"Prove Yourself"

Tucking the dog-tags back into his pocket, John Parker strode onto High Street. He'd never been to this village before, but he knew the place like the back of his hand. Ol' Tommy Morgan had made sure of that, with stories of a carefree childhood, and a budding adulthood in this small community.

“Is this the way to the fire station?” he asked a kind-looking old lady, just to be sure.

“Yes, love! Are you the new fireman? We lost one of ours to the war, you know.”

“I'm hoping to be,” he gave her a grateful nod, and walked on his way. He thought about the stories he'd heard, and wondered where that old lady fit into them... Maybe she was the one that called for help when one of the boys was knocked off his bike ten years ago? Or maybe the old lady that always gave too many sweets to the polite children that visited her sweet shop? Maybe both, he thought.

Rounding the corner of the bank, he spotted a burned-out building and two fire engines. He straightened his tie for the hundredth time, still not being used to the constricting feeling around his throat. He worried, again, that he had no paperwork, and hoped that his word would be good enough for now. Maybe his scars would be evidence enough of his experience.

There were three men and a woman standing against the wall of the station itself. Only two wore uniforms, so he approached them.

“Hello?”

“Alright?” the bigger of the men asked.

“I've come to apply to work here?”

“We haven't advertised for anyone...” the man looked suspicious.

“I know,” John said, with no change in his voice. “You must be Frank. And Charlie?” He looked at the men in uniform, and the smaller one, Charlie, was stunned.

“How did you know?”

“I've been told this is a great place to work.”

The men looked at each other, in confusion.

“How's the wife, Charlie? I heard she was having some sort of, er, medical trouble?”

“How do you know that?! Only a few people know...”

And then it dawned on them. Their missing fireman had sent a replacement.

“Like I said,” John continued, “I've been told good things about this place.”

“Come in,” Frank said.

“You'll have to prove yourself,” Frank stated blankly, as he offered John a seat in his office.

“I have no documents with me.”

“I don't mean with paper,” Frank lit a cigarette and offered one across.

“No, thank you. What do you mean?”

“I mean out in the field. You have to show us what you're made of if you want to replace...” he trailed off.

“I'll never replace-”

“Damn right. But we need a good man. This town means a lot to it's people, and we can't have anyone in a job like this if they're going to be a let down.”

“I promise you, sir. That's the last thing I want to do.”

“Okay. You start tomorrow. Find yourself a uniform that fits, out there,” he pointed to just outside the office door, “and report to me here at nine.”

“Thank you.”

“We'll do some drills with you tomorrow. No promises.”

“Of course.”

Frank showed him out, and John searched the uniforms, hoping not to see any names on the jackets.

John was there at ten to nine, his uniform on, and some papers in his hand.

“Thanks,” Frank said as he took the papers and thrust them into the arms of the third man that had been there the day before. He, too, was wearing a uniform now.

John shook his head to himself, having been warned that Frank was like this.

“So,” he said, “this is how today is going to work. We're going to set the middle floor of this building,” they walked towards the burned-out building at the edge of the car park, “alight. We're throwing you in the deep end, because knowing what I do about you, I think you can handle the pressure. And to be honest, we can't afford to waste any time.”

“Weren't people trained during the war?”

“Yeah, but they were all from other walks of life, and they've got things to get back to.”

“Oh.”

“They're still around if we need them, but it'll be better if we don't need them at all.”

“I understand.”

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

After an hour of smoke-evasion tests, and heavy-lifting downstairs, etc., John was left outside the smouldering building, wondering where Frank had gone. He'd been there when John had gone into the building, but there was no-one around now.

John wandered slowly over to the station, just in time to be rushed out of the way. There had been a call, that John hadn't heard over the blasting water sounds he'd been trying to control.

“Am I coming?”

“You're not ready?”

“I'm coming,” John said, regardless.

“No.”

“Why not?” he asked, as Frank and the other fireman jumped into the engine.

“I said you're not ready.”

John jumped in anyway - “I'll observe.”

Frank shook his head, before nodding to the other man, and they sped out, into the village.

A small house on the other side of town, near the hotel John was staying in, had smoke billowing from the top two windows. As they approached, they began to see a woman fighting to get back into the house, but being held back by two other women, all screaming.

The scuffle continued as the fire-engine pulled up outside the house, and the three men leaped out. The man John wish he knew the name of, rushed over to talk to the women, and get whatever information he could. Frank ran to the ladders, and started pulling on out. John tried to help with the ladder, but was pushed away, so he listened to the information.

“She's in her bedroom!”

“Which one is that?”

“That one,” she pointed shakily to the top right window, “there.”

“Is there anyone else in the house?”

“No... just her and maybe the dog.”

“Maybe the dog?”

“The back door was open, and we were upstairs, so we don't know if he was in or out...”

Frank and Fireman-Must-Find-Out-His-Name rushed to the house, placed the ladder against the window, and Frank began to climb in. John stood by the woman of the house, and listened as her friends comforted her. No-one seemed to notice he was there.

Agonizing moments passed as John fidgeted on the spot. He hadn't felt this useless in a while.

Frank pulled open the front door with his one hand, while his other arm firmly held a teenage girl over his shoulder. As he reached the pavement, he stood her onto her feet, but she didn't take her own weight for more than a millisecond before her mother crashed her into a strangling hug.

Frank looked at the other fireman, who was now holding the hose to the house. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Frank ran to put the water on, but John stepped in the way.

“What about the dog?”

“What about it?”

“You have to go in and get him.”

“We don't even know if he was in the house. I don't have time for this.”

John moved out of the way, but still, felt defiant. Without another moment's thought, he ran into the house, one arm over his eyes to guard from the smoke.

“John!” Frank roared, but the water had already started flowing, so neither man could go in after him.

John ran through the hallway, and into what turned out to be the living room. He whistled for the dog, but nothing happened.

He rushed through to the kitchen, to find the door to actually be closed. He then sped back through the living room, and into the hallway. He whistled for the dog again, but still nothing. Rushing up the stairs, he called out, “Here boy!” The bottom half of the stairs were clear, but as John ascended, his face grew hot with the red flares of wave-like fire. The flames seemed to be reaching down, through the banister, and clawing for his body and face.

A small whimpering sound came from the room directly at the top. John crashed through the lapping flames that were moving ever further down the stairs, into the room, and almost stumbled over the cowering Old English Sheepdog behind the door. The smashing water made for a terrifying sound track, but John used his past of shock and horror to keep himself calm, and hopefully calm this poor creature.

“It's alright, little man. I'm John. Come 'ere.”

Frank and the woman of the house were arguing over what was going on.

“Who is this man anyway?” she screeched.

“He's new. He's not even supposed to be here. He was on training.”

“Where did he come from?!”

“He knew Tommy-”

Their conversation was halted, as John lumbered out of the house, with the massive dog in his arms. A crowd had gathered now, and as John placed the dog carefully onto the floor, the teenage girl that had been saved before, ran to him, shouting “Banjo!”

The water spread across the house, pouring in through both upstairs windows. The fire died slowly, as though is was backing off now it's targets had been removed.

The emotional woman ran towards John, and winded him with the force of her embrace.

“Who is that man?” a woman that had joined the crowd asked.

“His name is John. He's new around here.”

“He'll do well,” she said, smiling gently.

“I think so, Mrs Morgan. I think so.”