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“Heading up,” Curt called over the radio on the Firebirds’ private frequency. The fire commander’s frequency was set to just monitor.
“Roger that.” Palo waited until Curt was aloft and far enough clear for the air turbulence to settle, before easing up on his own MD 520N’s collective. With a full load of two hundred gallons of water aboard, he’d take the clearest air he could find to get lift.
There were just three of them fighting a small fire in the hills southeast of Depoe Bay along the Oregon Coast. He’d never imagined this section of the Oregon forest could get dry enough to burn. Some i***t hikers’ campfire, sparking off after they were long gone because they didn’t know how to douse it properly. It gave them work, he supposed. Department of Forestry would normally let something
