Marko has been commander for twenty-one years. On Friday, he hands over.

On the desk in front of him sits a notebook. The cover is worn, the pages yellowed, some stained with coffee, some with rain. On the front, one word: “Department.”

Ante, the incoming commander, sits across from him. Marko slides the notebook over.

“Everything’s in there,” he says. “Mostly.”

What’s in the notebook

Ante opens it that evening.

The first pages are phone numbers. A hose supplier who delivers faster than their catalogue lead time. The technician who services Dräger breathing apparatus but doesn’t answer email — you have to call, and only in the morning. A contact at the insurance company who knows how to expedite a policy for fire vehicles.

Then, notes about vehicles. The water tanker — an Iveco Eurocargo, 2018 model — pulls slightly left when the tank is full. Josip inspected it last autumn, said it was within tolerance, but should be monitored. Attack truck 2, a MAN TGL, its third gear sticks in cold weather — never shut the engine off on scene in winter, because it won’t start easily.

A page titled “Hydrants” — a list of locations with annotations. The hydrant by the school hasn’t worked since 2019, reported to the water utility twice, no response. In Grabova Draga, water pressure drops in summer — always go with a full tanker.

A page labelled “Equipment — notes.” Breathing apparatus IZA-001, the valve stiffens — Ivan disassembled and lubricated it, but a replacement valve should be ordered before the next service. Holmatro rescue shears, serial ALA-001, functional, but the hydraulic hose shows visible wear at 30 cm from the coupling — monitor, don’t wait for it to fail.

And then, between the lines, small notes that only Marko fully understands. A cryptic abbreviation next to one firefighter’s name. “Cert expired — renewal agreed for March” next to another. Shorthand that made perfect sense to the person who wrote it.

What’s not in the notebook

Ante closes it and realises: this is extraordinary. And insufficient.

Because the notebook contains records, but not connections. It says the tanker pulls left — but not the date Josip inspected it, what exactly he measured, or whether “within tolerance” was Josip’s judgement call or a certified finding. It says to order a valve for the Dräger — but not which valve, from which supplier, or how much it costs.

And some things aren’t written down at all. Which firefighters Marko never put on the same shift — and why. Which back road to take when the seasonal route is impassable. What to do when Marko’s phone goes to voicemail at 3 AM — call Ivan, he lives next door and has a key.

Twenty years of operational knowledge. Mistakes, lessons, exceptions, context. Some of it is in the notebook. Some is in Marko’s head. Some can never be written down. But most of it can — it just never was.

A person instead of a system

Every department has its Marko. The person who knows everything, remembers everything, resolves everything. And it all works beautifully — until that person goes on holiday, falls ill, or hands over command.

That’s when the department discovers it didn’t have a system. It had a person.

This isn’t criticism. Marko was an excellent commander, and the notebook is proof of dedicated service. But one person’s memory isn’t searchable. It isn’t accessible at 3 AM when something unexpected happens. It isn’t resilient against fatigue, illness, or the simple fact that someone might one day say: I’ve earned my rest.

When the key person leaves, the department doesn’t just lose knowledge. It loses context. And context is what turns data into decisions.

Knowledge as equipment

When we think about a fire department’s equipment, we think of vehicles, hoses, breathing apparatus. Every vehicle has a service log. Every piece of equipment has a next-inspection date. Every helmet has an inventory number.

But operational knowledge — who knows what, which exceptions to procedure exist, what’s specific about the local terrain — has none of that. It lives in a notebook. Or in someone’s head. Or nowhere.

A department that depends on one person for critical information has a single point of failure. Not because that person isn’t good — usually it’s the opposite, it’s the best person in the department. But because nobody should have to be irreplaceable for an organisation to function.

What Ante did

The following Saturday, Ante invited the senior members for coffee. He didn’t say “we’re doing digital transformation” — he said: “I don’t know half the things you know. Help me write it down.”

Ivan told everything about the Dräger. Josip explained the tanker issue in more detail than had ever been recorded. Tomislav listed alternate routes to six villages Ante didn’t even know about.

The result wasn’t a perfect system. The result was a beginning — shared knowledge that no longer depended on any single person.

Marko’s notebook still sits on a shelf in the commander’s office. Ante opens it sometimes. But the most important thing in it is no longer the data — that’s accessible to everyone now. The most important thing is the reminder: one day, he too will hand over command. The only question is whether he’ll hand over a notebook, or something better.