"Copped Canteens and Keeled Over Wookies"

Chapter Three

Ninety sweltering minutes later, the engine crew came staggering into the Station's rec' room, looking completely beat on their feet and feeling slightly ill from the heat.

DeSoto glanced up from the magazine he was fanning himself with. "What took so long?"

The four fatigued firefighters fell into some chairs.

"He must've just filled his gas tank," Stoker replied. "Man! I thought we'd never get it out! We had to call for a foam truck. Big Red ran out of water just as it pulled up. So, we had to hit a hydrant on the way home."

"How is he?" Hank wondered.

"It doesn't look good," Roy replied.

John, who was sprawled out beside the Basset hound on the sofa, opened one eye. "He's got third degree burns over 50% of his body. I don't think he'll be drinking and driving...anymore." His eye closed.

There was a long silence.

"Ugh!" Their captain leaned back in his chair and tried to get a kink out of his neck. He stared down at his sweat-drenched body. It looked like he'd just showered with his clothes on. "Those canvas turnouts are like saunas!"

"Wait 'til tomorrow," Mike glumly announced. "It's supposed to be even hotter. They'll probably feel more like ovens."

Stanley stiffened. "Speaking of the heat...Did everyone remember to take their salt tablets?"

The men nodded.

"Don't worry, Cap," Chet advised. "We can handle a little heat. Right guys?" He saw the looks of deep skepticism on his associates' sweaty faces and quickly continued. "I mean, we're in good shape...really good shape. Now, if we were built like those inferior types over at 16's," he teased, "we might not be able to take it. But us—with our almost bionic bodies—"

"—They're predicting a heat index of over 115 degrees," Stoker glumly interjected.

Kelly's cheerful, optimistic demeanor quickly crumbled. "I want my mommy," he pouted pitifully, and made like he was crying.

His 'nearly bionic' buddies were forced to chuckle.

The levity didn't last long however, as the Station's alarm re-sounded.

"Station 51...Structure fire..."


Four and a half hot, steamy hours later...The firemen stumbled into their dormitory and began setting up the bottom halves of their bunker suits.

"How could it thunder and lightning like that without dropping any rain?" Marco wearily inquired, of no one in particular.

"Because," Kelly teased, "THEY say: It never rains in southern California."

The guys grinned.

"Because," Stoker contributed, "it was an electrical storm and not a rainstorm."

"Maybe," Chet chimed in again, "it was heat lightning."

"There's no such thing," Mike announced. "What people mistakenly call 'heat' lightning, is actually a distant thunderstorm."

DeSoto dropped down on his bunk. "If that guy would've had his TV antenna grounded properly, he'd still have his house."

"Just think of the power in one little bolt of lightning," John declared, his voice filled with wonder. "I'm surprised it didn't make a bigger hole than it did."

"It could've disintegrated the whole house, but its potential energy is so concentrated—"

"—Goodnight, professor!" Stanley suddenly called out.

Mike managed a bashful grin—just before the room went dark.

It was relatively quiet for a few minutes.

Suddenly, Marco whispered, "I still can't believe it could thunder and lightning like that and not spill a single drop of rain!"

Stoker exhaled an exasperated gasp.

There were a few muffled chuckles.

Then it was silent once again.


The sleeping quarters remained quiet, until around four in the morning, when a tremendous clap of thunder sounded! 'CR-R-RA-ACK!'

The resounding 'BOO-OOM!' rattled the Station's windows.

The firemen jerked awake and popped bolt upright in their bunks.

An instant later, an emergency light began flashing on the wall above Stanley's bed.

"The power's out," their Captain announced. He climbed stiffly out of bed, struggled into the bottom half of his turnouts, and began limping towards the apparatus bay.

As he approached a small metal box on the garage's east wall, a loud buzzer went off. Hank pulled the box's cover open. With the help of an emergency light, he was able to find and flip several levers. The loud buzzing sound stopped and a soft engine noise started. Stanley exhaled a sigh of relief. He closed the metal box and flicked on the overhead light switch. The entire garage instantly lit up. "Let's hear it for portable generators," he muttered to himself.

He doused the lights, and was just about to climb back into bed...when the phone started ringing. He stumbled over to the night desk and answered it. "Station 51. Captain Stanley speaking...Yes, it is...Yes, we do...We've got one more 120,000 watt, and two 25,000 watts...We'd appreciate that...Right...Bye."

"What's up, Cap?" Kelly sleepily called out.

"Lightning must've hit a transformer, or something. Everything's under control. Go back to sleep," Hank advised, and settled back down on his blanket.

Another, positively eardrum shattering, clap of thunder sounded!

Again the windows rattled, and again the men snapped bolt upright in their bunks.

"Who called?" Stoker wondered.

"Ah, Headquarters was just checking to make sure our back-up generator is fully functional," his Captain explained. "They said they'll let us know when power has been restored."

Gradually, the men dropped back down onto their beds.

Less than a minute later, the Station's tones sounded.

All six sat back up and listened.

"Squad 51...Man down..."

"We got it, Cap!" Gage called out.

The paramedics pulled their bunker pants on, slid their suspenders into place and went racing out of the room.

"Thanks," their Captain managed to mutter, before collapsing back onto his bunk.


Less than two hours later...DeSoto backed the Squad into the parking bay and killed the engine.

He and his partner just sat there for a few moments...in silence.

Then Gage glanced at his watch. "It's almost six. I think I'm gonna make some coffee."

"Sounds good to me," Roy remarked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

They climbed wearily out, and quietly closed their doors.

Kelly came stumbling up to them, half-dressed and still half-asleep. He yawned twice and then squinted up at the clock on the garage wall. "It can't be only ten to six," he determined, and turned to his shift-mates. "Is that the right time?" he inquired, stifling another yawn.

They nodded.

Chet yawned again. His already drooping eyelids sagged even more. "Then, why ain't I tired? Wide awake," he yawned his way into the rec' room, "and it ain't even 06:00, yet."

Apparently, Kelly's yawns were highly contagious. Because the paramedic team suddenly had a bad case of them.

"On second thought," John managed between yawns, "I think I'll go back to bed."

"Sounds good to me," Roy yawned.


The pair no sooner got settled back in their bunks, when the alarm went off.

Gage groaned.

DeSoto gasped.

"Squad 51...Child having difficulty breathing..."

The engine crew dropped down onto their blankets.

The paramedics piled out of bed and back into the bottom halves of their turnouts.

"We got it, Cap," Gage grumbled on their way to the garage.

"Thanks," their groggy Commander mumbled back.

TBC