The Bravest

III

"Clay, you're taking the axe. Only need one. Marello, crowbar. Warshek, grab a few oxygen masks. Could see a lot of smoke inhalation cases up there. Grab hoses too. Jesus Christ."

Michael was still fighting the fog in his brain, the confusion and shock that threatened to overwhelm him. As lieutenant, it was his job to make sure they were prepared for whatever they were getting into, but how the hell do you prepare for this? Just over a thousand feet above their heads, the tops of two of the tallest buildings in the world were engulfed in flames, having been struck by jet planes. It was hard to believe the first plane had been an accident. After the second plane, it was clear that this had been planned. It was terrorism. It was an attack on America. But there was no way to fight back. No way to defend all the innocents who had been up there. The people who had started their day like any weekday, a regular Tuesday at the top of the world. Now hundreds, possibly thousands were dead, more trapped, a nightmare that not even the most pessimistic could have foreseen. Now it was the first responders turn. The time to try and clean up the unavoidable mess. To save all those who could still be saved. That job fell to all the firefighters, policemen, EMTs. To Michael.

"No time to waste," Michael growled. "Let's move."

"Aye," Owens said, nodding.

"Hey!" someone shouted to their right, Michael looking over, a big man all dressed up in fireman gear. The plate on the front of his helmet identified him as a battalion chief. He was pointing towards Michael, his voice raised at a shout to reach over the wail of sirens and roar of the flames above. "Where you boys heading?"

"North Tower, sir!" Michael responded. "We're heading up!"

The chief nodded, waved for them to carry on. Michael didn't hesitate, kept moving towards the North Tower lobby. Behind him, he could hear the chief shouting out orders to other crews, redirecting some off into the newly burning South Tower.

People were rushing out from the doors, some of the large glass windows broken, more workers stepping over the jagged shards. Michael couldn't help notice all the haphazard clothing, business suits dirtied by different stains, spilled coffee, dirt. Ties waved haphazardly in the breeze, suit jackets falling to the wayside, extra weight, tight, not suitable for the pace many were making to get away from the towers. Some of the people came out barefoot, especially the women, many of whom had kicked off their heels to increase speed. There were panicked expressions on most of them, the same feelings Michael felt, confusion, shock, terror.

"Hey boss," Owens said, looking back at Michael. "Watch out for falling debris. This shit will kill you instantly."

Michael nodded. "I know. Someone needs to radio in to a chief. We need to make this whole evacuation more orderly. Don't need mob mentality right here. Too many people coming in and out."

Clay shrugged. "Not much we can do, Mike. I don't fault these people for wanting to get out. I'd want to too." They jogged into the building, the debris from above falling haphazardly, thankfully not falling too close to the crew. Michael paused at the lobby, felt a wave of emotion again. He'd taken his family to the Windows on the World restaurant a few times before, the restaurant made famous for being at the top of the North Tower. The lobby was huge, laid out as a large rectangle that stretched from one side of the building to the other. It was wide and spacious, the roof almost three stories above, the exterior walls made up of towering windows rising up with granite columns. On the inside of the exterior wall there was a balcony that also stretched the length of the building, up a story. Small trees lined the interior of the lobby, on the ground floor. Michael had always been in awe of the size and simple grandeur of the lobby, of the towers in general. But now everything seemed different. Windows were shattered, trees broken or toppled over, the force of the explosion. There were lines of civilians moving out from the stairwells and out of the tower. Some police officers had volunteered their service by trying to calm the panic, creating more organized lines, leading people out of the building in a safer manner. More firefighters were scattered around the spacious lobby, a makeshift command post set up, chiefs giving out orders. Michael led his crew over to the command post, a chief looking them over quickly, an older man, lines etched into his skin.