Fire and Trust

"Whether in business or firefighting, trust in your colleagues and superiors is essential. In the latter, however, that trust isn't just important—it can mean the difference between life and death, as I learned firsthand."

We were called to a five-story mansion engulfed in flames. By the time we arrived, fire was tearing through the roof, and the top-floor windows had shattered from the heat.

The adrenaline rush in those moments is indescribable. You brace yourself for the hours ahead, knowing that each decision could mean life or death.

I was assigned as No. 3 on the fire engine—the hose operator who enters the building alongside the chief. That night, my chief was a senior sergeant. Fresh out of the academy, I had been drilled on the importance of personal protective gear, compressed air masks, and safety procedures. But the older generation had a different mentality: toughness was measured by how much smoke you could inhale before stumbling out coughing. Many of them didn’t live long enough to enjoy retirement.

As I suited up, the chief urged me to skip the air protection gear and go in immediately with him—no mask, no oxygen. I refused.

We pulled in a high-capacity hose, a beast so powerful it takes two people to control. Entering the burning hallway, I took the lead, attacking the fire, while the chief backed me up, steadying my position and pulling in the heavy hose. Flames devoured every combustible surface, fireballs rolled violently across the ceiling, and my heart pounded—half from exertion, half from adrenaline.

Then, just a few minutes in, I felt my partner pull back. He signaled that he couldn’t take the heat and smoke any longer—he was getting out.

And just like that, I was alone.

Pinned against the wall, I gripped the hose with everything I had, fighting both the fire and the overwhelming pressure of the water. There was barely any room to maneuver, and I could feel the heat closing in.

Then, I heard a deep, rumbling noise from the stairwell at the end of the hall. I knew instantly what was happening.

The top-floor staircase had collapsed, crashing down onto the fourth floor and taking the entire stairwell with it. A blast of heat and fire surged through the hallway—straight toward me.

Instinct took over. I threw myself to the ground, face-down in the water, just as the fireball roared past, shooting out through the front entrance.

From outside, my colleagues feared the worst. They rushed in, expecting disaster. But thanks to that split-second reflex, I was unharmed.

And the chief? He carried on as if nothing had happened.

My Key learnings:?

Looking back, I see parallels between that night and my experiences in business.

Dear to speak up

When someone puts the team at risk, speak up. Calling out a colleague or superior isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. I should have refused to enter the fire with someone unwilling to follow safety protocols. In business, if a leader is making reckless decisions, staying silent can be just as dangerous.

Lead by example:?

Leadership isn’t about barking orders from a safe distance. It’s about stepping into the flames—literally and figuratively—alongside your team. A leader’s actions set the tone for the entire operation. If the leader cuts corners, ignores safety protocols, or puts personal pride above the team’s well-being, that mentality spreads like wildfire. And when things go wrong, it’s the people on the front lines who pay the price.

Be prepared?

When the heat is on, make sure your team is prepared. In a crisis—whether in firefighting or business—everyone needs to be properly equipped. You can’t face the flames alone and expect to come out unscathed.

Fire teaches you a lot about trust. About leadership. About survival.

And most importantly, about knowing when to stand your ground.