Day One - "ALERT F0902...."

13:24 - 7/2/2009.

I had literally stepped one foot inside my friend's front door, when I froze.

I felt the vibrations begin on my right hip...waited for what seemed like forever...waited for it to just be me "feeling things" again...but...no, that piercing, urgent "emergency" tone on my pager began again.

I just stood frozen. I remember - because my friend was off her couch and looking at me with alarm. Over to me in a moment - gripping my left arm and staring unblinking into my eyes. She'd been with me enough times before when my pager had gone off for a callout that she knew the sound. I'd confined my concerns in her in the leadup - and she instinctively knew...all was not well.

"Ohh...fuck"...I just whispered, virtually inaudible. I knew without looking - my luck was out. Something had started. It was just a matter of seconds but the entire process ran through my head - my pager was active because SOMEone, somewhere nearby, had sighted smoke or fire - rung triple zero - and we were being dispatched.

I grabbed it, fumbling it slightly, willing it to just tell me it was another alarm...or a kitchen fire...or ANYTHING!! I remember the crushing feeling of near-panic...willing it to be lying, to be a mistake!!

But no. Luck was out.

I read it. The message began with the title above - then the job code. Then the words I'd dreaded. Strike team to assemble at the station. No details on where or what the fire was - but I knew well enough that strike teams (groups of tankers) are not called to formally assemble until a fire IS happening. A radio channel for fireground control was provided, along with a list of other brigades in the area who were coming in to join our strike team.

I looked her in the eyes and just said "it's fucking started. It's on. I have to go...I'm sorry. I have to go - right now".

She seemed to not know what to say - so she just grabbed me in a quick hug - kissed me and told me to stay safe. I couldn't bring myself to say I would...so I mumbled "I'll...try". Then swore to myself.

It'd started. What I was dreading and fearing.

I ran for my car. Couldn't control my hands well enough to put the key in the ignition so I had to physically stop...grab my face with both hands and spoke to myself firmly - telling myself "JUST STOP. You've been a firey for several years. You've been to countless fires. You don't react like this. You're calm, and in control - that's why they made you a crew leader. Keep calm. Don't fucking crash on the way to the station or something stupid like that."

I controlled my breathing - then took off, swinging my car out into the quiet suburban street.

I flew through town. There was barely anyone around. A police car passed me the other way - but the constable glanced over, and recognising fire uniform, waved me onwards and didn't slow down. My mind was running at God-knows-how-many miles per hour and I found myself physically having to slow down and focus on the road and driving. Every second, my mind jumping ahead. Scanning the sky for signs of smoke plumes and trying to work out how close the fire really was. Outside, the wind seemed to reach crescendo pitch - physically buffeting the car as I drove.

No sign of smoke. The sky now grey...sweat dripping down my face despite the best efforts of my car's air-conditioner to keep up, it just couldn't - the heat was too extreme. Another knot formed in my stomach as I realised, if it's this hot here in town - how fucking hot will it be at the front?

A thought crossed my mind...asking myself if it'd be wrong to back out now. Reminding me...I don't have to do this. I do this because I want to. I could go home and relax...but as quick as I thought it, my internal voice kicked in - told me - "you're committed. Just do it. Now is your time to step up and face your challenge".

With this in mind I pushed on...the short drive back to the station seeming to take forever.

I pulled in. Already several rural tankers from the adjoining brigades had assembled out the front, on the street and in front of the engine bay. The police had arrived too, directing traffic around the station and allowing us room to move. The look on the young officer's face; he would've been younger than me; said it all...it's bad.

As I literally ran into the station, the atmosphere had gone from tension to positively electric. Everyone was talking - and other brigade members had now arrived. A number of out of town firefighters were present too, and I felt a twinge of irritation at their appearances - jackets open, some minus smoke goggles. Unprofessional...

I took the initiative - looking around and seeing the station officer and operations officer were earnestly talking and too busy - I went to the protective gear room, grabbed my own, then boxes of smoke masks, goggles and assorted gloves. Coming back into the commotion of the engine bay, I grabbed one of the rural crew leaders - and told him to get what he needed, make sure all his men had goggles, gloves and masks. Most were good and thankful - one objected, saying he wasn't going to "wear a fucking smoke mask on a day like this" - and before I knew it, I'd grabbed him by the collar. We were equal height and build, but him a tad older than me. Before he could protest, I'd grabbed a mask with my spare hand and thrust it into his jacket pocket with force - then got up in his face and growled "for fuck sake. NONE of us want to wear them. But you know fucking what??? You'll end up in hospital with lungs full of smoke. So get with the fucking team, mate!!" then walked away, to have a cigarette and calm myself.

As I stubbed it out, he came and apologised, then shortly after, the regional officers joined the operations officer. While they were talking, I went to our brigade leader - the station officer - but I didn't even need to ask.

The look on his face has stayed with me to this day. It was one of helplessness. For an experienced, dedicated firefighter whom I respected, looked up to and liked, the concern showed. In a low voice, he spoke.

"It's started. Fuck. Fuck...mate, it's on, everywhere. Statewide. Bunyip has jumped control lines and is out of control. A fire has started 30km out from here. It's already into the town (the town shall remain nameless - but it's a small country town). Houses are burning. Another one is further out. I don't know who is going to what yet. Where do we start? There's more going - the towers are spotting smoke and it's getting thick, fast. It's in the forests and moving. Where do we start??!!"

His eyes seemed to plead with me...as if somehow, I'd be able to provide comfort or reassurance. A plan. I was stunned into silence. I'd somehow assumed one single fire. Not multiple. The fact houses were already burning shocked me into disbelief - already? We hadn't even been dispatched and already people's houses were on fire.

It never struck me at this point that while I stood in the station, rooted to the spot in shock...that people were already imminently about to die.

I grabbed his shoulder. All I could bring myself to say was "mate...let's sort out who's doing what, hey? Get out there. Do what we can. Stay tough. We'll do this. K?"

The orders were bellowed by the operations manager - four firefighters per crew, everyone get on a truck if you are ready to do. It didn't matter which brigade. A new order was shouted - "houses are burning, urban-trained firefighters, try to pair up with the rural boys so they have backup! Get going!".

A rural crewleader grabbed me, asked me if I was urban trained - when I replied that I was, he told me to grab his bag and through it on their tanker - one of the typical rural style, with a two man cab and a two-man ROPS (rollover protective structure) exposed, but to ride on, outside. I grabbed my structural jacket and helmet as an afterthought - deciding that if I was to tackle a housefire or several, I wanted it. So glad I did...

I walked to the comms room first. To get an idea of what was happening. C's face was positively white. She pointed to the situation report on the computer and I felt the blood drain from mine. The report was indicating between 30 - 52 SEPARATE FIRE FRONTS HAD NOW BEEN PHONED IN TO TRIPLE ZERO.

30 - 52 SEPARATE FIRES. I couldn't believe it. It'd started now...everywhere. State wide, fires were raging - with a massive concentration of fires around the centre. All of the calls so far had been received in the past thirty minutes.

When I think back on it...it was kind of eerie. Unsettling. That...the calm had been shattered...so swiftly and abruptly - so violently - and on such a massive scale in a time frame most people would take for morning tea...

The horrible realisation dawned on me. Victoria was on fire. Not just "A" fire...but a massive, massive campaign had just started. I think I realised that this was going to be like nothing I'd seen before. Looking at the little orange flame symbols on the map, I was suddenly choked. They looked so innocent - just a tiny symbol. But out there...fires had ignited - up to 52 SEPARATE FRONTS - and were being pushed by 100km/h winds in heat up to 50 deg C. Such unimaginable force...represented on a screen by a mass of little icons.

I took control of myself. Realising I had to go - I left, moving to the truck. I briefly remember shaking hands with the three crew I was joining - remembering one from some time before and the other two, new faces. Climbing aboard the back and seating myself on the hard plastic bench next to my new offsider who'd remain with me through the campaign - fighting this fire literally shoulder to shoulder...and facing what we felt was imminent death, shoulder to shoulder. A man I'd never seen in my life. We barely spoke - a cursory smile, quick few words of reassurance. It was good - it didn't matter than I didn't know any of the three, I was now part of their team and THAT is what mattered.

The truck shuddered to life and again I felt an icy grip in my stomach - knowing I was past the point of no return. I was going into something that I could not begin to imagine but would test me more than anything has ever tested me, physically, mentally, emotionally. I found myself distracting myself with adjusting my gear - pulling tight my bootlaces, fiddling pointlessly with my gloves...adjusting my helmet and goggles until I took them off and sat them in my lap - half hugging them for some kind of strange "support" - which felt bizarre until I realised my offsider was doing the same. The strike team leader vehicle passed us, and I stared straight at it but barely registering the two group leaders on board - barely noticing the emergency beacons. As the first truck swung out to join it, ours followed suit, and the ear-splitting noise of the siren, right above my head, jolted me back to reality and a realisation that this was it. My nightmare was coming true.

Little did I know at that point, they were a crew who'd I'd go through 33 days of hell with - forge a lifelong blood bond with - face near death with - and actual death. Go through a gauntlet of emotions and experiences that most normal people couldn't imagine in their nightmares.

Yep...little did I know.