Chapter 10:
He couldn't say that the day had dragged on, not by any stretch of the imagination. It had started off slowly, but it was a welcome change to the routine. Now that the adrenaline from the afternoon had long since worn off, he was rapidly losing his fight with exhaustion as it clung to his shoulders. Walking past the squad, he heard hushed whispers leaking from behind the vehicle.
Roy and Mike must be doing their "check-lists".
The thought made him smile. He could count on his men to hold each other up in times of distress, both on the job and off. More than once, he'd been told by the Brass that his crew was "one of the finest LA's ever seen." Despite the high commendation, he'd always felt a bit uncomfortable with it.
They might be under my command, but they don't need me to command them.
Still, they were one of the finest crews in the department.
Returning its attention to Roy and Mike, his mind recounted how the two had become such close friends. It had started a few years ago when Roy was up for promotion. At the time, had Roy taken the promotion to engineer, he would have forfeited his paramedic license. Now, the tides were changing and new legislation was in progress that could eradicate that problem. Hank hoped that maybe one day soon, Roy would be able to get that promotion and continue to work as a paramedic, though only time would tell. It was during those few weeks when he'd pulled Mike aside to talk about the job that the two had gotten to know each other on a new level.
Sitting at the office desk, he pulled the log from the drawer. Skimming the page, he realized that he didn't truly remember what had happened that day.
We only had two calls on the engine, the car accident and the building collapse-turned-explosion-and-two-alarm-fire. But the squad had several. That's right! After the accident we never saw them until mid-afternoon. Thankfully they actually had a chance to sit down and eat lunch….AND play a card game! Mike, Chet, Roy, and John were in the rec room and I couldn't find Marco. I went to look for him and he talked to me about how he was happy not seeking out a promotion.
The details were murky and first, but returned lucidly. It made Hank think.
Marco asked me a strange question. It was the car accident. Something about one of the victims inspiring him to not worry about what other's think is ideal. He asked…what did he ask? He said he was thinking about what it meant to be a fireman, in particular a lineman, and how others see men with that job. But what did he ask?
Reaching for the pad of paper on the table under the window, he scribbled a note, reminding himself to ask Marco what he meant.
If he even remembers the conversation. If it weren't for this log, I don't think I would have.
He shook his head, clearing his mind of the account, and picked up a pen.
"Do you think I'll let him down?"
Mike leaned back against the engine, resting one foot on the running board. He was worn, weary. Roy wasn't used to seeing him this way.
I wish I'd known how long he's been holding this in.
A pensive atmosphere settled on them. Like a bubble, the two felt as if they'd been transported to a different universe, one where no other man existed, one where it was just the two of them, sharing what had been on their hearts for a long time. It was a conversation that none of the six men wanted to have, but it was a conversation that all six men knew would someday take place.
"I think that only you can answer that question."
With a deep sigh, Mike closed his eyes, knowing that if he looked at his friend, he wouldn't be able to say what they both knew needed to be said.
"We all knew that it was just a matter of time."
Yes, we did. Roy agreed, but the words wouldn't form, slipping from his grasp the way water slips between the fingertips whenever one tries to hold it in his hands. So, he silently nodded. Although Mike's eyes were closed, he acknowledged Roy's nod. Maybe Mike heard the delicately soft glide of Roy's skin against the shirt collar. Or maybe Mike just knew that his friend agreed. Either way, they kept motionless in their solitary bubble, not quite allowing the truth to enter their minds.
Hank scribbled down some extra notes for the report he planned to work on after dinner. The tranquil night was interrupted by two loud voices entering the bay.
"You know what Chet?"
"What's that Johnny?"
An outsider would have heard irritation, perhaps even anger. Hank, however, had learned long ago the difference between a fight, a pecking match, and a ruse.
"You can…you…"
"I can what?" Chet snidely asked.
"I'm getting there. Don't rush me."
"Well, it's taking an awful long time."
"You know what Chet? Shut up."
"Aw man, you've really hurt my feelings John."
"Well…so?"
"Marco! Is dinner almost ready?" Chet's voice faded as he walked into the kitchen.
"Roy? I do not get than man. He's such a sore loser."
Stopping in the bay, John approached his partner.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. You wanna know what he said?"
"Not really."
"Oh you don't know what you're talking about. Imma tell you."
Stifling a laugh, Hank crept out of the office, ducking behind the squad, popping his head from behind the back. Seeing their captain, a mutual understanding passed between the Roy, Mike, and Hank. John was oblivious, lost in his tirade. Chet and John had always fought, mostly in a frenemy sort of way, but early in his career at 51s, Hank noticed how after difficult calls, John and Chet would always disappear for a while, eventually returning in the midst of a fight. He recalled how disheartened he'd felt that the two couldn't stand to be in the same room, even if they'd just had a bad call. It wasn't until John got bit by a rattlesnake that he'd realized two things: the complexity of their friendship and the tact of their ruse.
"As I said to Roy, I just didn't want to have to break in another pigeon."
"Sure you don't."
"I don't! I've got you right where I want you Johnny Baby. And you fall for it every time. Of course I don't want to lose that."
"Yeah right."
"Hey!"
The pair glared at each other, but in that glare, Hank some something new: concern. He read the thoughts written on their irises.
'John, are you really okay?'
'Yes Chet. I'm really okay.'
'You scared me. I didn't know if…'
'I know. I'm okay. Are you?'
"While they straighten out their ruffled feathers, I'm gonna get started on lunch."
"Marco, it's 8:05 in the morning!" Mike jabbed.
"I have to let the chicken marinate!"
"What are you making?" Roy asked.
"A new recipe from Mama! Don't worry, Cap! It's not spicy. I think you're really gonna love it. It's similar to the chicken tortillas she brought to the picnic last year."
Following Marco to the kitchen, Roy and Mike left Hank alone with Chet and John.
"Well, I'll be in the office," Hank found himself awkwardly saying aloud, to no one in particular, "if anybody needs me."
Leaving the dynamic duo alone, he peered back one last time as his feet met the office threshold.
"Well, John, I better get started on the latrine." Chet whisked himself away.
A moment later, John followed.
Privacy was difficult to come by in fire stations, so Hank tried his best to respect the space of his men. That day, however, he did something he'd never done before and never done since. He followed John. He crept to the latrine door, making sure no one was watching before he stole a look through the window. What he saw changed his entire perception of his two men.
Shoulders tense, fists clenched, knuckles white, he thumped his forehead against his locker. Though quiet and muffled, Hank could hear most of their words from the other side of the door.
"I thought we lost you John."
"But you didn't."
"But I thought we did."
"Chet, I'm fine."
"Dammit Gage you almost weren't! Do you have any idea how close it came?" He pounded the locker with his fist. "Do you know what it's like to see someone you care about unconscious? Do you know what it's like to see that, knowing that an hour earlier, he was perfectly fine? Do you know what it's like sitting on the back of an engine, unable to do a damn thing, watching your friend start to die? I didn't know if you were gonna wake up."
The tears that had been welling overflowed his eyelids, cascading down his cheeks.
"I couldn't lose you too. You're my best friend."
John pulled him into a hug, allowing him to sob into his shoulder.
It wasn't until after he'd shut himself in the office that he felt himself crying over the pure, honest confession. At the time, Hank hadn't known about Chet's childhood friend who died from poisoning. It wouldn't be until a few months later that Hank would hear that story and remember this moment. That would be the day that he would finally begin to understand the relationship between Chet and John.
They've pretended to hate each other for so long that it would throw off the equilibrium of the station if they admitted to being friends.
It was a sobering thought. When he thought about his crew, he knew that he was the luckiest captain in the department. Simply put, his men were the best. Their bond as a crew was the best. And it broke his heart that in a few short hours, he would be the one to sit them down and tell them that he would be leaving the station. He didn't have an assignment yet, but he knew of several chiefs who were considering retirement.
It will be sooner rather than later. And maybe it's better that way.
"So I'm trying to take a shower and Chet's taken all the hot water…" John's voice snapped him from the memory.
"Hey fellas, dinner will be ready in five minutes." Marco called out.
"Okay Marco. Anyway, Chet took all the hot water. I know that because I was in the shower with the water turned all the way to hot and it was cold. So I know that Chet took all the hot water…"
"Excuse me," Mike nodded and walked past John, patting his shoulder as he passed.
"See ya Mike. So I'm telling Chet, 'you used up all the hot water.' Of course he denied it…"
Chuckling to himself, Hank shook his head. As Mike walked toward him, he looked down, turned sharply to the left, and limped to the latrine. Hank's eyes followed him.
Damn! I forgot about him limping. I'll ask him after dinner.
It was only when the door squeaked shut behind him that it occurred to Hank that Mike had intentionally looked down.
Is he trying to avoid me? Did I do something to bother him?
He leaned against the back of the squad, recalling the events of the day.
I actually haven't talked to him since before the car accident. This morning…he was late! That was only this morning? How can this be the same day? Maybe he's mad at himself still. Or maybe he's mad at me. I can't even remember why he was late.
Half tempted to chase after Mike, he knew that it would be best to have that conversation after the two were rested, nourished, and alone. So, he left Roy as the solo member of a not-so-captivated audience to John's story-telling and joined Marco and Chet in the kitchen.
"Why don't you help out Marco by setting the table?"
"Sure Cap." Hank could tell that he was groaning inwardly.
He sat at the table, weariness again catching up with him. His skin itched from smoke and sweat; his eyes itched for the same reason. He felt ash caked to his forehead.
At least my hands are clean.
He had washed them when he came to make coffee.
"Here's your coffee Cap. I noticed you didn't get some yet." Marco placed the hot mug before him.
A grateful smile creased his lips.
"Thanks."
"Hey Chet? Call everyone for dinner, will you?"
He called out from the doorway, "Chows on!"
Scurrying feet carrying a very lean Johnny Gage brushed past him before he could make his way back to the table.
"What's for dinner Marco?" John asked.
"Pasta. It's not Mike's, but it'll have to do."
"I don't think I care what's for dinner. I'd eat anything."
"Even the bean delight?" Hank snickered at the innocently sarcastic question from Marco.
"Soy bean delight. If you're going to insult me, at least do it right."
Hank pretended not to notice John stick his tongue out at Chet.
"Where's your partner?" Chet asked.
"Huh?"
"You know. They guy you work with every shift. The one who typically drives the squad unless you pester him about it. The one who's always saving your butt."
"Oh, him. He's coming."
Hank snorted.
Just then, Roy graced through the threshold, joining his friends at the table. They had all begun to serve themselves when Marco asked, "Where's Mike?"
Instantly, Hank felt a twinge of guilt. He never filled his plate until all of his men were at the table. Tonight, he hadn't taken notice of Mike's absence. Thankfully, Roy spoke up.
"He went either to take a quick shower or to at least clean up a little."
"Good for him. You know, you three could do the same."
"Oh ha ha ha, Chet. You know we will after we eat." Marco joked.
"I know. I'm only teasing."
Hank considered whether he should search for Mike, but before he could decide, Mike crossed the threshold, pulling up a seat beside him, his white shirt clinging to his wet skin. The limp in his step did not go unnoticed.
"You look a whole lot better Mike." Roy joked.
"And I feel a whole lot better."
"How about that leg?" Chet hadn't meant to say it out loud in front of Hank, but it slipped out.
"Yeah," Hank added. "How about that leg? I noticed you limping a little earlier. I meant to say something but we've been busy for the past six hours."
"I overworked myself yesterday on the garage project."
"I see." He wasn't convinced and Mike knew it.
"Well, I pulled a muscle in my hip a few weeks back," he specifically didn't say when, "and between all the squatting and ladder climbing, it's a little sore from the overexertion."
"How did you hurt it?"
Mike paused, keenly aware of the five pairs of eyes like spotlights on his face, six if he counted the basset hound on the couch.
"I tripped. It wasn't anything severe. In fact, it was fine the next day."
"Well, I'm glad it was nothing too serious." He eyed Mike suspiciously. "I just hope that if it had bothered you that you would have told me. Especially if it happened to happen during a shift."
"Sure." Reaching for the serving spoon, he dropped a heap of pasta on his plate.
As I thought. It happened during that fire a few weeks ago when the engine got dented. At least it's nothing too serious. I just wish that I'd been paying more attention. I should have noticed.
Conversation lulled as they ate, mostly because they were too hungry to talk and too tired to listen. By the time they finished eating, it was nearly 23:00.
"Okay, Marco and Roy, hit the showers. John and Chet, dishes."
"What? Why me?"
"I said you AND John. I don't care who washes and who dries. Just get them done before lights out, which is in twenty minutes, by the way."
"What about Mike? Can't he help?"
"He could, but I need to jog his memory for a report. Besides, think of it as an exercise in…teamwork."
"Yes Cap." Two chairs scrapped against the floor as the occupants arose slowly before bolting to the sink to grab the towel.
"Ha! I got the towel. You wash, I'll dry." A smug expression claimed possession of John's face.
"YoU wAsH, I'lL dRy." Chet mocked.
Without a word, Mike and Hank rolled their eyes before they themselves arose from the wooden chairs and strolled to the office.
Mike walked in first, taking a seat in front of the desk. Hank followed, shutting the door behind him.
"Mike, how are you?"
"Um…I'm okay."
"Are you sure?"
If the subtle flush on his cheeks didn't give it away, the acute straightness of his spine cued Hank to the nervousness and discomfort evoked by the question.
"Umm…yeah, I'm sure."
The pair remained in silence for a moment, neither entirely sure of what to say.
"Are you okay?"
"What?"
The tides had turned now, a subtle flush on Hank's face.
Am I okay? I'm not really sure.
"Sure!"
"Are you really sure? Today was a rough day. Certainly not the worst we've had or the worst we ever will have, but it was still rough. I know it got to you."
"Yeah, it did. I don't know why. I can't figure out why I couldn't hold myself together today."
"But you did hold yourself together."
No, I didn't.
"You can tell yourself that you didn't, but you did." Mike added, knowing the doubt rooted in his captain's mind. He'd seen it before, many times.
"You know, you always hold yourself together and I don't know how you do it."
"What?"
"I've never seen you lose your composure on a call."
"Mike, I do all the time."
"When?"
"Today, for one. When we were leaving, I started crying."
"Exactly. When we were leaving. Can I speak off the record?"
"I don't see why not."
"You really put McConnicke to shame."
If he'd been sipping coffee, he would have spit it out.
"You want to run that past me again?"
Mike chuckled.
"You were prepared. You had us ready in case of an explosion. Then, when the Chief got hurt, you assumed command and conducted the tactical approach for putting out the fire. It was only after the fact that you, 'lost it'," he emphasized with air quotes, "as you say."
Hank didn't know how respond, so he stared at the desk.
"We all know that McConnicke is a good chief, but today he made a mistake. Sure, he might've had us prep lines before the explosion like you did, but he didn't give the order until after you had already briefed us. As it was, we didn't have a whole lot of time to prepare given that we didn't get information about the extent of the gas leak and the generator until just a few minutes before."
He made a mistake that could have cost lives.
"Mike?" It took all his effort to whisper the name and tear his eyes from their staring contest with the desk to meet Mike's.
"Mike, do you realize what you just said?"
At first, Mike was taken back by the sudden seriousness, the sudden professional mask slipped over Hank's face. Slipping into that same professional tone, he answered his captain confidently.
"I do." He spoke firmly yet respectfully, knowing the significance of his claim. Wanting to clarify his perspective, he continued.
"I said that the Chief made a mistake by not taking preventative action. It was a mistake that could've had a horrific outcome, especially given this type of situation."
"Is there a reason why you said it?"
"Yes. He did make a mistake. Mistakes in our line of work can be deadly. Today, we got lucky. We got lucky because we had a captain who not only demonstrated exemplary situational awareness, but a captain who wasn't afraid to speak up."
"And what if I hadn't spoken up? What then? If someone got hurt or God forbid, killed, whose fault would that be?"
"Everyone with an officer's rank."
The answer stumped him. He knew that both of them would have felt a sense of culpability had there been any injuries, but he hadn't expected this blunt of an answer.
"What?"
"A chief is ultimately responsible for anything that happens at a scene. But, he can't do his job unless the captains under his command do their jobs. And a captain can't do his job without his crew. No matter what our rank is, we all have a responsibility to do our jobs to the best of our abilities. Sometimes, we make mistakes. The consequences can be deadly. But do you know why that rarely happens? Because we all work together. Take this station for example. As an engineer, there are a lot of times that I'm more situationally aware than you are simply because I'm away from the danger. But, almost every scenario we find ourselves in will be different from the 'text-book' case we learned about at the academy or at a drill. Even though my outside perception of the scene may be more attuned than yours while you are actively, for example, fighting a fire, I'm not physically there, experiencing the heat and smoke and all that other crap. I can't feel the fire fighting against me. In order for us both to do our jobs, we have to trust each other. And that trust is built by communication."
Pondering the words of his friend, Hank leaned back in his seat.
"What I'm saying is, McConnicke might have made a mistake, but you more-or-less pointed out the mistake, allowing him to rectify the situation. If you had done nothing and the Chief had done nothing, and the other captains had done nothing, and me and the engineers had done nothing, and something bad happened, then we would all be at fault because we all know the importance of preemptive action."
The importance of preemptive action.
The words were familiar to Hank; he'd read them before, somewhere, a long time ago. Letting the thought pass, he again contemplated his friend's wisdom.
Are we sure he's not the one being promoted to chief?
"You're right. Everything you said."
"Well maybe not everything…" he took a breath. "The chief got the information about the generator at the same time the rest of us did. The moment you got that information, you started planning. Maybe he did too. We don't know."
"Mike, you really are one of the most just, truth-seeking men I've ever met."
"And I've only learned from the best."
"You've given me a lot to think about."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, just about how we all work together, regardless of rank, and the relationship between responsibility and mistakes. It's easy to think about everything wrong you've ever done and dwell on it. It's sometimes hard to think about the times when you made the right call."
"I know what you mean."
The amicable conversation tapered into a peaceful stillness.
"Not to change the topic but, what did you need to ask me about the log?"
"You know Mike, I was more calling you in here to check in on you. You seemed to be having a rough morning, then this. But I guess you ended up checking on me."
Mike smiled. "It has been a long day, hasn't it? Yeah, I'm okay."
"You got something on your mind that you want to talk about?"
He did. But, he knew that it wasn't the place or time so he settled with, "Not yet, but soon."
"I think I understand. Anyways, let's hit the hay. I'm barely staying awake and I still need to get myself cleaned up."
"You can say that again."
Hank chuckled. "Go on and tell the guys lights out in ten. I'll be along in a few minutes."
With a relieved spring in his step, he pushed open the heavy door leading to the bay, but didn't walk through. Instead, he turned once more to his friend.
"Hey, Cap? Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being an example of what a captain should be."
So he turned back towards the door, soon leaving it to swing shut behind him.
The importance of preemptive action.
The words came again into his mind, the all too familiar words that he couldn't quite place earlier now appearing with an image: a long paragraph typed in black ink, underlined with the dusty smudge of graphite, with a short annotation in the margin reading, 'always be prepared'. He knew where he'd seen the words now. Victoriously slapping the desk, he reached into his drawer, retrieving the captain's manual he'd received during his training six years ago. He flipped to the page, the one he'd spent countless hours memorizing. That's where he found it.
Although every scene can quickly devolve into perilous chaos, it is by the measures depicted in this chapter that risk factors may be reduced and potentially eliminated. This is the importance of preemptive action.
Gliding his thumb across the page, a stark realization struck his heart.
Mike's studying for the Captain's Exam.
His eyes swelled with pride and joy.
Having needed a minute alone to process the conversation he's shared with Hank, Mike was standing outside the door where in the stillness of the station as time approached midnight, he was just able to clearly hear the words of Hank Stanley through the door, as he smiled and spoke aloud to himself.
"Mike Stoker, you will make a fine captain one day."
