Hotshots by Judith Van Gieson

ascended the slope. Even without the pucker factor he seemed to be running as hard as anyone could. It took him four minutes to run the distance with the pack. Three and a half without. He came over to me when he had finished, but he was still in the zone. His eyes had a look of glazed ferocity and total concentration. Hogue saw it and moved further up the slope.
    â€œMike?” I said.
    He shook his head and came back to the present. “How’d I do?”
    â€œThirty seconds faster without the pack.”
    He did some mental calculations. “I was right,” he said. “No way she could have made it out of here with or without the pack.”
    â€œDoes it help to know that?”
    â€œIt proves they were wrong. It proves they had no right to criticize her in their report. Joni knew what she was doing.” He put his hand on her cross. “That was for you, babe,” he said. “And now I gotta get out of here.” He shouldered his pack, wiped his eyes, and began climbing uphill.
    Hogue was standing near the second cross from the top. “This is where Chancellor’s ax was found,” he said when Mike reached him.
    â€œSo?” replied Mike.
    â€œHis body was found in the number-nine position.”
    â€œI know that,” Mike snapped. Hogue was an annoying mosquito who didn’t know when to buzz off. Mike was a person who didn’t want to be bugged. Tension was building in the narrow canyon.
    â€œHe must have dropped his pack and gone back to help the women out.”
    â€œChancellor didn’t drop his pack. When the flames hit him they burned the ax off.” Mike spoke slowly, leaving spaces between the words as if he were talking to a child or a jury. “The women on this crew were hotshots who were dropped into a red-flag situation. They didn’t need Chancellor’s help. They needed the support of the Forest Service. They needed a fire supervisor who knew what the hell he was doing.”
    â€œIf the flames hit Chancellor here, then why was his body found in the number-nine position?” Hogue asked.
    â€œHe was on fire at that point. He was already dead. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just ran.” Mike’s words came closer together now. His patience was running out.
    Hogue’s response was a shrug—a stupid, annoying gesture. Maybe he didn’t know any better, maybe he couldn’t help himself. This situation seemed to be taking on its own momentum and spiraling out of control. The death and the tension in the canyon were bringing out the beast in everyone. The conditions were ripe, the wind was up. Mike was about to explode and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop him. In a way it was a relief when the blowup came.
    â€œYou’re a pain in the ass, you know that!” Mike shouted.
    Hogue’s response was to tighten his lips. “That’s insubordination,” he answered. “It’ll cost you your job.”
    Mike grabbed Hogue by his lapels. “As far as I’m concerned you can shove your fucking job. I’m out of the Forest Service.” Mike was in Hogue’s face. His hair was electric. His eyes were wild.
    The eye in the calm of the storm was Hogue’s unruffled contempt. “This is what happens when you hire people based on their gender or color instead of their ability.” There were no more secrets on this naked hill. It was all coming out: the meanness, the prejudice, the anger, the power. “If you ever find Ramona Franklin on this mountain you can tell her she’s out of the Forest Service, too.” Hogue’s narrow eyes indicated he was mean enough to do it.
    â€œYou son of a bitch,” Mike said. He dropped Hogue’s lapels and stomped up the mountain, leaving deep imprints in the soft soil and me alone with Tom Hogue.

7
    M IKE WAS OVER the ridge long before we got there. With or without the anger factor it was a long, steep