After pulling into the driveway that Jackie had shoveled earlier in the day, though he was hard pressed to notice it now, they both got out of Mark McGowan’s car, shook hands and Jackie said he’d call in a few days, with a decision either way. Jackie was walking to the door, noticing that the light he had left on was out again thinking another power outage, when First Sergeant McGowan yelled, “Holy shit! Call 911” and ran across the snow covered street to a house that was visibly an inferno.
Jackie O’Shea turned to see what was happening, immediately pulled out his cell phone and called in the fire, and then ran himself to the far side of the house where a man was trying desperately to climb out of a bedroom window while flames were shooting out above his head. Jackie grabbed the man’s shirt collar and pulled him over the window sill allowing him to fall to the snow, ready to roll him around should he need to put out any flames.
“Are there any others?” he asked the young man, shouting to be heard over the roar of the fire. The singed and frightened man nodded frantically and pointed to the upstairs window.
Jackie ran to the front door of the house. Walking in through the open door, he immediately fell to his knees unable to breathe any air at all as the dark house was filled with thick acrid smoke. After a moment, he caught his breath and noticed something moving at the top of the stairs. He crawled up the stairs like a snake, his shirt pulled up over his mouth, and just as he neared the top saw an elderly woman lying on the landing, desperate to breathe, unable to move.
With flames rolling across the ceiling like waves in the ocean, his lungs burning and eyes stinging, Jackie stretched his arm as far as he could, grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her to him. When she was close enough, he was able to pick her up and run down the steps and out the front door into the cold, fresh air. As she coughed and gagged, Jackie asked if there were any others inside.
“Yes, basement,” was all she could get out before succumbing to a fit of coughing.
Jackie O’Shea jumped to his feet, turned towards the house and began to find his way to the basement when a strong hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He hadn’t noticed the fire trucks now lined up on the street, red lights flashing and sirens blaring. He told the fireman about a possible third person in the basement and that Mark McGowan had rushed in to help before him and he hasn’t seen him since.
Jackie was sitting by the ambulance, wrapped in a wool blanket when he saw First Sergeant Mark McGowan walking from the now violently burning house, carrying an elderly man in his arms. Three firemen rushed to help him.
Mark sat next to Jackie, his clothes smoking from near combustion, his face black with soot and his hair singed from flames. “You OK Jack?” he asked as if they were at a baseball game, slapping his hand on Jackie’s knee, watching the firemen battle the blaze.
Jackie O’Shea was amazed at the first sergeant’s composure. “Yeah, I’m OK, you?”
“I’m good,” he replied and asked for Jack to hand him a bottle of water. “Is that bar still opened?”
“I don’t know, but come across the street, I’ve got beer and some Irish in the kitchen.”
And the two men, blankets still on their shoulders, trekked across the snow covered street to get a drink.
Sitting in Tirsh’s living room, each with a cold bottle of Budweiser, red lights flashing across the interior walls through the big bay window and candles providing the only light as the power had indeed gone out again, Jackie asked Mark if he wanted him to re-light the fireplace. After a brief pause, both men burst into laughter at the absurd notion.
“Damn Mark, you handled that shit well,” Jackie admiringly said.
“Just did what needed to be done, and so did you Jack.”
A few more minutes of silence and Jackie O’Shea said, “I’m ready to become a soldier Mark, just tell me when and where.” He suddenly felt a great burden lift from his shoulders.
Sgt Hook out.
Posted by Hook @ 0058 zulu | | Permalink
This post is filed under: Jackie O'Shea
