Page 47 of Honeyfires

Then she looked up at Miller. "Can I ask what Kowalski's first name was?"

"Frank."

"I'll look him up. There's a memorial wall in the library for first responders in San Jacinto history. If he ever served here—"

"Four seasons, '89 through '93."

"Then he's probably already on it." She pulled out her phone and made a note. "I'll check. If he's not, he should be."

Miller watched her type. Said nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, he murmured, "He'd like that."

The Bell 212 was even more impressive up close.

Vera walked around her once, slowly. She ran a hand along the tail boom. Looked up at the rotor head. Crouched to examine the skid landing gear.

"She's beautiful," she said softly.

"She's a workhorse. Twin turboshaft engines, carries six rappellers plus gear plus pilot and spotter. We run her lean. Every pound in the air is a decision."

"La Jefa," Vera said, to the helicopter rather than to me.

"You can't name-talk the helicopter," Stevens said, delighted. "That's only—"

"Only the crew?" Vera looked at him.

He looked at me. I looked at the helicopter. "She can name-talk the helicopter," I said.

He beamed. He was going to tell this story for years.

I opened the cabin door and helped Vera up, my hands at her waist, and she settled into the crew chief's seat—my seat, directly adjacent to the open door—and looked out at the helipad below.

Then she looked down. And went very still.

"This is where you sit," she said.

"Yes."

"With the door open."

"Yes."

"At altitude." Her knuckles went white on the doorframe. "You sit here, with your legs potentially dangling over two hundred feet of open air, calculating things about wildfires."

"That is an accurate description of the job."

"And you've done this three hundred times."

Stevens, from behind her, mouthed give or take. I gave him a look. He stopped mouthing.

"Three hundred times," I confirmed.

She was quiet. Her knuckles were white. Then she took a long breath, released it, and released the doorframe.

"Okay," she said. "Show me the harness."

I talked her through the Class III, the chest and leg loops, the dorsal ring, the locking carabiner. Stevens demonstrated the figure-eight descender with the pride of a man who had recently passed certification and wanted credit for it.

"You control descent speed with your brake hand," he explained. "Squeeze tight, you slow down. Release, you go faster."