“Unit #3 is 10-19” the O.I.C. barked into the mike, as the rescue unit pulled away from the scene and started to amble back to the hall. In the rear box, though exhausted and filthy from working on the car fire, the crew acted more like they were returning from a party. The music blared over the speakers, and the playful atmosphere was infectious.
Vickie sat in the solo jump seat, giggling hysterically at the antics of the three guys that were with her. She was new to all of this, only six months since she had joined the fire department, and the only female firefighter they had. It was brutally hard work, she was only 100lbs. soaking wet, compared to the average guy there who cruised the 200 lb.mark. Everything she was expected to do required maximum effort, but it didn’t daunt her in the least. The boys had recognized her tenacity early on, any misgivings they’d had about having a woman join were quickly erased, and they’d accepted her into the fold.
The truck pulled onto the pad, just in front of the bay doors, and the horn sounded to let the crew know it was safe to get out. Everyone scrambled out, still talking, joking, gear in tow. Vickie strolled over to her locker, and put most of her things away, but left her bunkers on, knowing full well that they’d have to wash the soot and mud off the truck. It was really warm out, a good day for the water fight that no doubt would ensue, and there was no sense in getting her street clothes wet. The pressure washer was kicked on, and the battle began. It was hard to tell what or who was getting cleaner, the truck or the firefighters, but it was damned good fun.
The unit was finally backed into the hall, ready for the next call, and the crew dismissed. Still low man on the totem pole, Vickie took her time, putting things away, tidying up, until there were only two of them left in the bay. She walked over to her locker and started to slide out of her bunkers, bantering to Terry, the lieutenant that had stayed behind.
Vickie wasn’t really surprised that he’d hung back, she’d noticed him checking her out once or twice, and truth be known, she didn’t mind. In fact, she’d have been disappointed if none of the thirty guys she worked with hadn’t. However, he’d never made a move towards her, always treated her more like a little sister. Today though, she could sense a shift, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but he just seemed somewhat agitated.
Terry was a fine specimen of a man; she’d often caught herself gazing at him. At 6’1”, 220 lbs., and well toned from the job, he was everything a girl could want, but she was far too new to act on her impulses and risk her position with the department.
Terry leaned against the rescue unit, trying to act laid back, watching intently as Vickie removed the last of her gear. It took everything he had to keep it together as she bent over, shoving her turn out pants around her boots, and displaying that fine ass of hers, nestled in a tight pair of jeans. Vickie could sense the tension building, like a static charge, but she tried to brush it off, and keep the conversation light.
“Hey, probie, I want you to check those air packs!” Terry hollered at her.
Vickie sighed, she knew there was nothing wrong with them, she had helped change the bottles, and put them back in service, but she wasn’t about to disobey orders from an officer. She climbed aboard the back of the rescue, and dutifully starting checking the packs for pressure and making sure the harnesses were set up. While she was still bent over checking the last one, Vickie felt two large hands slide over her ass, gripping her.
