Foreword

The life of a firefighter is fraught with danger. Our first responders recognize and accept this risk, willingly walking into dangerous situations to save lives. This story explores the very real potential for permanent injury that exists in such a high-risk job. Please be aware that if you struggle with the idea of permanent injury to a beloved main character, this might not be the best story for you.

This story, which takes place in 1983 – 1984, continues the cycle I started in The Gift (set 1976) and continued in Christmas Eve Gift (also 1976), Legends and Light (1979), and Stirring the Ashes of Memory (1982). The stories can be read independently, but for context, it is useful to read them in chronological order.

Some readers may recognize Andrew Carter and Peter Newkirk from the show Hogan's Heroes. My version of Roy DeSoto appears in katbybee's HH fanfic, Three Ring Circus, which details her version of what could have happened to several of the HH boys years after Stalag 13, during the Vietnam War; in their time together, Roy developed a close friendship with these characters that would certainly bring them to his side in a crisis, and so it makes sense to bring them in here. I make no claims to ownership of the original HH characters (that belongs to Albert Ruddy and the Estate of Bernard Fein), nor to katbybee's storylines and her original character Taffy (he's one of my favorites, though, and I sure wouldn't mind keeping him, but I couldn't write him half as well as kat can!). Taffy also makes an appearance in Christmas Eve's Gift. Be on the lookout for more stories involving Roy and his friends from Hogan's Heroes!

I likewise make no claim of ownership to the characters of the original Emergency show, created by Harold Jack Bloom and R. A. Cinader, but as long as they keep talking in my head, I'm going to keep taking dictation!

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Author's Note: Thank you to my beta readers for their feedback and constant encouragement. I have never met you ladies in person, but I love and pray for you both daily! Your support means the world to me! Special kudos goes to katbybee for coming up with my title and writing the description for me when I was stuck! And to all those who follow my work and leave reviews, thank you as well!

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Chapter 1

Friday, September 9, 1983, started like any other day. Captain Roy DeSoto stepped into Station 51 bright and early that morning, never imagining that by the end of the day his life would hang in the balance. 51 was no longer his station, but he had traded shifts with Mike Stoker. The 9th was the birthday of the Stoker twins, and Mike had asked Roy to trade shifts so he could be home to celebrate with them. With Marco Lopez subbing for Mike's engineer, it almost felt like old times. Of course, when Mike's junior paramedic arrived, Roy couldn't help feeling old. Matthew Carter hadn't even been born when Roy was a POW in 'Nam with his grandfather, Andrew Carter.

All told, it was a quiet day… just a couple of trash fires. The paramedics were called out more than the engine, but their calls were minor and they enjoyed an uninterrupted lunch. Marco managed a nap in the afternoon. By the time the klaxon sounded for an apartment fire, around 19:00, the men were getting antsy for a little action. Roy knew it was a big one — the klaxon practically vibrated off the wall as it sounded the tones to call four different stations to the scene.

As always, Roy stepped out to the engine bay and acknowledged the call, passed the address slip to the paramedics, then climbed into the engine and settled himself in the captain's seat. Lopez slipped into his seat behind the wheel and they were off.

By the time they reached the scene of the fire, Station 36 was already there. Battalion Chief Stanley had taken charge, with 36's captain directing operations. Roy told his men to don their SCBA while he headed over to Stanley to receive instructions.

"DeSoto," Stanley said, all business from the get-go. "We need your whole team inside on this one, searching for victims. First and fourth floors are cleared… 10's is sweeping the second now. You'll take the third. Lead your men around to the northwest entrance and head up. Sweep those rooms as quick as you can and report back here. And Roy… be careful."

Roy grinned. As much as he loved his work as a captain, he missed the thrill of active involvement in a rescue, rather than simply directing it from the sidelines. He saluted. "Yes Sir, Chief!"

He pulled on his own SCBA and jogged back to the engine. "Northwest entrance, men. Follow me! We're sweeping the third floor. Move fast but be thorough. Lopez, you're with us on this one."

With that, he headed toward the building. In the weeks that followed, after the day had fled from his memory and he tried to piece it together with the accounts that his friends gave him, he wondered whether he sensed what was to come… whether he had some notion that this might be his last rescue, that his life was about to change irrevocably.

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Johnny rinsed and dried the last of the dinner dishes and stacked them in the cabinet, then trudged out to the living room to find Nita glowering on the sofa, sitting straight as a poker, her eyes blazing, her arms crossed over her chest. His heart quickened at the sight. Damn, but she's beautiful when she's angry.

She was looking down and didn't notice him standing in the door frame gazing at her; he took advantage of the moment to strategize before approaching. Not that he thought it would do much good… strategies were most effective when you could count on the person you were using them on to be predictable. Lately, Nita's moods had been anything but. Johnny knew why, and he didn't begrudge her. But it sure made it harder to figure out what he should do when the thing that made her happy one day made her spit fire the next.

Finally, he nodded to himself and, resolved to do the one thing he knew (well, hoped) would work, he walked on into the room, angling to stay out of his wife's line of sight. Just before he reached the sofa, the floorboards creaked under his feet, giving him away. Nita glared at him but didn't duck away when he slid his lanky frame into the space next to her and began gently massaging her neck.

"I'm sorry," he said, punctuating the words with a kiss to her left earlobe. She didn't answer but turned so he could more easily get to her back. He felt a knotted muscle just under her left shoulder blade and focused his attention on it.

He could feel the tension flowing out of her as he continued the massage. After a few minutes, she leaned against him, the fire quenched for now. He stroked her raven-black hair with one hand while the other moved to her abdomen. She was just beginning to show, and Johnny couldn't help imagining what the baby would look like, but he didn't say anything. He figured he would keep quiet and let her talk when she was ready.

When she did, her voice was just above a whisper. "I am not a china doll. I can wash the dishes. I can clean the house. I have been doing it since I was a child."

"I know." Johnny brushed her hair aside so that he could kiss her neck. His thoughts flashed back to the advice her Uncle Willis had given him the day after the wedding, as they sat around the kitchen table just the next room over.

"Fighting is a part of the game of marriage, Son… but so is making up…" Willis had said. And then he'd waggled an eyebrow and grinned. "In fact, it can be the best part of all, if you do it right!" At that, Meli, his wife of 40 years, had blushed and swatted him with a dishtowel. A moment later, the two were kissing, oblivious to their audience.

Johnny caught in a deep breath. Yeah, that advice was right on the money, and he intended to draw out this session of making up as long as he could. "You just looked tired… I thought I'd give you a break. Next time I'll ask first, instead of telling you. Or we can do the work together. Deal?"

She puffed out a breath of air, then looked up at him. Her eyes were softer now, regretful. "Deal. And… forgive me? I don't know why I get so mad… I mean, I should be grateful my husband is so helpful!" Her eyes brimmed with tears as her emotions threatened to get the better of her again.

Johnny bent to kiss her forehead again and patted on her tummy. "I believe our little souvenir from France has something to do with that, Madame. From what Roy tells me, fluctuating emotions are totally normal. Don't worry… there is nothing to forgive." He knew better than to quote Roy verbatim, but the memory of his friend sneaking into the station one morning when Jo was expecting DJ, looking like a scared dog with its tail between its legs, made it hard for him to suppress a smile.

Roy had said, "I'm tellin' ya, Junior… I'm not sure I can survive another six months on this roller coaster!" At moments like this, Johnny had hopes of making it, but he was pretty sure he had looked just like that scared dog not twenty minutes ago when Nita was raging at him. He kissed her again, then gently thumbed away a tear as it slipped down her cheek.

Nita captured his hand in hers and kissed it as she rested her head in his lap and closed her eyes. A moment later, she was sound asleep. Johnny smiled down at her. He planted one more kiss on her forehead and then settled back in his spot and closed his own eyes. He'd spent a long day making repairs in the stable, and he was as tired as his wife. Might as well have a snooze here on the sofa before heading up to bed and enjoying… well… more making up.

Johnny wasn't sure how long he had been asleep before the phone jolted him out awake. Nita slept through it, but his mind and body were well trained to awaken at a moment's notice. Taking care not to jostle his contented wife, Johnny stretched an arm to pick up the handset of the phone on the end table. "Hello?"

A moment later, pale and shaken, he hung up the receiver. "Nita, honey…" He shook her gently to wake her. "We need to hurry. Roy was caught in a building collapse about an hour ago. They haven't got him out yet… they're not even really sure where he is. I'm taking you to sit with Jo and the kids, and then I'm going to go help search."

In the months since their wedding, Nita had taken on the role of a fire captain's wife with grace. When his lineman Sam Goldstein had been badly burned a month ago, Nita had sat with his wife in the hospital waiting room, offering comfort and support; that evening, she was on the phone coordinating meals with the other wives so that Ruth wouldn't have to worry about feeding her family while Sam was in the hospital. The Gages had already hosted the men and their families at the ranch several times, and Nita had formed fast friendships with JoAnne DeSoto and Emily Stanley. Johnny knew without asking that she would want to be there for Jo now.

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A scant 45 minutes later, with a prayer of thanks that he'd managed to avoid a speeding ticket, Johnny parked his Jeep Honcho behind 51's engine. He pulled his spare turnouts, gloves, and boots from under the back seat and suited up, then, with a nod to Vince at the perimeter, he pushed past the gathering crowd and hurried towards Chief Stanley, who didn't look at all surprised to see him. Beyond Chief, smoke rose from a pile of rubble. If Roy was in that… Johnny swallowed the lump in his throat and tried not to let his hope fade. God… help him. "What's the story, Chief?" He would waste no time with small talk. "Have you been able to raise him on the handie-talkie?"

Stanley lifted a hand in greeting. "Roy was inside on a sweep of the third floor when we sounded the all-clear. He handed a kid off to Lopez and went back… Lopez thinks he heard someone calling for help and… well… you know Roy. Next thing we know, he's at the window handing not one, but two kids to Carter and Bowman. But before he could climb out, the floor gave way and he fell.

"Bowman saw it happen… tried to grab him… but he couldn't move fast enough. He heard the building groan and had to scramble to get that last kid down before the whole thing went. That was almost two hours ago… we haven't been able to get Roy on the HT, and the best we can figure is, he ended up in the basement. We —" His voice broke off mid-sentence. Johnny had already turned away and was headed toward the building, but Stanley grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. "Gage… I'm not supposed to send anyone in until the site is shored up and stabilized. It's too dangerous."

"You're not sending me." Johnny pulled his arm free from Stanley's grasp. "I'm going."

"You don't understand, John." The chief's voice cracked with exhaustion and concern, then softened. "I can't let you go. At this point… it's considered a recovery, not a rescue. We don't want to put anyone else at risk."

Stanley moved to block his way, but Gage pushed past him, his voice low and full of challenge. "Try and stop me."

A minute later, Johnny felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Chet Kelly drawing up beside him. Chet was off today, but like Johnny, he was all geared up. "The Phantom can't let his favorite pigeon go in there alone." A moment later, both Marco and Mike had joined them as well.

Before they reached the ruins, Chief Stanley himself strode resolutely alongside his men, his steely gaze fixed with Johnny's on the charred and smoking remains of the apartment building, his jaw set in grim determination. Johnny glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. "It could be awful dangerous in there, Chief. You sure about this?"

Stanley shook his head. "Nope… but someone has to keep you twits out of trouble." He clapped Johnny on the shoulder. "To tell the truth, Gage… I had to say those things, but I sure hoped you wouldn't listen. Now let's go get Roy."

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The search took six long and frustrating hours and the participation of many more brothers in addition to 51's old A Shift crew. The fire department would not officially encourage the search but stopped actively discouraging it when it one man after another joined the effort despite the danger. Johnny found Roy's helmet and HT amid the rubble of the first floor sometime around midnight, but Roy wasn't with them. The department couldn't bring heavy machinery onto an unstable site, so searchers shifted debris by hand until they discovered where another hole had opened to the basement. Undeterred by the danger, several of the men — including Johnny — descended into the dark, smoky pit.

At last, around three in the morning, the beam of Johnny's flashlight glinted off something shiny that seemed different from the broken, twisted skeleton of the building. He elbowed Matthew Carter, who had partnered with him in the search, and motioned toward the patch of light. "There… I think we've found him! Yeah… the light reflected on his watchband!"

Johnny quickly appraised the scene while Carter whipped out his HT to inform the others. "Chief, we've found Captain DeSoto at the northeast corner of the basement. We'll need the drug box and the biophone, a backboard, a C-collar, and a Stokes… and hands to help dig him out!"

The pair moved carefully, mindful of each step. They didn't want to cause any more damage to Roy than may have already been done. Roy was almost completely covered — if not for his watch, they might never have seen him. While Matthew worked to clear away debris and check for an airway, Johnny gently wrapped his fingers around Roy's wrist. All the while, he willed his friend to say something, to sit up and brush himself off and insist he was fine. "C'mon, Pally," he muttered, "you've gotta give me somethin' to work with!" At last, he felt it… a pulse. It was weak and thready, but it was there. A relieved grin stretched its way across his features. "A'right, well that's more like it!" He looked up to see how Matthew was doing. "Airway clear?"

"Yessir, Cap." Matthew didn't look up. Instead, he kept busy moving debris. Johnny joined him. By the time the others arrived to help, they had their friend free from the waist up and Matthew had cut away his dusty, sooty clothes. It would take more work to free him from the waist down. A heavy beam lay across his lower legs, pinning him. Johnny dreaded what they would find when they finally managed to remove it. His mind worked through the possibilities as he carefully fitted the c-collar in place. Crush injuries, definitely… compartment syndrome by now… and all sorts of dangers when we lift that beam and restore circulation. God, we need a miracle here… another one, I mean. The fact that he's even breathing right now is a miracle in itself…

"Dig him out," he instructed, easily taking charge of the situation, "but don't lift that beam." He knew he should probably move aside and let Bowman — the senior partner in 51's C-shift paramedic team — take over the paramedic work, but he needed to be here, taking care of his best friend… his brother. He thought Bowman understood — the man seemed content to move rubble for now. "Crush syndrome is a possibility… which means he could crash after extrication."

While Johnny catalogued Roy's injuries, Matthew took his blood pressure and evaluated his respirations. Johnny opened the biophone and connected to Rampart. After relaying the vitals, he reported on the injuries he could see so far. "He is unconscious, no response to painful stimuli. There is a head injury. His lower extremities are pinned by a beam. Broken left radius and ulna, closed but with displacement. Numerous abrasions above the waist, but none that I can see look serious. We cannot yet assess below the knees, but he has probable crush injuries from a heavy steel beam."

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At Rampart, Kel Brackett's upper lip twitched with concern. Technically he was off-duty. He'd just been ready to leave when word came of the apartment fire the previous evening, and he had stayed. For a while, Rampart Emergency had been kept hopping with burn and smoke inhalation victims.

Then the apartment building collapsed. A few more victims were rescued before the site was deemed too unstable to allow for any further efforts. But Roy was still missing, and so Kel had stayed even after things quieted down, grabbing what little shut-eye he could on the couch in his office. He had known that the firefighters wouldn't hold back their search for a brother for long, and he intended to be there when Roy came in.

Dixie had stayed as well. She claimed she could sleep on the sofa in the nurse's lounge just as easily as she could at home, but Kel doubted she managed to doze any more than he did. He glanced over at his head nurse, who stood nearby, listening. Dixie was as good as they come… she knew precisely what was at stake.

"Acknowledged, 51." He motioned to Dix to prepare his kit. She knew exactly what he needed without him having to say a word, and she set about gathering supplies. "Do not extricate at this time. I will come to your location. Put him on high flow oxygen and start an IV of normal saline, one liter per hour. Send us a strip. Dr. Early will take over here."

"Acknowledged, Rampart."

Joe had just stepped out of Treatment 1 and was standing in the hall near the nurses' station. Kel rapped on the window to get his attention and beckoned him in. "It's Roy, Joe. They've found him. Sounds bad. They're setting up to send us a strip. I'm headed over there. I need you to stay here on the phone and work with Johnny until I arrive. Carol can call Paulsen down from Cardiac if there's a need."

"I'm going with you, Kel." Dixie stood at the door, Brackett's bag and the field amputation kit at the ready. She held the bag out to him and shouldered the kit.

"Dix..." He could see the dark circles under her eyes and knew she hadn't slept a wink.

"Don't argue with me, Kel. Roy is one of my boys, always will be." She gave him that glare that always made him wonder who was really in charge of Rampart Emergency. Hell… he didn't have to wonder. Dixie was in charge, from beginning to end.

As Johnny's voice came across the wires again, saying "Rampart, this will be lead one," Kel moved past her without another word. Dixie matched him pace for pace down the hall to the ambulance bay.

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Brackett picked his way carefully through the rubble, his natural caution warring with his knowledge that even a few minutes might make the difference between life and death for Roy. His right hand kept a firm but gentle hold on Dixie's elbow, out of concern that she might stumble. The acrid smell of smoke tickled his nostrils. His first thought when he saw the ruins of the Sunny Estates apartment building was that it looked like a war zone.

As he was ushered past the cluster of fire chiefs and policemen before being lowered into this dark pit, he'd overheard the grim statement, "Looks like arson." Five had died… many more were injured… everyone living here had lost pretty much everything. And then there was Roy… Kel hoped he would make it, that the "five" would not have to be revised up to "six." The very thought made his blood boil. How anyone could find satisfaction in taking people's lives, destroying their homes and possessions, was beyond him.

Their guide led them through the rubble to the northeast corner of the basement. Several high-powered lights had been brought in to illuminate the scene. Bowman and Carter were bending over Roy's prone form; Chief Stanley and Chet Kelly had a tight grip on Johnny.

"Let me go!" Gage insisted as he struggled to pull away. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch!"

Kel wondered what the problem was, but then he spotted a flash of red as Johnny wrenched an arm from Chet's grasp and put his hand to his chest. "Just a scratch, huh?" He stepped in and grabbed Johnny's hand. A long, deep cut crossed his palm. "You're out of this rescue, hose jockey. Probably damaged a flexor tendon. You are going to let Dixie take care of you while I work on Roy. But if you cooperate, I won't make you go to the hospital until he goes. No arguments."

Johnny opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again. Kel watched as all the fight seemed to drain out of him. "Fine. Just… take care of Roy." And he allowed Dixie to lead him away.

Kel checked Roy's head injury, then moved around and knelt at his feet. The paramedics had managed to cut away his boots and socks. One look at the mangled right foot was enough to convince Kel that it was too late to save the limb, but he still palpated for a pulse. Nothing. For the moment, the weight of the beam was keeping blood loss to a minimum, but once it was removed, Roy could easily bleed out. And even if he could stop that quickly enough, Kel knew that the damaged cells had released toxins that would destroy Roy's kidneys and possibly trigger a fatal cardiac arrest the moment circulation was restored… unless he took the leg first. He moved his attention to Roy's left leg, which thankfully had good color and little swelling, as well as a strong pulse. From what he could see, the beam had fallen on an angle, sparing the left leg from any serious injury.

"Bowman," he said softly as he moved around to Roy's right side. "I need the amputation kit." He nodded his chin toward where Dixie had set his supplies. "Then you go take over with Gage and send Dixie to me."

"Yessir." Bowman scrambled to do as Brackett had asked.

As Dixie settled in across from Kel and slipped her hands into a pair of surgical gloves, the doctor looked to Matthew. "I need you to keep an eye on his vitals. Dix, tourniquet."

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Johnny watched in horror as Dixie set up the field amputation kit and then passed a tourniquet to Brackett. The sight of the Gigli saw made his blood run cold. "Doc," he pleaded, pushing past Bowman. "Are you sure?"

Kel finished tightening the tourniquet just above the knee, then looked up at him. Johnny could see the regret in his eyes and knew he hadn't come easily to this decision. "I don't have a choice, John. It's his leg or his life — and even then, it… doesn't look good."

At that, Johnny's shoulders sagged, and he nodded wearily. He knew that Brackett understood exactly what this meant for Roy. "Can you at least save the knee?" His voice cracked with exhaustion.

Kel sighed but looked back up at Johnny with a tight smile. "I'll do my best for him, John… you know I will."

While Brackett worked, Chief Stanley moved to stand beside Johnny and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Johnny could barely stomach what he was seeing, but he couldn't turn away either. When Brackett made his first cut into the leg several inches below the knee, he turned a pale shade of green; when the doc unwrapped the wire saw, Johnny finally pulled away from Stanley and Bowman and moved to the edge of the ring of light, where he bent double and vomited.

Chet Kelly, pale as a ghost, sat to the side on a large chunk of cement, his head in his hands, unable to watch. Marco stood by with his head bowed in prayer as he rubbed at his St. Florian medal. Mike separated himself from the others and watched wordlessly, his face pale, tears pooling in his eyes. Well, almost wordlessly. At one point, Johnny could have sworn he heard the taciturn man mutter, "It should've been me."

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The rescuers climbing up from the pit wore exhaustion and sorrow rather than triumph on their faces. They walked with shoulders slumped and heads bowed. Those who had remained above — waiting, hoping, praying — watched silently as Roy was lifted up on the Stokes. Covered as he was with a bright yellow emergency blanket, his loss of a leg was not readily apparent, but word had filtered up and spread from man to man. Most everyone knew of Roy DeSoto. To some, he was a beloved captain, known as a man of integrity and compassion, even-handed and willing to work as hard as his men. Even those who did not know him personally carried a deep respect for this pioneer of paramedicine. The few who did not know his name still recognized him as a brother firefighter, one who had sweated and labored shoulder to shoulder with them and now had paid a high price for his dedication. Though he was unconscious and unaware, every one of them — from battalion chief down to the newest boot — stood at attention as the stretcher was carried past them to the waiting ambulance. Some men crossed themselves, others simply lowered their eyes, but to a man, they all offered their prayers for his survival.