Reception was poor and he kept his head bent close to the instrument. The boys were only able to catch snatches of the conversation. Finally he signed off and looked up.

“The chief just received a report from air observation. She’s progressing pretty much according to type. About three-quarters of a mile wide at the head, and covering roughly one hundred acres. There’s just enough wind to benefit us—keep the fire moving due east and restricting the spread at the rear. Unless the picture alters radically before morning, we’ve got her licked.”

“That’s great!” Sandy said.

Quiz glanced over the treetops at the faint reddish glow in the sky to the west. “It’s not nearly so bright over that way now.”

“You’re right,” the ranger agreed. “That’s because the crown fire has died out. It’s strictly a surface fire now. Of course if we get another scorcher tomorrow, she’ll likely flare up again.”

Jerry was peering anxiously through the thick forest in front of them. “You can just about see the flames now flickering over there.”

“It’s possible,” Dick admitted. “She’s only about a quarter of a mile off now.” Ruefully, he surveyed the tall, stately pines in the grove opposite them. “It breaks my heart to think we’re going to have to sacrifice all that timber.”

“When do we go to work?” Sandy asked him.

“Right now. The chief wants to know how things are progressing all the way down the line and he wants a thorough report on the contour of the fire front. Sandy, suppose you work the ridge, and Jerry and Quiz can take the south line. Find the gang bosses and ask them how things are shaping up in their sectors.”

Sandy climbed a steep rocky incline at the right of the clearing to the top of the ridge. From the crest, which was nearly forty feet higher than any of the surrounding terrain, he had an unrestricted view along the full length of the ridge. A full moon sitting on the very rim of the horizon lit up the scene like a big orange bulb. It was obvious now why Fire Boss Landers had chosen this site to construct the fire line. It was a natural barrier running straight as an arrow to the northwest, at least a mile long from tip to tip. Its rocky slopes, barren except for grass and stunted shrubs, swept down about a hundred feet on each side to the edge of the woods. The ridge was a great scar in the rich Minnesota earth left by some passing glacier millions of years ago.

Halfway along the ridge, Sandy could see the dozers rumbling back and forth over the crest, their headlights gleaming like the eyes of prehistoric monsters. He started toward them at a dogtrot.

When he reached the nearest gang, a big man who seemed to be directing the operation swung his flashlight full on Sandy’s face. “Hi, son, what’s up?”

Sandy explained that he was scouting for Ranger Fellows.

“I’m Ed Macauley,” the gang boss introduced himself. “Everything looks pretty good from here. We’re clearing a strip about ten feet wide just below the crest on the far side here. We’ll start our backfires down there in that tall grass at the edge of the woods. Then for good measure we’ll light another one along the top of the ridge.”

Sandy was puzzled. “One thing I don’t understand. Why are you making the fire line on the slope away from the fire?”

Macauley grinned. “Because fire burns a lot faster and picks up more momentum going uphill than it does going downhill.” To illustrate, he took a long wooden match out of his pocket and lit it with his thumbnail. When he tilted the lit end down, the flame blazed up brightly, licking greedily at the unburned stem. Then he tilted the end up and the flame changed direction and flickered feebly at the blackened stub and finally died out. “See, there’s less chance of the fire jumping our line if it’s burning downhill.”

Suddenly he frowned and poked his nose into the air like a scenting hound. “Hey, you feel that?” He wet his forefinger in his mouth and held it up.

At that moment Sandy was aware of a cool, gentle breeze on the left side of his face. When Macauley spoke, his voice was tight as a bowstring.

“Wind’s picking up, and it seems to be swinging around to the southwest. That could mean the fire will veer smack into this here ridge.... Hey, you better relay that news back to the fire boss fast. Maybe they’re just wasting their time on that south line.”

“Won’t they realize the wind’s shifting?” Sandy asked.

“Maybe not. On account of the elevation here, we’d feel it first.”

Macauley handed the boy his flashlight. “Here, better take this so you don’t stumble in the dark. And make it snappy.”

Jerry had already returned with a report from the south line when Sandy stumbled into the bright lights of the clearing. Jerry was sprawled out on the grass at the command post while the ranger phoned his information into headquarters. Sandy interrupted Dick Fellows excitedly to announce the unexpected wind shift. And Dick was even more excited as he told Paul Landers about it.

Jerry shook his head skeptically as Sandy plopped down beside him on the grass. “I don’t think that fire is going to change direction. You should see it down near the middle of the south line. It’s so close now that they can see to work by it.”

Sandy shrugged. “Won’t be able to tell for sure for a while. But that wind is definitely swinging around and picking up velocity—by the way, where’s Quiz?”

Jerry jerked his thumb back across his shoulder. “He’s back down the line jawing away with some of the gang bosses. By the time this is over, he’ll be an expert fire fighter.”

Sandy laughed. “Shakespeare to smoke-eating—that’s our boy. The expert’s expert.”

Dick put the walkie-talkie down and turned to the boys. “Our aerial observer reports a definite wind shift to the southwest. It’s still too early to notice any effect on the head of the fire, but it’s an important development.” He gazed skyward. “Just keep your fingers crossed that it doesn’t really blow up. She’d probably crown again and that could mean spot fires almost anywhere.”

“What are spot fires? You mentioned them before, but you never did explain what they are.”

“In a stiff wind, great masses of flaming embers and foliage may be carried through the air for miles and start other fires far ahead of the original one. That’s where the real danger exists for fire fighters. Lots of times in a bad crown fire, men have suddenly found themselves completely surrounded by flames.”

Sandy shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“Anyway, it’s nothing for us to worry about. We haven’t had a big blow up this way in almost two months.”

“Say, Dick,” Jerry asked curiously. “Do they know for sure what started this fire?”

“Not with absolute certainty,” the ranger told him, “but it’s a pretty good bet that it was that lightning storm we had a few days back. Lightning is by far the leading cause of forest fires in the United States.”

Sandy yawned and glanced at his watch. “Gee, it’s almost midnight,” he said.

“Why don’t you guys catch forty winks in the back of that big van over there,” Dick suggested. “I’ll wake you up if there are any new developments.”

At that instant, the walkie-talkie came to life. Dick conversed briefly with headquarters, then smiled apologetically at the boys. “Sorry, fellows, but that nap will have to wait. Landers has decided to hold up setting the backfires on the south line until we know for sure what’s going to happen with that wind. Jerry, you take the word on down: Stand by with the flame throwers, but don’t start backfiring until we get confirmation from headquarters. No sense burning down any more timber than we have to.

“Sandy, you go down the ridge and tell Macauley and Roberts that they can start backfiring any time they’re ready.”

“Right!” the boys said in unison, and started off in opposite directions.

It was an eerie sight watching the men fire the grass with their flame throwers. Rapidly they moved along the top of the ridge with the cylindrical tanks strapped to their backs, the long metal nozzles spewing out jets of blazing gasoline that consumed everything they touched. Soon the entire crest was aflame. To the west, a towering column of smoke spiraled high into the moonlit sky, the glints of the inferno below shimmering on its underside. It reminded Sandy of the familiar mushroom cloud of an atomic blast, and with a sick feeling he remembered the missing bomb lying somewhere in these woods.