The quiet is unnerving, and I know boredom and anxiety are going to be our worst enemies the longer this stretches on. Also, the elevator had dropped at least half a floor when the power shut down and the lights went out, so there's bound to be at least a few injuries, which I would bet no one is going to admit to. And now that the initial scare is over, nobody is saying a word into the pitch-black silence.

This situation would be laughable, if it wasn't so damned ironic. Here I am, Captain of one of the best shifts in LACoFD, plus one spare paramedic, and we are all sitting on our asses during a major blackout, because there are no resources to come get us out of here "at this time; ETA unknown, unable to advise. Please standby." That's bad enough.

The really stupid thing is that we are stuck on an elevator between Floors 26 and 27—of the brand new, not yet open for business, Los Angeles County Fire Department Headquarters Building! Worse, Brice is along for the ride! He had just happened to come into to the station to borrow a manual from me. Since he had the day off, and felt he might benefit from the learning experience, here he sits! I cringe at the thought of the inevitable fireworks…

We were doing a safety inspection when the apparently massive blackout hit. Which means we have no equipment with us other than flashlights, clipboards, and HT's; plus the stuff on John and Roy's belts, and in our own pockets. We even elected to leave off our turnouts, as it was a hot day, and of course, the A/C was off. No rope, no climbing gear, nada! So, now all we can do now is wait. As I call out for an assessment of our supplies and situation, a low, steady stream of pained obscenities cut me off. Chet. He sounds out of it, woozy. Terrific. The Phantom with a possible head injury. This just keeps getting better and better.

"Roy, you okay? "Yeah, Cap."

"Check on Chet, Pal." "Already there, Cap."

I decide to do this roll call style, just to keep it organized.

"Stoker!" "Here, Cap, over in the far corner, uhh, to your left."

"Injuries or supplies?" "I may have broken my left wrist, but it's not too bad. A few cuts, maybe. I have my knife, my t-shirt for bandages, and somebody left a magazine on the floor over here. We could use it for a splint if somebody needs it. Also, I have about ¾ of the bottle of water I was drinking left. Also, my lighter."

"Good deal. Thanks, Mike."

A muffled voice piped up, "Hey, Mikey, I didn't know you smoked."

With a sigh, Mike replied, "I don't, Chet."

Sounding confused, Chet asked, "Well, then how come ya got a lighter?"

Mike smirked, realizing it was probably a mild concussion talking. "To scorch The Phantom's tail feathers with, Chet. Now, hush and let Roy check you out, okay?"

Again, the confused lineman's voice cut through the darkness. "But I don' wan…Roy sheckin' meout! Heeez nodda a-a chick!"

This time everybody in the elevator, even the normally stoic Craig Brice completely lost it!

Eventually Roy, with his partner's help, finally got Chet settled down and discovered he did have a mild concussion; which was indeed making him even loopier than normal.

As we went on through the roll call, and pooled resources, we discovered we actually had enough supplies to make it through a few hours fairly comfortably. Thanks to Gage's always thinking about food, we even had several sandwiches and some cookies to share!

The most serious injuries seemed to be Chet's concussion, Mike's broken wrist, and an injury that Marco was being suspiciously quiet about. All he would say was that he was having a little pain, and that he was handling it fine.

To combat the inevitable boredom, somebody suggested telling stories. Johnny sounded perplexed. "Well, what kinda stories?" Marco sounded annoyed, "I don't know amigo! Any stories! Just not girl stories!" This remark caught a round of laughter, and a snort from Johnny that I would bet was accompanied by a sizzling look Marco felt clear across the elevator.

Eventually, Roy broke the ice by telling a story from when he had been a medic in Vietnam, about a pilot he had met who had taught a monkey to start his plane each morning, so he wouldn't have to get out of bed to do it. Mike was incredulous. "So what happened?" "Eventually, the monkey stole the plane, flew off one morning, and they never saw the plane, or the monkey, again."* Again, the men dissolved into hysterical laughter, and even Chet was moaning because he was laughing so hard it made his head hurt.

Eventually, even Brice opened up a bit, and told a couple of stories involving his first couple of weeks attempting to work with Bellingham, also known as "The Animal." The two were absolutely the most mismatched pair of paramedics in the department, but for some reason, their ability to work together as a team was nearly as legendary as Gage and DeSoto's. They had nearly the same ability to read each other, and absolutely nobody understood it.

About six hours later, as most of us are dozing fitfully, the lights suddenly come on, and the elevator hums to life with a lurch. "¡Madre de Dios, ayuadame!, por favor!" ** Marco's cry of pain startles us all awake, as the elevator begins its descent to the ground floor. All eyes turn to the right hand corner, where Marco sits quietly looking at us all, his right calf wrapped tightly in his t-shirt. A narrow shard of metal stripping from the baseboard of the elevator had impaled his leg when the elevator fell. He had said nothing, because at the time, he had known there was nothing to be done. He had already done what he could, by keeping the wound from bleeding out. The lurch of the elevator had shifted the metal and started the bleeding again. Brice snipped off the metal with his bandage scissors, and Mike added his t-shirt to Marco's. We simply loaded him into the Engine, rather than wait for an ambulance. Time was not on our side at that point, so it became a grab and go situation, in order to save Marco's leg.

Mike turned a normally 27 minute trip into 14 minutes flat, with John and Roy both working on Marco on the hose bed in the back of the Engine. With Chet laid out on the back seat of the Engine, with Brice watching over him like a mother hen, guess who got to drive the squad into Rampart? That was one helluva trip, believe me! Mike loves to watch NASCAAR whenever he gets a chance, and we like to tease him he should be a driver someday. After that trip, I don't think I'll kid him about it anymore! He really is that good!

It took Marco about six weeks to recover from the surgery to repair his leg. He spent two weeks in the hospital and drove the nurses crazy. He went through rehab, and before long, he was back with us, and had another beaut of a scar to show off.

As for Chet, he had very little side effects from his elevator adventure. He and the Phantom were back after their Pigeon the very next shift

And the normalcy of the chaos that reigns on A- shift suits their captain just fine!

~~~The End~~~

A/N: *This is a true story, but it actually happened to my best friend's father over in Japan during the Korean War. It was a friend of his who was the pilot who trained the monkey.

** "¡Madre de Dios. Ayudame, por favor!" "Mother of God, help me, please!"