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Gainesville firefighters help save 16 in Haiti
Firefighters are just built different, mentally and physically, than average people.
When others flee burning buildings, they charge in full-speed ahead. When vehicles collide, they rush to the scene.
After a number of years, it's reasonable to think their nerves harden and a joke or two can keep shield them from the painful reality unraveling before their eyes daily.
Yet they are human, and every human has a breaking point.
For Lt. Mark Fernandez, a father and husband in Gainesville, it's kids.
"I hope and pray I never run a child call for the rest of my career. I hate kid calls," said Fernandez.
Last Thursday, he and three other Gainesville firefighters returned from a mission to Haiti where they helped rescue 16 earthquake victims trapped inside rubble over a 14-day period.
Fernandez, Rodney Vaughan, Paul Ruwe and Mike Davis are all members are the Virginia Task Force 1, an urban search and rescue team that travels to other countries when disasters strike.
Fernandez had been back in Virginia for almost exactly 24 hours before he told his story.
Answering the call
About 10 years ago, Fernandez and Davis met while working at Fire Station 30 in Merrifield. Davis sparked Fernandez's interest in joining the VATF-1 rescue squad, which he can do while working for Penn Daw Station 11.
On Jan. 12, Fernandez and his wife Diane, a teacher at Glenkirk Elementary School, were cleaning up their kitchen and watching the evening news. The top story: a 7.0 magnitude earthquake had struck in Haiti.
Within no time, he received a text message telling him that his unit needed to prepare for mobilization.
"That means, 'Get your gear ready, we're going somewhere," Fernandez said.
He ran upstairs, put on his uniform, hugged and kissed his family, and went out the door.
All VAFT-1 firefighters not working that day were required to report to the local academy.
"You never really know if you're going. It depends on who shows up, what size team shows up. You kind of hope that you go because you want to do your part," said Fernandez.
After a lot of "hurry up and wait," orders came down that he had been among the chosen to go to Haiti as part of the first "heavy" team, which consisted of fire personnel, structural engineers, doctors, K-9 specialists and others.
They reported to Dulles International Airport, bypassed security, boarded a plane to Port-au-Prince and arrived four hours later in a whole new climate.
Oblivion
Riding in 15-seater passenger vans, the crews headed out from the airport to the U.S. Embassy and then to the city.
At first Fernandez attempted to sleep on the ride, but it became a mission impossible. All along the road, buildings "were reduced to rubble." Fire blazed through those that were left.
"You just see people asking for help. You see dead bodies along the side of the road," he said. "It's unbelievable what you're seeing."
Even in the most trying of circumstances, firefighters have to put on their game faces and get to work. That means blocking out feelings or emotions that could distract them for doing their jobs. It's mission critical.
Before dawn, Fernandez's eight-person crew reached its first stop where they were to relieve another rescue squad working on freeing a woman trapped behind 10-15 feet of packed soil in what looked like the remains of a hotel tavern.
Sawing through wood, hacking away at concrete, the rescuers busted through pounds of debris for 22 hours to save one woman. She was the only one left alive inside.
Lines formed. The lead rescuer would request an object and team members set up a line of communication "like the old bucket brigade." A local translator helped by speaking Haitian Creole to the victim.
Finally, they breached the hole and with a back board lowered in, rescuers secured the middle-aged woman and brought her to safety. Immediately, she received oxygen and IVs.
At that point, "it's just jubilation," he said.
For the first couple of days, reports kept coming in about live victims trapped throughout the scorching area.
"It was so hot, you just (tried) to find a shady spot where you just put your head in your hands for a bit and get what you could," Fernandez said.
The Northern Virginia crews passed lines of what used to be two-to-three story buildings collapsed into a single mound of debris, pancaked on top of each other.
Around those crumbled walls, death sprung eternal.
"I don't have anything even close" to compare, he said of the smell. "I don't have anything close."
Human decay reeks like no other. Temperatures reaching into the 90s made the stench that much worse. Fernandez described what could easily have been mistaken for a war zone.
"Some of the people are intact. Their bodies may be contorted in different positions," he said. "Crushed... it wasn't natural to see people in that condition."
Triumph
Coping with carnage became easier over time for the Virginians.
"I'll be honest with you: the first day, maybe day-and-a-half, it was heavy on your mind. You knew what it was, so it affected you so much more. After a day-and-a-half, you're just kind of like, 'I know what it is, but I'm here to do a job,'" said Fernandez.
No matter where they went, crowds gathered. Some offered help carrying equipment. Others, like an English-speaking 20-something local firefighter at a demolished university, dove head-first into the holes of rubble to relieve the worn-out firefighters.
"They knew why we were there. One time we pulled a person out of a building and they just went crazy. Cheer and applause," recounted Fernandez. "Just driving in the street, everyone (was) giving us thumbs up."
Survivors came out day after day, sometimes defying the odds of time. Even if they spoke no English, simply muttering the equivalent of a thank you was all they needed to do to express their gratitude.
"They're covered in concrete dust and sweat and blood," said Fernadnez. "And they're a mess."
Those that needed immediate help received nourishment, like the two men they pulled out of an elevator shaft. The rescue crews, however, had to hide their food and water from the crowds for fear that they'd be swarmed.
"We were of the mindset that if we gave out one bottle of water, hundreds of people are going to come," he said.
Tragedy
Storybook endings did not always happen. Once, Fernandez's crew drove three hours to a village only to come up completely empty-handed, forced to hit the road for another three hours back to base without a rescue.
Another time, Fernandez met a man who pulled his wife out of a structure about 5.5 hours after his crew arrived. As she waited for medical attention, the woman died in her husband's arms.
To compound matters, their infant cried inside the building. Rescuers tried to go in after the baby, but an aftershock shifted the building.
It just wasn't safe to operate in anymore.
"Our bosses said we're not going to risk our lives to retrieve a body," said Fernandez.
At that point, "you're upset. There's nothing you can do."
Homeward bound
During the two-week mission, the Virginia crew made national headlines, along with groups out of California and Florida. Seven out of eight members of Fernandez's group made it back relatively unscathed physically; one crew member broke her rib after falling onto a steel water pipe, but was treated on a naval comfort ship that had deployed to Haiti from Baltimore.
By last week, the Port-au-Prince airport was a zone for loading in supplies and transporting evacuees. The Virginians caught a plane back to Dulles from the Dominican Republic, arriving to a hero's welcome around 4 p.m. Thursday.
"You start doing some reflection. Did you do everything you could possibly do? Was there more that you could do? Did you miss anything? Did you screw anything up? And then you start wondering, what's it going to be like when I get home?" said Fernandez.
Fernandez's family greeted him at the Dulles terminal with smiles and tears, hugs and kisses.
"It was what you wanted it to be," he said. "It was perfect."
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