It's 3:00 am. The alarm rings. Men and women throughout the country hastily wake up from their slumbers and private residence alike. For the average person, a full night's sleep is a luxury.
For these people, it's a call to work that they must take, both out of contractual obligation and, more importantly, moral conviction. Their duty means no guaranteed rest. Their duty is one for their fellow man. They are firefighters, the last hope standing between nature's ultimate wrath and their fellow man.
They suit up, head straight to the truck, mount up, hit sirens and move. Their mission isn't planned. It's one of improvisation. It's a fight for time. They've prepared themselves physically and mentally for the hardships to come. They understand that when the truck pulls up and they dismount, the sight of a burning building could be their last clear sight in their life. Then they move in. It becomes a fight against time.
The fire doesn't surrender with a white flag. The fire doesn't negotiate. The fire doesn't reason or have a cause. Its sole purpose is to destroy and kill. That's when the firefighter arrives. The last beacon of hope when the elements have the living backed up against the elements. That's when they thrive. They thrive when it's time to face the most evil elements on earth. The only thing they can say when people are in danger and everything is on the line: I intend to go into harm's way.