Page Ten

"Mac Arthur is framed by four major roadways. Railroad Avenue N, Lincoln Avenue E, Lakeland Ave SW, Smithtown Avenue W, Veterans Memorial Highway 454 S. See the maps taped to the front of your folders." Ted prompted. The gang did so, as Hallie turned on a small light on the stove so they could see better. The youngest Rorchek smiled, indicating a new aerial image on the wall. "We're much more than just runways and airport terminals. We're a fully functional industrial complex at MacArthur. We have aircraft hangers that have welding and cutting operations, which hold flammable liquids used in paint stripping. We have a major fuel refinery with its extensive piping system, two restaurants, a taxi and bus station, one hotel, a minor medical clinic, and a great height communications array which we share with a television broadcasting station. We have a power plant, and both bottled and bulk oxygen storage tanks located in buildings adjacent to many active power and fuel sources." Joe Rorchek piped up, speaking from the darkness where he sat, still paying close attention. "To organize and navigate such a complex set up, we operate all positional references based on an alphanumeric azimuth grid system. In the event of an emergency, copies of this daily will be distributed to all control tower personnel, emergency response vehicles and ambulances in our service area, between our own fire rescue teams and to any others with legal, legitimate interests by couriers." "You mean, like the press?" Kelly guessed unpleasantly. "Like the press." Joe agreed equally vehement emotionally. "They may not be allowed to film any accident scene, but they can talk about it all they like. Getting facts straight about where and what things are called on the news if anything bad happens, is still very high on Theresa Ryder's list, for the public's sake." "I guess." sighed Chet and Martelli together. Ted imparted more for the Station 51 gang's orientation lecture. "As airport rescue and fire fighting personnel, we have to know color coding systems for all aspects of aircraft fueling and their runways traffic markings. As guests, you only need to know just the one when driving out there. This yellow triple band/bar and line pattern that you see here. When you see one of these on the pavement anywhere, at any time, stop on less than a dime and immediately look both ways. For seeing one in front of your bumper means an aircraft's coming in front of you from a perpendicular direction, from either the left or the right in less than a minute and a half." he warned. When he felt that their firefighter guests had effectively learned the marking, he clicked back to the asimuth grid map from earlier. "The runway names at ISLIP are based on the degrees of a directional compass. Their names at each end are the degree headings the pilot must enter in order to follow that particular runway's exact parallel from its two available relative approach directions." "Wow, so he's given a navigational clue long before he even sees the airport?" Lopez asked. "That's right. Some of these newer pilots coming in need all the help they can get. We're very near several flight schools." Ted chuckled. Then he rapidly clicked through several sheets of typed instructions. "Don't sweat these slides I just rushed through. You'll be learning all of our flights routes and landing and takeoff procedures tomorrow when we get a tour of the control tower." the short light haired firefighter said. During the next pause, Mike Stoker raised a questioning hand.  Ted called on him, by pointing. Stoker asked. "I'm curious. What kinds of apparatus and equipment do you have here that we don't have back home in California?" Ted lifted his chin, peering around the kitchen. "Rags, where are you? You're better than me on that subject. Want in?"

"You bet." boomed the big bass voiced chef turned fireman. The burly dark skinned man started in eagerly, catching Stoker's interested eyes with his own. "Our basic equipment is pretty much the same as yours at home. We have only minor differences in protective gear. We have higher temperature and aluminized hazardous chemical tolerance grades, Levels One through Four. But be clear that none of them can withstand any direct fire contact. Tool differences are serrated axes for metal cutting, and mobile water tender vehicles that we can deploy to be feeder tanks for either foam or water attacks. Our handline hose techniques are the same as the ones you guys are already familiar with but we use them just for interior aircraft operations or enclosed building fires only. And we have industrial strength large size pneumatic air bags which we can utilize to lift large aircraft or debris. Easy enough to use. The higher you need something lifted, the more bags you fill. Just back up your lifts with normal cribbing." Joe Rorchek turned on the lights suddenly and he faced everybody sternly with thoughtful hands behind his back. "For standard operating procedures here,...at no time during any actual emergency, will any guest firefighter personnel be out of their self contained breathing apparatuses." he ordered directly. "Consider one a permanent feature on your body to go along with a pair of thermal gloves you'll be receiving in the morning. For you two paramedics especially, heed my orders. If we all get a call and fire victims need ventilating, use a positive pressure valve mask from a separate air or oxygen resuscitator instead of donating your own air masks. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir.." said the whole gang. Even Hank. "Harris, sorry for interrupting. Go ahead." prompted the chief, flicking off the lights again. Rags, clicked to another photo slide showing images of an aircraft on fire. "Once fire is burning actively at an airport, all the air visually contaminated by smoke is automatically toxic due to the amount of fuel and chemical hazards we already have present in the areas that may have been compromised. Planes don't burn cleanly like most other structures do." He showed everyone a closeup of a stock image of an impossibly bright burst of plasma around a doomed mock fuselage during an exercise. "An aircraft crash is also a location of a lot of magnesium fires which burn far hotter than regular fire by many magnitudes. A mag fire is one that only certain chemicals put out. Water reacts with magnesium, causing large explosions and the spread of more magnesium ignition points as you know." Eagerly, Engineer Martelli broke in. "Recently, us ARFF have developed a powder called G-1 that we can hand shovel onto mag fires to knock them down." "Wow, a mag suppressing dry chemical that isn't sand?" Cap asked, amazed. "That's right." Al told him happily. "How much is needed?" Hank wondered. "Only half an inch at the minimum." Martelli told him. "I've seen it work really fast on a test fire." Rags nodded, too, continuing. "Guys, our firefighting vehicles are larger than most non-airport apparatus that you might have seen, we're fully armoured against thermal radiation, with high pressure nozzles/turrets on all sides, including under the chassis to prevent any spreading fire from burning the under carriage. They can also provide two different extinguishing agents at the same time.  We use either water/foam.. or Halon 1301." "What's Halon 1301?" Mike Stoker asked. It was a new technology to him. Hallie replied, as she cleaned up empty dessert plates from the table quietly. "It's a clean agent that leaves no corrosive residue inside electrical gear or computers when used. It vaporizes quickly into clouds that break the chain of almost any combustible reaction in progress chemically and by actively displacing physical oxygen still in the air."

"Hence the soup." Harris rumbled, pointing to their meal source. "It's a permanent fixture on the kitchen table every fall and winter." Rags said, stirring the big pot lovingly. "I keep it full and steaming, twenty four/seven. At my expense." "Wow, thanks." said Marco. "No problem. Just keep yourselves warm and healthy, and I'll be happy." he nodded seriously. "Some of the runway crew are starting to take me up on my open invitation. You might see a couple of shivering strangers coming in here every once in a while to chow down. Let them." "Can we throw a blanket or two at them while they're here?" Roy smirked. "Feel free." Rags said. "That's what Hallie does. They never yell at her. She's a girl." "Who says?" Green protested. "I get a lot of trucker mouth attitude on a lot of days." "Yeah, but then they hush up fast when you throw only a smile at them." Al Martelli said. Hallie preened. "Huh." she smirked happily."Guess it's my Southern charms. Take a lesson from me." "No thanks. I covet my tough New York City exterior." said the curly haired engineer. "It makes people listen. They all just get out of my way whenever I'm driving in my trucks." "They get out of the way because our fire trucks are monsters, Al." Ted teased. "Whatever.." Martelli scoffed, slurping his soup noisily, mock offended. Green leaned into the Station 51 gang. "He's really a softie." she whispered. "Only wants to be tough." "Oh, you mean like Stoker here?" Johnny quipped, pointing across the table to where their own engineer was peppering his minestrone. Mike blushed. The phone on the wall rang. Al and Chris had a race to see who answered it first. Chris won. "ISLIP Fire and Rescue.."  His eyes glazed over as the operator connected him. Then his expression dawned in understanding. "Oh, ok. The dark haired one who's naturally tan? Yeah, he's right here. I'll put him on." Then he cradled the receiver in his hand. "John Gage? This is for you." "Me?" Johnny puzzled. Then his whole face lit up. "Maybe that's Morgan!" He said brightly. He clapped his hands together in celebration with a hoot. "Hiya sweetheart. Are you keep your rotors hot? I miss you so much I'm aching." he said, taking the phone from the tallest Rorchek, who scoffed laughed as he walked away when he overheard that remark. Johnny frowned at him, not getting the joke. Dixie McCall pulled the phone away from her ear on the other end of the line to save an eardrum or two. ## I guess I miss you, too, Honey Buns." she guffawed. Gage immediately colored. "Oh! Geez. I'm SO sorry, Dix. I thought you were--"