Wildfire at Larch Creek (also in audio)

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Two-Tall Tim Harada leaned over Akbar the Great’s shoulder to look out the rear door of the DC-3 airplane.
“Ugly,” he shouted over the roar of the engine and wind.
Akbar nodded rather than trying to speak.
Since ugly was their day job, it didn’t bother Tim much, but this was worse than usual. It would be their fourth smokejump in nine days on the same fire. The Cottonwood Peak Fire was being a major pain in the ass, even worse than usual for a wildfire. Every time they blocked it in one direction, the swirling winds would turnabout and drive the fire toward a new point on the compass. Typical for the Siskiyou Mountains of northern California, but still a pain.
Akbar tossed out a pair of crepe paper streamers and they watched together. The foot-wide streamers caught the wind and curled, loop-the-looped through vortices, and reversed direction at least three times. Pretty much the worst conditions possible for a parachute jump.
“It’s what we live for!”
Akbar nodded and Tim didn’t have to see his best friend’s face to know about the fierce wildness of his white grin on his Indian-dark face. Or the matching one his own face. Many women told him that his mixed Japanese, French-Canadian, and Oklahoman blood made him intriguingly exotic—a fact that had never hurt his prospects in the bar.
The two of them were the First Stick smokejumpers for Mount Hood Aviation, the best firefighters of them all. The Zulies in Missoula, Montana, might argue, but Tim knew they were wrong.
This was—however moronic—precisely what they lived for. He’d followed Akbar the Great’s lead for five years and the two of them had climbed straight to the top.
“Race you,” Akbar shouted then got on the radio and called directions about the best line of attack to DC—who earned his nickname from his initials matching the DC-3 jump plane he piloted.
Tim moved to give the deployment plan to the other five sticks still waiting on their seats; no need to double check it with Akbar, the best approach was obvious. Heck, this was the top crew. The other smokies barely needed the briefing; they’d all been watching through their windows as the streamers cavorted in the chaotic winds.
Then, while DC turned to pass once more over the jump zone, he and Akbar checked each others’ gear. Hard hat with heavy mesh face shield, Nomex fire suit tight at the throat, cinched at the waist, and tucked in the boots. Parachute and reserve properly buckled, with the static line clipped to the wire above the DC-3’s jump door. Pulaski fire axe, fire shelter, personal gear bag, chain saw on a long rope tether, gas can…the list went on, and through long practice took them under ten seconds to verify.
Tim’s body ached, his head swam with fatigue, and he was already hungry though they’d eaten a full meal at base camp an hour ago and a couple energy bars on the short flight back to the fire. All the symptoms were typical for a long fire.
DC called them on close approach. Once more Akbar leaned out the door, staying low enough for Tim to lean out over him. Not too tough as Akbar was a total shrimp and Tim had earned the Two-Tall nickname for being two Akbars tall. He wasn’t called Akbar the Great for his height, but rather for his powerful build and unstoppable energy on the fire line.
“Let’s get it done and…” Tim shouted in Akbar’s ear as they approached the jump point.
“…come home to Mama!” and Akbar was gone.
Tim actually hesitated before launching himself after Akbar and ended up a hundred yards behind him.
Come home to Mama? Akbar had always finished the line, Go get the girls. Ever since the wedding, Akbar had gotten all weird in the head. Just because he was married and happy was no excuse to—
The static line yanked his chute.

Initial Publication: February 19, 2015
Print Pages: 210
Audio length: 6:21
Narrator: Read by Author