"Just A Co-incidence"
Chapter Two
Calls continued to come in to LA County Fire Station 51, at a rather alarming—and unrelenting—rate.
At 22:37 that evening, both trucks were toned out to assist 127's with their structure fire.
The structure on fire turned out to be an old grocery store in a run-down neighborhood. The rather dilapidated wooden-framed building was already a quarter involved.
Hank received his orders from the Incident Commander and he and his crew headed off to perform their assigned tasks. Stanley had been informed that their pump wasn't needed, which meant that all six of 51's firefighters were free to attack the blaze—and attack it they did!
Flickering flames illuminated the far end of the smoke-filled grocery aisle Stanley and Stoker were crawling along.
Suddenly, just up ahead of them, through a haze of smoke, and by the fire's dim glow, Station 51's Captain was able to discern the silhouetted outline of a body—a man's motionless body! Hank halted their line advancement and handed full hose control over to his second in command, freeing both of his gloved hands up to reach for, and thumb, his HT. "Engine 51 to Squad 51…" he spoke, as loudly as he could through the clear plastic shield of his facemask.
"Squad 51," Roy quickly came back, his voice also sounding muffled. "Go ahead, Cap…"
For a split second, Stanley was tempted to say, 'Victim in Aisle 6', but then thought better of it. "Gage, DeSoto, report to Aisle 6—on the double! We've got a man down here!"
"Roger that, Cap. Johnny and I are on our way."
Hank quickly re-thumbed the HT's call button. "Engine 51 to dispatch…"
"This is LA," the dispatcher came back. "Go ahead Engine 51…"
"LA, Engine 51. We're gonna need an ambulance at our location…"
"10-4, 51. Ambulance responding…"
The paramedics reached their Captain's position in under a minute.
In less than three, they had their victim lying outside on a drop sheet and were already contacting Rampart and administering oxygen.
Within fifteen minutes, the crews had the fire suppressed and were about to begin overhaul operations.
Stanley and Stoker were draining and retrieving hose lines. The two men suddenly straightened up and turned to one another, as the entire building began to 'crea-eak' and 'groa-oan'.
Some of the old wooden structure's fire-damaged support beams were failing. The rest of the wooden timbers were unable to bear the building's shifting weight. The whole store was about to come down on them like a house of cards!
The ominous sounds sparked all of the firefighters to action. The men dropped the hoses and pike poles from their hands and began racing towards the building's exits—at breakneck speed.
Stanley and Stoker were knocked to their knees, as something suddenly came crashing down from above, striking both men on the right side of their helmeted heads.
Station 51's paramedics heard an ominous rumble. They turned around just in time to see two of their crewmates being carried out of the collapsing store's front doors.
DeSoto tore a couple more drop sheets open and then quickly spread them out on the pavement.
"What happened?" Gage anxiously inquired, as the rescuers carefully lowered their burdens down onto the blankets.
"We don't know," one of the guys from 127's said.
"When we found 'em, they were lying beside a fallen beam," one of two guys from 12's volunteered.
Gage glanced up from his groggy, but conscious comrades. "Did it hit 'em?"
"You tell me," the other guy from 12's replied and promptly proffered his shiftmates' protective headgear.
John gazed up at the damaged equipment in disbelief. A thick, nylon strap had been popped from its mooring on his Captain's helmet, and there was a huge crack in the other's right front brim. Gage closed his gaping mouth and immediately went to work. He passed his partner a slip of paper containing victim two's vitals. "Mike, you hurtin' anywhere—besides the right side of your head?"
"No. This is silly," Stoker stated, as a cervical collar was carefully applied. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with my neck."
"It's just precautionary," Gage patiently explained. "Any blow forceful enough to break your helmet, is forceful enough to cause associated injury."
"I don't need that, either!" the engineer assured him, as a nasal canula was positioned and the O2 began to flow freely.
"It's just precautionary. If you do have any brain damage, the oxygen will minimize the swelling."
"What's that for?" Mike anxiously inquired, upon seeing the packet the paramedic was about to rip open. "I don't need an IV! It's just a little bump! I didn't even lose consciousness!"
"It's just precautionary. And it is not a little bump. You've got a goose egg on your right temple the size of a...goose egg," Gage summed up, suppressing a slight smile.
"Rampart's asking about victim two's level of consciousness..." Roy announced and handed over a list of written instructions, which his partner immediately began to carry out. "Any signs of confusion or abnormal behavior?"
"The patient is alert and coherent. Mike admits that he was momentarily dazed but claims he never actually lost consciousness. There, uh...does seem to be some confusion as to which one of us is the paramedic and which one of us is the patient, though...and the victim is abnormally talkative," John added, with another wry smile.
Mike managed a bashful grin.
The paramedic's partner passed along the pertinent information. Roy concluded his conversation with Nurse McCall. Then he shifted his weight and squinted off across the floodlit staging area. The pavement was awfully hard on the knees, and the floodlights were awfully hard on the eyes. Clements Supermarket didn't look so super anymore. The old, wooden-framed store had been reduced to a giant pile of rubble. "Dix says Dave Peddington's condition has been upgraded to guarded," he announced.
Every fireman within earshot rejoiced at that bit of good—er, great news.
Peddington, who worked out of 8's, had been caught in another building collapse earlier that very morning. It had been touch and go for their fellow firefighter all day and, for awhile, it didn't look like he was gonna make it.
With their second victim taken care of, and the good news declared, DeSoto returned his undivided attention to the fireman seated on the drop sheet beside him. "Why don't you just lie back and re—"
"—Where's Marco?" Hank demanded, noting that one of his crewmembers remained unaccounted for.
"We emptied all of our air bottles—even the ones off the Squad. He grabbed two and went off to see about gettin' 'em refilled," Roy replied and tried, once more, to get his uncooperative Captain to assume a horizontal position.
"I'm okay, Roy!" Stanley re-insisted and brushed the man's hands from his shoulders.
"It's just precautionary," Station 51's senior paramedic parroted. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to break a helmet strap, Cap?" he asked and dangled the broken bit of protective headgear up in front of his obstinate Superior's sweaty, soot-covered, concern-filled face.
Hank exhaled a resigned sigh and reluctantly reclined himself.
DeSoto suppressed a rather wry, sly smile of his own and began his IPS.
Their missing crewmate came jogging up just then, carrying a couple of freshly filled air cylinders. "What's going on?" he pondered, upon spying 51's grounded Captain and Engineer.
"Mikey and the Cap tried beaming themselves out of the building," Chet took liberties to explain. "Only, they used a real beam, instead of a transporter," he continued, amidst muffled chuckles. "Fortunately, Captains and Engineers are so hard-headed, they survived the ordeal. Unfortunately, their helmets are both history..." Kelly solemnly concluded, and held their lucky colleagues' damaged equipment up for Lopez to examine.
A thick, nylon strap had been popped from its mooring on one helmet, and there was a huge crack in the other's right front brim.
"I'd rather have a hard head than a thick skull," Stoker taunted right back. "Like some people I know..." he slyly added.
There followed another round of muffled chuckles.
"Good evening, gentlemen!" someone suddenly—and rather authoritatively—stated, above the purring of the portable generators that were illuminating their floodlights.
All eyes riveted in that someone's direction—and all jaws dropped!
The Los Angeles County Fire Department's new Chief Engineer was standing before them, basking in the gaudy glow of their floodlights.
The imposing figure was flanked, on both sides, by at least a half-dozen Battalion Chiefs.
"William Jenner," the Department's new 'head honcho' introduced with a warm smile and a wave. "As you were, Captain!" he strongly advised, upon seeing the crew's fire officer starting to rise. "51..." the chief Chief continued, noting the number on their helmets and the helmets in one of the fireman's hands. "We dropped by 51's earlier this evening. But nobody was home."
"These guys just saved my life!" the smoke inhalation victim from Aisle 6 suddenly blurted out, speaking from behind his oxygen mask.
"It seems it's been that kind of a shift," Jenner proudly replied. He'd taken the opportunity to look over 51's busy logbook. "Hopefully, they'll all be back saving lives again very shortly..."
"The hospital may want to keep our Engineer overnight for observation," Roy informed him. "But I'm fairly confident our Captain, here, will be cleared for duty, Chief."
"Great! Then the next time we meet you should all be vertical again." The head Fire Guy flashed them all another warm smile. "Carry on!" he gently urged. Then he—and his entourage—stepped back into the shadows and out of sight.
Well, the enigma of who THEY were was finally solved.
Which led to another, even bigger mystery. How on earth could Gage have possibly known THEY were coming?
"It's just one of those...inexplicable...quirky...fluky things," the seemingly clairvoyant paramedic explained, as he felt his fellow firefighters' stares suddenly settle upon him. "Every time the Squad gets a cancelled 'man down' call, the Station gets a visit from headquarters. Ev-er-y time. Without fail."
"That's pretty darn quirky, fluky, all right..." Kelly insincerely agreed. "I don't think Mikey's the one with the possible brain damage," he added, speaking softly—but not quite beneath his breath.
A third bout of stifled laughter ensued.
"Oh-oh shut up, Chet!" Gage grouched, but then was forced to grin.
Engine 51's skeleton crew of two was only 'in house' for a few minutes, when they heard the garage door start grinding open. They glanced up from the tabletop they'd been mindlessly studying and watched, rather wearily, as Roy backed the Squad into its spot in the parking bay.
Gage wasn't the only paramedic whose predictions were proving to be accurate, for their Captain had, indeed, been cleared for duty.
"They're keeping him overnight, just for observation," Hank announced, as he came into the rec' room, carting a brown paper bag.
"Who is headquarters sending over?" Marco wondered.
"Nobody. Mike's always claimed that's he's irreplaceable. The powers that be must agree, because headquarters is standing the Station down...just until we get our engineer back. Which should, hopefully, be about the time the wake up tones go off."
"Far out!" Chet jubilantly declared, grateful for the respite. "What's in the bag, Cap?"
"To celebrate our well-deserved break, John is generously treating us all to a late-night snack."
"John…as in John Ga-age?" an incredulous Chet Kelly inquired.
Stanley grinned and nodded.
"Man! If Gage is springing for the snacks, he's gotta have some serious brain damage!"
"Shut up, Chet!" John calmly requested and set the paper sack he was carting down on the counter, beside the Captain's.
Chet shot up out of his chair. "So-o...What're you dishing up? Crow?...Or humble pie?"
"Yeah," Marco stepped up to the cupboard. "We gonna need plates?...Or bowls?"
"Neither!" the snack supplier stated. He slid the silverware drawer open and snatched up a spoon. Gage then grabbed a half-gallon container from one of the sacks, crossed over to the couch and settled into the comfy, empty, leather-covered cushion, beside their dozing Basset Hound. "No need to dirty up a bunch a' dishes. One of the many truly magnificent things about ice cream, is that you can eat it right out of the box." To prove his point, he tore the lid off the container in his lap and scooped up an enormous quantity of the icy, strawberry flavored stuff. "Mmm-mmm! Yummy for the tummy!" he muttered gleefully, and then shoveled the cool, tasty treat into his watering mouth.
Marco began emptying the paper sacks. Their benefactor had bought a carton of everybody's favorite flavor. There was his maple nut... Chet's butterscotch marshmallow swirl...Roy's rocky road...Cap's pistachio...and even some of Mike's butter pecan.
"He-ey, Ga-age! Don't go getting your germs all over that!" Chet chided. "I want strawberry, too!"
John just snickered.
"What's so funny?" Kelly wondered.
"He knew you were going to say that," Stanley replied. "He told us that you were going to want whatever flavor he picked."
"No way!" Chet came back. "How could he?" he further inquired, seeing his Captain continuing to nod.
"In fact, he was so sure, he bought an extra half-gallon of strawberry...just for you!" Hank added, and passed the pouting practical jokester his own germ free carton of the requested flavor.
"Must be another one of those quirky, fluky things..." Roy reasoned lightly, as he returned from a quick trip to the latrine.
"Na-ah. There's nothin' quirky o-or fluky about it," John corrected. "Chet is just so gosh-da-arn predictable!"
Kelly turned to Stanley, looking completely crushed. "Am I predictable, Cap?"
"Evidently so, pal..." his Captain informed him and tapped the frosty container in the forlorn fireman's hands a few times, for emphasis.
Kelly recovered, and quickly traded the strawberry for his all-time favorite, butterscotch marshmallow swirl.
John witnessed the swap and snickered anew. "Yup! Good ol' predictable Kelly..."
"Yeah? Well...just remember, Johnny-boy. The Phantom remains completely unpredictable! Even he doesn't know where—or when—he will strike next!"
Johnny-boy's amused look vanished and he swallowed nervously.
His crewmates glanced at each other and grinned.
The Phantom wasn't completely unpredictable.
The guys were pretty confident that they could accurately predict who his next victim was gonna be.
The End ;)
Author's note: IPS stands for Initial Patient Survey.