A to Z and then some: J is for Jazz
mapark
The characters depicted in Emergency! are the property of Universal Studios/Mark VII Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters (and mistakes) are mine alone.
Once again, a huge thanks to my wonderful beta-reader, who gives me the best suggestions (and wishes to remain anonymous).
Chapter 3
"WHAT THE HELL?!" Roy jerked the wheel to the side, pulling the squad around in an impossibly tight U-turn to avoid the surge of flames bursting through the doors. His eyes widened as the squad was pelted with a number of small fiery canisters that bounced off, leaving a trail of blistered paint on the hood.
"Let's get outta here!" Johnny urged, pulling his arm in and wincing at the stinging pain on his face from the sparks that flew back from the hood of the vehicle. He ducked as there was another explosion from within the store and more canisters came jetting their way.
Roy had already twisted around, looking for a safe passage through the flying debris. "Way ahead of you. Hold on!" He floored the squad, zigzagging through the hail of flaming projectiles, pulling up next to the engine, where the captain was half out of the vehicle, clinging to the door frame as he stared, transfixed, at the emerging inferno.
Clouds of black and grey smoke trailed the initial burst of projectiles, rolling like waves toward them, burning their eyes and throats with an acrid sensation. More clouds climbed into the sky, creating pillars of darkness, blotting out the sun.
They all gaped at the damaged hood of the squad. Bubbles of charred paint marred the once-pristine surface, and there were dark streaks criss-crossing the hood.
"Are you both okay?" Hank demanded, dropping down from the engine and hurrying toward the squad.
Johnny brushed the sleeve of his turnouts with the back of his other hand. "Nothing major," he mumbled, leaning over to examine his face in the mirror.
Roy nodded, his eyes wide and haunted. "Yeah, we're fine… but what the hell was that?"
"I don't know, but I'm damn well gonna find out," Hank asserted in a no-nonsense tone as he lifted the handie-talkie to his lips. "Battalion 14, Engine 51. There has been an explosion at the south entrance of the retail store, with flaming airborne projectiles some 200 feet in a wide-spray pattern. There appears to be some kind of liquid fuel involved. This exposure is fully-involved and unapproachable at the moment."
"10-4, Engine 51. Battalion 14 to all units. Be advised that the south side of the building contains… are you kidding?... stand by."
When the chief came back on the radio a moment later, his voice shook with barely suppressed fury and disgust. "All units on the south side of the building, disengage! Pull back… pull back… pull back! We have a combination of crates of lighter fluid next to crates of fireworks."
His expression grim, Hank climbed back into the engine. "Get ready to roll," he said to Mike.
"You got it, Cap."
"Battalion 14 to Station 51. Report back to command for reassignment."
"Station 51, 10-4." Hank leaned out of the engine. "Let's move it, boys!" he called to Roy.
"Can't be soon enough for me," Roy muttered, ducking his head in reflex as another set of fiery missiles shot from the warehouse.
Hank turned back to his engineer. "Follow them out. I bet we'll be backing up 45's, so park where you can manoeuvre it to them. Of course, we'll let the chief make that call…"
Johnny peered out the windscreen at their damaged vehicle. "Man, Charlie is gonna have a fit."
"Maybe, but at least we're around to hear about it."
"Yeah, that was some amazing driving back there, partner." Johnny frowned slightly as he gazed at Roy's hands; his grip on the wheel was so tight that his knuckles were white. His face was set, his jaw tight, and he was staring straight ahead.
"Flashback to 'Nam?" Johnny asked, his tone as neutral as he could make it.
Roy hesitated before answering, pulling the vehicle over near the other parked fire apparatus. "Yeah." He sighed, relaxing his fingers from their death-grip on the wheel. "It's, uh…. It's not something I talk about."
A frown creased Johnny's forehead. "Didja wanna talk about it now… or any time? 'Cause I'll listen… and help any way I can, you know."
Roy nodded, his lips pursed together. "Yeah… not right now, though. We gotta get through today, okay?"
"Okay. But I'm gonna hold you to that later."
"Yeah, I expect you will." Roy exhaled slowly, then inhaled deeply, chasing the demons away for the moment. "Thanks."
Johnny turned a morose gaze on the damaged hood. "Man, Charlie'd better not try to blame us on this one." He cast a sly look at his partner. "'Course, he'd blame you, not me – you're the driver."
"Hey!" Roy protested, a ghost of a smile emerging on his face.
"I'm just sayin', he won't be blaming me."
"Me neither – who could predict they'd be stupid enough to store fireworks next to lighter fluid, anyway?"
Following the squad's hasty retreat, Mike wove the engine through the ever-increasing billows of smoke, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "Idiotic, moronic, stupid, senseless, asinine JERKS!" He stared ahead, grim-faced, his eyes darting from the windshield to his mirrors, and wrenched the wheel abruptly to the left, avoiding another series of shells shooting past the engine.
"Everyone okay?" Hank shouted, turning in his seat to check on his linemen.
"Yeah!" Chet shouted back. "But it ain't fair when the fire attacks us!"
Mike pulled the rig to a halt behind the squad, folded his arms and leaned his elbows on the steering wheel as he stared at the conflagration in the mirror. "Ho-lee shit," he breathed.
"You said it, pal," Hank agreed, his eyes riveted on the side mirror, watching streaks of light rocketing through the opening that had at one time been a series of double entry doors into the retail store. He opened the door and patted the side of the engine as he slid out and slammed the door. "Take her outta here if you need to; I'm gonna check with the chief."
"Nice drivin', Mike," Chet said after letting out a slow whistle.
Mike gave a soft snort. "Not as good as Roy – after that performance, I think he's ready for Daytona or Indianapolis."
"Or Formula 1," Marco added. "That turn at the entrance…. Just like Emerson Fittipaldi."
Chet frowned. "Yeah, but I bet he never had to dodge fireworks."
Marco huffed. "Clearly, you've never watched Formula 1."
"Why would I wanna watch a bunch of Europeans driving race cars, when we got plenty of American drivers at NASCAR? I'll never understand why Mario Andretti decided to drive there instead of NASCAR. "
Marco cast him a surprised look. "Uh, because it's more interesting and challenging than driving around and around an oval track. Talk about boring!"
Mike swiveled in his seat and cleared his throat before Chet could reply. "Fellas, before this degenerates into another pointless argument, can we get our minds back on business?" He gestured toward Captain Stanley, heading back to them, bouncing his handie-talkie in his hand. His expression was stormy. Mike shrugged, and they all left the engine to meet the captain.
Johnny nudged Roy and pointed at the others. "Shall we join them, or did you want a minute or two to regroup?" he said softly.
"Better join them – it looks like Cap isn't too happy."
"Yeah? I'm not exactly grinnin' ear to ear… What kind of a moron stores fireworks next to lighter fluid?" Johnny jumped down, shaking his head in disbelief.
Hank sighed and beckoned them over. "Hey, fellas, listen up. As soon as this little rocket show finishes, we're going to back up 45's at the west side of the warehouse. Stoker, you'll need to lay a supply line to Engine 45 – some jackass damaged the warehouse connections when they dumped that load of illegal fireworks in the back. Apparently, they were doing a customer a 'favor' by storing them over the weekend, and they would have been moved in a couple of days."
"Hah!" snorted Chet. "Where have we heard that before?" He tapped his lips with his gloved finger. "Let's see… that garage fire last July, when that guy said he was storing things for his brother-in-law…"
"Or the one in August, when it was 'such a small bit of chemicals, I didn't think it would need special storage'?" Marco added.
Chet grimaced, "Oh, yeah, that one was fun… Took all of three hours, and then he whined that we made a mess of his swimming pool."
Hank turned to Roy and Johnny. "At least they found that missing man. He was in one of the shipping trucks, sleeping off whatever combination of recreational pharmaceuticals he'd had for breakfast." There was a bitter, sarcastic edge to his voice, and he tapped the handie-talkie against his hand. "I hate waiting for it to burn without trying to put it out," he growled.
Chet agreed. "It's not natural to just hang around while things go up in smoke like that. Think they've learned something about storing fireworks?"
"I doubt it. It's kinda hard to cure stupidity," Hank remarked. He thumbed the handie-talkie. "Engine 51 to Engine 45. What's your 20?"
"Engine 45 to Engine 51. We've moved to the far west exposure, just around the corner from the second driveway."
"10-4, Engine 45. Engine 51 on the way."
~~E~~
Mike pulled the engine close enough to Engine 45 to set the supply line, but not so close that it interfered with the arrival of more apparatus from an additional alarm. Roy pulled the squad ahead of the engine, and they started unloading the air tanks, sure that they'd be needing them before this was all over.
And yet, they still waited. They all felt the frustration of letting things burn until it was safe to extinguish the blaze; nerves began to fray as they awaited the 'go-ahead' from the battalion chief to proceed. They paced, the weight of their protective gear adding to the general sense of annoyance. Chet pulled off his gloves and stared at his watch.
"Great. We've been farting around here for nearly twenty minutes now without doin' anything." He slapped his gloves against his thigh, shaking his head.
"Hey, we could always argue the merits of auto racing again," Marco suggested, loosening the harness holding his air tank in place and rolling his shoulders to ease a cramp in his back.
Another series of explosions caught their attention. This time, the fireworks shot upward, then spouted into showering sparks in a rainbow of colours. Several burst a second time, adding more smoke to the air.
It was merely luck that Mike happened to be looking away from the warehouse and spotted the emerging danger before anyone else. Sparks from the latest explosion had travelled in a sudden wind, and drifted toward a series of rusty sheds behind them. A sudden popping sound caught his attention, and his eyes widened as one of the sheds began a violent vibration.
"Everyone down!" he shouted, rushing forward to tackle his captain, whose unprotected back was in a direct line of a series of missiles that launched themselves forward as the shed exploded. His momentum carried him into a roll past the captain, and he grunted as a streak of fire creased the side of his face before crashing into the side of the engine.
- A to Z and then some - J is for Jazz -