Summary: Here is another fic for my friend Ginger713! This time out things are much more serious for our boys on A shift, but I promise I won't kill anyone… At her request, Cap will eventually play a key role for Mike. As always, I own nothing… my dog owns me. Reviews appreciated. Please note this story is complete and will be posted a couple of chapters a week.

PROLOGUE

Los Angeles, California

August 3, 1975

0207 hours

There were many thousands of careless drivers in Los Angeles County. Just ask any of the hundreds of first responders who put their lives on the line every day trying to avoid them in traffic. There were thousands of drivers who still drove drunk after receiving a DUI citation. There were hundreds of drunk drivers out there who had received more than two citations. There was no official count on those who had more than seven citations and still drove drunk.

That was the choice Preston Rhodes, age 39, made late one hot August night. He had eleven citations on his record. He had lost his license twice and spent six months in jail. He was driving on a suspended license and drunk when he pulled his 1972 Buick Skylark hardtop sedan into traffic after he left the bar in Carson. It was a choice that would change more lives than he could possibly have known. It was also one of the last decisions he would ever make.

CHAPTER ONE

~51~

Mike Stoker was a good engineer, and a great driver. One of the best in the department, as a matter of fact. Anyone in the department would be quick to agree with that assessment. He had seven L A County Fire Department Rodeo Trophies to prove it. Six of them were First Place wins. The other trophy was a second-place trophy he had collected his first year as an engineer, driving his rig through a complicated obstacle course. No "probie" had ever even placed in the competition before his win.

0218 hours

The accident was not Mike's fault. There was never any doubt about that. The Buick that hit Engine 51 was not only speeding but was traveling down the wrong side of the road to boot. Mike Stoker never had a chance to avoid the other driver; even if both the engine and the squad hadn't been traveling full-out, with lights and siren screaming. Apparently, the driver never noticed them… though no one would get the chance to ask him, so the question was moot.

The Skylark came out of nowhere, hit the engine's front driver's quarter panel, bounced off and managed to hit the front end of the squad as well before careening around and smashing into the back of the engine. The squad obliterated the Buick and came to a sickening halt, nearly kissing the back end of Big Red. There wasn't much left of the Skylark, and nothing immediately identifiable left of Preston Rhodes.

~51~

0229 hours

Johnny had no clue what had happened when he first opened his eyes. He looked out through the shattered webbing of the windshield of the squad, which was sitting at an odd angle to the street. He would swear they weren't actually touching the ground somehow. It looked as if they had hit Big Red, but he didn't see how that was possible. They hadn't been that close. The dash in front of him was pushed in, and he realized his legs were trapped. The worst part was the quiet. It shouldn't have been that quiet. His thoughts were flying around at about a thousand miles an hour, and he was disoriented. What the hell was happening?

He looked to his left and saw that Roy was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. There was a lot of blood on his face, and that scared John. He could have hit his head on anything.

John reached out and quickly checked his partner's vitals as best he could. They weren't too bad, all things considered. He picked up the radio and was amazed when he actually got through to Dispatch. He couldn't really see what the rest of the scene looked like, but if the horrible crashing sounds he had heard, and the fact that none of the crew had checked on him and Roy yet, had been any indication, the engine crew was probably in bad shape as well. That was nothing but bad news. Station 51 was in big trouble.

0234 hours

When the tones dropped for Station 16 to respond to an MVA in 51's district, no one thought much about it. They figured the other station was simply out on another call. They weren't terribly concerned until Sam Lanier's urgent request a few minutes later came through advising Station 51's involvement and reporting multiple Code I's. They also heard him order three ambulances and Station 36 and Squad 14 as well. Not a man responding missed his meaning. Their brothers were in terrible trouble.

0237 hours

About the time Johnny began to really worry, Roy groaned and slowly straightened up. John frowned. "Be careful, Pally. Are you okay?"

Roy frowned and looked painfully over at his partner. He grimaced as he thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I-I think so, not sure, but I don't think anything's broken." He reached up and scowled at the blood that came away when he lightly brushed his fingertips across his forehead. He gazed in shock at John. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know for sure, but somehow we ended up hitting the engine. I think maybe they got the worst of it."

Roy might be in shock, but he was adamant. "No. No way. I never drive that close to the back end of Big Red. Somebody caused this. I saw something, a big green car, but it happened so fast, I can't tell you anything else about it."

Johnny started to nod, and then realized that was not a smart thing to do. "Okay, Pally. I believe you. That makes sense."

"Can you get out your side?"

John pushed on his door, but as he expected, the door frame was twisted, and his door was stuck. "It's no good. We're gonna have to wait for some help."

Roy scowled. "Figures. I'm stuck too. I think I may have busted a couple of ribs."

"I called it in, so help should be here soon."

Roy had been peering out through the webbing of cracks in the windshield. The wreckage was horrific. "I hope so partner. I can't see any of our guys movin' around. That's not good, Junior. That's not good at all."

~51~

Chet Kelly opened his eyes, and his first impression was that he shouldn't be able to see streetlights. The second was that his leg hurt, his face hurt and that something was really wrong. A few minutes ago, they were on a response, and now he was sprawled out on the pavement staring up at the streetlights. What the hell had happened?

He was surprised when blood trickled into his eye. He wiped his arm across his face, sat up and his eyes widened as he surveyed the wreckage around him. His leg protested as he moved, so he decided lying still was a better idea for the moment. He looked over at the engine. It was twisted and smashed. Part of the engine and the squad had flattened and destroyed what had once a passenger car, probably some kind of sedan. He could see Marco's arm was hanging out one window of Big Red. He couldn't see any of the others from his position.

Chet knew his crew needed him, so despite his better judgement, he tried to stand. He immediately realized that wasn't in the cards, as he collapsed back to the ground, his knee screaming in pain. He wondered about John and Roy, and just as he heard the welcome sound of sirens responding to the scene, he looked back at the squad. It looked as if both John and Roy were conscious but trapped inside the vehicle. He shuddered. What a helluva mess they were in! Chet took another good look at the engine. Big Red was totaled. Mike was gonna be pissed. At least, Chet sincerely hoped Mike was still alive and able to vent his fury at the loss of his beloved engine. Black spots began to blur his vision. Chet began to pray as he sat waiting for the rescue units. God would listen even if didn't get a chance to go to church very often. He hoped help would reach them in time. He realized then that more than his knee had been busted up when he had hit the pavement. A burst of agonizing pain shot through his head and a confusing mix of lights exploded in his mind. He had no time to cry out before he fell back to the pavement, unconscious.

~TBC~