Pure Heat Read Online Free PDF

breather and a Pulaski tool, ax on one side, adze on the other. The tool was as new as the chopper and sharp enough to slice skin if he wasn’t careful.
    The rest of the crew had continued to scatter downslope. They’d be a long time getting back up the near-vertical terrain to the injured man. Several burning trees now lay scattered across their path of retreat like matchsticks.
    â€œGet me over him!” Steve shouted into the headset.
    He snapped the rope onto the ring in the ceiling, slung it through the rappelling brake on the harness, and strapped himself in.
    â€œWait!” one of the front-seaters called out.
    â€œI’m safe if we do it now. I’ve got air and can get in on him before the fire catches its breath and overruns him.” Steve ripped the headset free and pulled on the breather. His voice echoed strangely inside the face mask. It was an echo of his former life. One tug on the forehead strap and it fit like a favorite pair of shoes.
    â€œNow!” he shouted forward, then stepped out the cargo bay door.
    They were too high and still hovered over the flames.
    There were times you trusted your helitack pilot, and this was going to have to be one of those. He just hoped he’d been right about her being experienced, based on watching a ten-minute flight.
    Even as he slid downward, the chopper moved. He wasn’t rigged for the heat. Jeans and a button-down shirt rather than a Nomex jumpsuit and fireproof underwear. But he wore good boots and had the Pulaski jammed into his harness. Would have to be good enough.
    He began to fear that it wasn’t, but the pilot got him clear of the flame before he slid too low and started to cook. He went from black smoke to green and almost planted his boots on the man’s red-covered face.
    It looked like blood. Steve hoped it was retardant. That much blood and the guy wouldn’t survive to be rescued.
    First he scanned the area, ready to signal for an immediate evac, but the pool of red retardant had knocked out the fire completely for twenty feet around and slowed it for another twenty beyond that.
    Steve cleared the line from his rappelling brake and looked down.
    The guy pointed frantically toward his foot pinned by a six-inch-thick tree limb connected to a tree trunk at least three feet across. Too big to leverage free. No digging beneath because he was on rock.
    Steve shifted a few feet toward the tree and laid in with the Pulaski. He could hear the guy’s hiss of pain each time Steve planted the ax. The vibrations up the tree limb must hurt like hell. He ignored the man and kept swinging. Long swings, even strokes, making each slice count, each swing kicking another large shard of wood loose.
    Halfway through, he glanced up to make sure the guy was watching the fire. He was, but Steve checked anyway. The outer ring of defense was already cooking again. The flames were building.
    He turned back to his chopping, resisting the urge to try and hurry. Hurry never helped in these situations. Steady and even, make every slice count.
    At fifteen strokes a minute, it took him three and a half minutes to complete the chop through the limb. He kicked it aside to avoid burning his hands on the smoldering wood. Next time he’d bring gloves.
    The man’s white teeth looked surreal through his red-masked face, but he was smiling. It turned to a grimace when he worked his foot.
    â€œSprain. Don’t think it’s a break. Thanks. I’d sign you up, but you ain’t dressed for it.”
    â€œToo late.” He’d never be able to sign on again. Steve held out a hand. “Merks Mercer.”
    The other man took it. “Terry Thomas. But that’s TJ to you.”
    â€œWe need to get you out of here.” Steve hauled the smokie to his feet, but it was clear he wouldn’t be walking anywhere.
    The flood of retardant had created a calm pool in the midst of a full-surround firestorm, but now the pool’s