By Melissa Fletcher Stoeltje
San Antonio Express-News
Copyright 2007 San Antonio Express-News
All Rights Reserved
SAN ANTONIO, Texas — That’s how long it takes for a fire to burn through the skin of an airplane and reach the cockpit or cabin — a statistic that leaves little room for error when it comes to putting out such fires.
It’s a little-known fact that the San Antonio International Airport has its very own fire station — Fire Rescue Station No. 23 — dropped like a big brick box on a far corner of the facility, right next to the runways. The ARFs (that’s aircraft rescue firefighters) stand ready day and night in the eventuality that a major aircraft carrier might crash and burst into flames, putting hundreds of lives at risk.
You may ask: How many times has such a calamity happened since the airport was built in 1941?
The answer: None. Zip. Nada.
But just because there’s never been a major aircraft fire at the airport doesn’t mean there won’t be one, so the boys of Company 23 have to keep their skills razor sharp and their senses alert. So before you start making snarky jokes about the Maytag repairman, spend a morning at the airport firehouse to gain an appreciation of the men who stand 90 seconds away from either rescue or disaster.
“People take us for granted,” says Capt. James Bennett II, the officer in charge on a recent shift. “It’s like anything else: No one likes the police until you need a policeman. It’s the same with us. We’re just the firefighters who sit on the other side of the airport and no one knows what we do. But we know our purpose.”
Their purpose is to constantly train to be primed should the worst happen. Being an airport firefighter means being intimately acquainted with the near-dozen major types of planes that may land at any time at the airport, because when catastrophe happens there’s no time to parse blueprints. And with jet fuel, there’s no room for mistakes.
“With a house fire, the fuel is made of wood, bricks, sheetrock, the interior content,” says Bennett. “With an airplane crash, what you have is a flying bomb. That’s why they used aircraft in 9-11. You’ve got 6,700 gallons of fuel on a regular medium-sized aircraft.”
The size of the cargo is different, too, observes firefighter Robert Candelario.
“In a house fire, you normally have four or five occupants,” he says, “versus an airplane, where you might have 100 or 150 people” confined to an aircraft about 200 feet long, the exits of which might be compromised. “You have to react quickly.”
In other words, most of the time bad things don’t happen at the airport. But when things do go wrong, they go wrong very, very fast. Witness the recent conflagration in southern Japan when a Taiwanese aircraft burst into flames eight minutes after landing when oil leaked into the engine. Thanks to the quick action of firefighters — and the clear thinking of the airline crew — all 165 passengers made it out to safety.
Because of the urgency of airline fires, the Federal Aviation Administration conducts frequent tests on ARFs to make sure their initial arrival at the scene is below three minutes -- stricter than the location arrival goal of four minutes and 15 seconds to 90 percent of city blocks for standard “structural” fire stations.
On a recent morning it was time to train. Delfino Muñoz — an FAO (fire apparatus operator) got behind the wheel of his big yellow rig and powered out to the middle of a field, where a rusting hulk of a jet rested on its stomach, its fuselage punctured many times with holes. Muñoz maneuvered the “Snozzle” — a long, metal contraption that can extend 50 feet — until the end of it, with a loud tap, cut another hole in the plane. (Not a hard job: Puncturing aircraft skin is “like going through an aluminum can,” says Bennett. Ponder that the next time you’re 30,000 feet up.) The tip disappeared inside the hole and — with a huge belch of black smoke from the diesel engine — the fire truck spewed a forceful stream of water (750 gallons per minute, to be exact) into the cockpit.
Usually the four trucks spew foam, says Capt. H.M. Keilers, the main guy in charge. Sometimes in training, the men (and it’s all males right now on the 25-person crew) don their silver firefighting suits, which look like hazardous materials garb.
“You roast like you’re a baked potato,” jokes firefighter Robert Hardenstine
The work is considered highly dangerous. Not surprisingly, it draws a special kind of firefighter. Many ARFs are former military; some are pilots. All have some sort of background in aviation. Some, like firefighter Roy Wilson, are structural mechanics.
“I put both things I loved together,” he says. “I just love this environment. I feel comfortable here.”
All the men worked at standard fire stations first. There is a rigorous interview process and the job is considered a plum assignment: A long waiting list exists, says Hardenstine. In addition to regular firefighter training, ARFs go through an initial three-week academy for specialized training, as well as annual “live burn” training at Texas A&M University in College Station. They also work in tandem with city emergency services in regular worst-case scenario simulations.
But even though nearby fire stations and EMS serve as back-up, the initial rescue is solely their job.
“What we do in the first few minutes before they can get there makes the difference between saving lives and not saving lives,” says Bennett.
Reliability is paramount. The shifts are manned by only eight personnel — six at the minimum — and if there aren’t enough firefighters on hand the “entire airport shuts down,” says Candelario.
Aircraft fires — and there have been a number of small, private aircraft crashes in recent years — aren’t the only tasks the firefighters handle. The FAOs respond in their paramedic role to emergencies in the airport terminal — sick fliers, heart attacks and the like. They also do fueling machine inspections, inspect the brakes on aircraft and make sure construction at the terminal is up to par fire safety-wise.
Terrorism has added another layer to their training, says Bennett.
But there’s still plenty of time for camaraderie among the men, who work 24-hour shifts with 48 hours off in between. A strong brotherhood exists among the firefighters, says Hardenstine.
“It’s like being married to these guys,” he says. “Everyone has their quirk.”
When they’re not training or studying for promotions to the next rank, the men relax in a large living area with a big-screen TV (which they pooled their money to buy) opposite a host of recliners and a couch. There’s a deluxe weight room upstairs and a dorm with beds made private with curtains.
And they eat very well, says Hardenstine, the superb chef among them. Still, everyone knows that — should the unthinkable happen — they must be at the ready.
“We kid each other a lot, but when the alert comes in, it’s always serious business,” says Hardenstine.