“A First Time For Everything”

By Ross   irosanne@tds.net

L.A. County Firefighter Paramedic, John Gage touched his right front tooth with his tongue and winced.  No doubt about it!  He was going to have to stop ripping wrappers open with his teeth.  Especially, the aluminum ones.  Those really grated on him. 

“Here, Gage...Let me take that,” one of his fellow paramedics volunteered, “No sense in tying up two squads.”

John flashed one half of 36’s paramedic team a grateful grin and gladly handed him his patient’s IV, “Thanks, Dwyer!”

“No problem, Big John!” Dwyer assured him. The PM passed the clear, plastic sack into his left hand, leaving his right free to pull his 6’1”, kneeling associate stiffly to his feet.  “Like I said...Why put both squads out of service.”

Gage gave his helper’s hand a slight shake, before releasing it to brush the broken glass--and other debris--from the knees of his black slacks.  He snatched his helmet up from the pavement before straightening. Once completely vertical again, he allowed himself to take a long look around.  Multiple Vehicle Accident was such an ‘antiseptic’ way to describe the carnage that had just taken place on this particular piece of California real estate. All three lanes of highway were covered with car parts.  There were pieces of automobiles everywhere! Three of the four vehicles involved had been wrecked beyond recognition.  It was no wonder that their contents had been so badly mangled.  It was nothing short of a miracle that they had encountered only one fatality.  “...thank God for seat-belts,” he muttered to himself and quickly turned his back on the gruesome scene.  A bit too quickly, he realized as he collided head on into a television news crew cameraman.  ‘Talk about your close-ups,’ the un-amused fireman mused, shooting the guy who was shooting him an angry glare and shoving the lens out of his face.  Gage caught sight of his partner.  Roy DeSoto was busy packing up their rescue squad.  But John could tell, by the look on his friend’s face, that Roy had witnessed the entire event.

“Sorry...”the young newsman said, lowering the camera and extending his hand, “Pete Mitchell, KXLA...” he introduced.

The paramedic hesitated briefly, before finally accepting the cameraman’s proffered palm, “John Gage, LACFD....” he countered, and watched his partner’s suppressed smile broaden into a grin.

“Man!  That was amazing!” the young man continued, keeping a firm grip on the paramedic’s crushed appendage.

John jerked his hurting hand back and he and Roy exchanged confused glances.  “What was amazing?” he finally came right out and asked.

“Watching the two of you work!” the kid with the camera replied. “That was totally awesome! Man, that was the slickest thing I’ve ever seen! You two are goo-ood!  Really good!”

The paramedic pair exchanged confused glances again. 

“It was a TEAM effort,” Roy reminded their ‘admirer’.  “There were twelve of us out there--and, that’s not counting the CHP Officers...Or the ambulance attendants.”

“I know, I know,” Pete assured him, “But watching the two of you operate...the way you anticipated each others every move...It was just like watching a well-choreographed ballet. It was...well...beautiful to behold! And, I got it all on film!” he added, sounding about as proud as somebody who’d just bagged a big trophy on safari.  The photographer flashed both firemen a broad smile and gave his trusty camera a few affectionate pats.

The now astonished pair turned to stare at each other again. 

Gage shot DeSoto an ‘Is this guy for rea-eal?’ look.

Roy replied with a roll of his eyes and headed off to retrieve some more of their rescue gear.  “Hey, Baryshnikov!”he called back over his shoulder, “You wanna give me a hand here!” he ordered more than asked.

His previously inert partner immediately sprang into action.  He tossed his helmet into the cab and then began recovering equipment cases.  “What did you just call me?” Gage annoyedly inquired when he caught up with DeSoto back at the Squad.

Roy noticed that the kid had raised his heavy camera back up to shoulder level, and was once again documenting their every action.  “I’ll explain later,” he tersely promised.

His culturally-challenged companion was about to complain.  But then he caught sight of the rolling camera, as well and allowed the subject to be dropped--without further discussion.

The rescue men silently finished stowing their gear. They quietly closed Squad 51’s side compartments and then headed over to where Engine 51 was parked, to consult with their Captain. 

Their ‘fan club’ followed along, filming all the while.

“You need us for anything, Cap?!” Roy called out.

Hank Stanley’s focus of attention shifted from his engine company to his paramedic team. There was a TV news camera aimed at them, and the two men were obviously unnerved by it.  ‘Sheeeesh! They look like a couple of deer caught in a car’s headlights,’ he mentally noted, and couldn’t keep from smiling.  “No.  We’re just about through here.  The two of you can take off.”

Gage and DeSoto shot their Commander-In-Chief looks of undying gratitude and turned to take their leave. 

But, KXLA’s cameraman stood his ground and blocked their getaway. 

Stanley studied the situation for a moment or two.  “Looks like we got us a standoff,” he calmly stated and grinned outright. 

The members of his engine crew paused in their overhaul operations to exchange amused glances.

“Must be a real slow news day,” Chet Kelly concluded. His comment was quickly followed by several snorts of suppressed laughter.

Gage and DeSoto were not amused. When sidestepping failed to get them around the annoying obstacle, the two men split up.  The kid was unable to block them both, so Roy got by.

Pete decided to interrogate his remaining hostage, “So-o, how long have the two of you been a team?”

John heaved a heavy sigh of surrender and set his hands on his hips.  “For the past six years.  Now, will yah let me leave in peace?” 

“Six yea-ears?!” the kid with the camera exclaimed, “Really?! (silence) You guys have been doing this for six years?! (continued silence) Guess that explains why you’re so good, huh. The two of you have had a long time to practice! (silence) Man!  Six years! That’s a lot of rescues!  You’ve probably had some real interesting experiences along the way. (more silence) No wonder the two of you were so cool and calm out there today!  I’ll bet nothing rattles you two anymore.  You’ve probably seen it all by now!”

A woman’s shouted voice shattered what would have been even further silence.  “C’mon, Pete!”

The kid dropped the camera from his shoulder.  “Sorry,” he told the ‘dynamic duo’, “Gotta go.  Princess Melissa is finally ready to read her report.”  Pete paused, as all eyes turned in the princess’ direction. 

Her Highness was standing beside the KXLA News van, holding a clipboard. 

“Melissa Graham...The producer’s daughter...a real ‘air-head’...The poor thing can’t even remember her own name unless she’s reading it from a script!” the cameraman went on to explain with a grin.  “Be seein’ yah, fellas!” Pete predicted.  He flashed them all a final smile, then waved and was gone.

“Ahhh-ahhh, too bad, Gage...” Kelly sarcastically bemoaned, “It looks like you guys just lost your groupie!”

Gage glanced back over his shoulder and shot him a ‘Shut up, Chet’ glare.

Hank and his engine crew exchanged grins again.

The paramedics heaved heavy sighs of relief and then plodded peacefully off in the direction of their rescue squad.

“Baryshnikov is a who,” Roy remarked, after riding along for a full five minutes in complete silence, “--not a what.”  DeSoto saw the ‘And what does all this have to do with the price of tea in China?’ look on his silent passenger’s face, and continued, “Mikhail Baryshnikov is a world-renowned Russian dancer...I called you Baryshnikov because of that comment our loopy groupie made about the ballet...Forget it,” he suggested, seeing he’d failed to change the look on his friend’s face.  “The name-calling business is obviously no longer an issue.   So...and I ‘anticipate’ that I am going to regret asking this, but... why are you being so quiet over there?”

“I dunno,” his quiet comrade confessed.  “I was just thinking about what that kid said back there.  You know, about how nothing rattles us anymore.  Do you think he’s right?  Do you think maybe we really have seen it all?”

DeSoto’s right eyebrow arched and his mouth dropped open.

But the Squad’s radio sounded an alarm just then, and interrupted Roy’s reply.

“Station 51...Man down...Gardens Of Rest Cemetery...212 Mahogany Lane...Cross-street: Danforth Road...Two--One-Two Mahogany Lane...Time out... 9:42”

“Engine 51...KMG-365,” they heard their Captain say.

Gage grabbed their radio’s mic’, “10-4, L.A....” he  acknowledged, “Squad 51 responding with Engine 51.”

Roy hit the lights and siren.

John finished scribbling the call onto their log.  He snatched his helmet from its clip, tossed it on his head and turned to his partner. “Did we just get called...to rescue some guy...in a graveyard?”  

The Squad’s driver finished donning his helmet and nodded...nervously.

His perplexed passenger snapped his helmet’s chin strap and pulled it up snug.  “Humph... We may be good...but we ain’t THAT good!”

Roy's only reply was to purse his lips--rather tightly, and give Gage another roll of his eyes.

The rescuers reached the cemetary's main gate and Roy respectfully cut the Squad's sirens. 

Small, huddled groups of mourners were scattered about the graveyard's grounds, which meant multiple funerals were probably in progress.

They continued to drive--slowly and silently--along one of several freshly-paved lanes, keeping their eyes peeled for some sign of their patient--perhaps someone overcome by grief, or collapsed from a heart attack.  The call had been a bit 'vague'.

John noted that none of the headstones seemed weather-worn.  Which meant, as white man's burial grounds went, this one had to be fairly new.

They continued following the lane and, as it curved its way around a small grove of trees, they could finally see what had to be THE rescue scene. 

A small mob of rifle-toting, uniformed men were milling about a big, white boom truck that was parked beside a pile of freshly-dug earth. 

Roy continued his approach, until they were literally flagged down--by several members of a VFW color guard. The Squad braked to an abrupt halt. The two paramedics piled out.  The guy carrying the American flag was especially animated and DeSoto had to dodge the bronze eagle perched upon the top of his wildly wielded pole.  Everyone began talking to them at once.

"Alright!  Settle down! " Roy requested, in his most commanding voice.  The din subsided.  The paramedic then picked out the person with the highest rank on his uniform and pondered, "What seems to be the problem here?"

"Two gentlemen were lowering a steel-lined, concrete burial vault into a grave," the ex-Marine Major explained as he ushered the new arrivals over to the accident site.  "There are grooves in the vault, for the carriage cables.  One of the cables slipped out of its groove and one end of the vault fell."

They reached the scene of the accident and halted.  Sure enough, there was a partially up-ended burial vault protruding from a deep, freshly dug hole in the ground.

"When the cable let loose, the vault swung away from the boom," the officer calmly continued, " knocking the guy who was guiding it, into the grave..."

John's jaw dropped and he turned to face the Major, "You sayin' there's a person pinned under that thing?!"

The Marine nodded solemnly.

Gage and DeSoto exchanged grim glances.

John whipped his helmet off and dropped deftly into the narrow opening between the burial vault and the partially-collapsed grave wall.

"I'll get the gear!" Roy exclaimed.

"And bring my shovel!" Station 51's Main Squeeze requested, before disappearing entirely into the void between the vault and the grave's bottom. ( Station 51's Main Squeeze  was a title Chet Kelly had teasingly bestowed upon John, in honor of the paramedic's uncanny ability to access extremely cramped quarters.) 

Gage had no notion as to what he would see when he descended into the abyss.  But, the fireman certainly never figured he'd find their victim alert--and smiling...not with a ton of concrete resting upon his pinned hips!

The trapped man saw his rescuer's rather astonished expression.  "I know the situation appears very...grave," he casually confessed, his smile broadening into a grin, "but, I don't think I'm really hurt...at least, I don't feel any pain...Maybe I'm just in shock..." he suddenly realized, and sobered--considerably.  "Marcus Hanley," he added, and offered the fireman a free hand.

"John Gage," the paramedic introduced, and quickly produced a penlight.  He took and shook his victim's hand, and then immediately began his initial patient survey. 

Topside, the paramedic's partner dropped their gear, and himself onto the ground beside the grave. He opened their biophone and then peered into the hole and anxiously pondered, "What do we got, Johnny?" 

Johnny finished scribbling his victim's initial evaluation down. "I'll be right back," he promised Marcus, and popped up out of the pit to pass his findings on to his friend.  He squinted, as his eyes adjusted from the dimness back to bright daylight. "The patient is conscious and coherent.  The vault landed on his hips. Possible pelvic fractures. "  He exchanged the note in his hand for his fireplace shovel and a couple of equipment cases. "About a foot of loose dirt got knocked into the hole with him, and he happens to be layin' on it.  But, I don't dare do any digging until we get the IV's established."

Roy immediately realized the implications of his partner's statements, and smiled his approval of the proposed plan of action.

John ducked back under the burial vault to finish taking their victim's vitals.

"Is Marcus still alive?!" somebody breathlessly inquired.

DeSoto glanced back over his shoulder and nodded to a big, burly, distraught-looking dude in blue coveralls.  "This is County 51...Come in, Rampart..."

"The vault busted one of the hydraulic hoses when it swung around," Marcus' coworker anxiously explained,  "I couldn't get the blasted thing off of him!  Another boom truck is on the way."

"Lucky for Marcus the hose did break," Roy informed the frantic fellow, "He may have massive internal injuries.  If you had lifted the vault off of him, he could have bled out in just a couple of minutes.  The weight is applying pressure to his damaged blood vess--"

"Rampart Base...Unit calling in, please repeat..."

"Rampart," Roy acknowledged, and redirected all of his attention back to their biophone, "Squad 51.  We have a male victim..."

By the time Engine 51's crew got to the graveyard, Squad 51's paramedics had their patient packaged and ready to transport.

Hank Stanley and his men stared at all the uniformed, rifle-toting troops that were standing around, and then down at the man in the M.A.S.T. trousers, as he and his stretcher were lifted into the back of a waiting ambulance. 

A dirt-covered John Gage grabbed some essential equipment cases and accompanied their now unconscious patient. 

DeSoto closed the vehicle's back doors and pounded his right palm on them a couple of times. Its driver heard the 'all clear' signal and pulled away, with his lights flashing but his siren respectfully silenced.  Roy heaved a heavy sigh of relief and turned to face his colleagues.

"What happened here?" his Captain curiously inquired.

"A cable slipped and a guy got knocked into a grave," DeSoto explained as he began gathering their remaining rescue gear .  "Then, a ton of concrete and steel landed on top of him."

The firemen eyeballed the up-ended burial vault for a few moments, and then exchanged amazed glances.

Chet Kelly saw the puddle of hydraulic oil...and the busted line on the truck's boom, and wondered, "What'd you guys use to lift it off of him?"

"We didn't need to lift the vault," Roy informed him.  "We lowered the victim..." he added, and held up his partner's preferred tool for close-quarter extrications...a short-handled fireplace shovel, meant for scooping up ashes.  "The Army, the Navy, the Air Force and the Marine Corps also assisted with the rescue," he calmly continued, and motioned to four uniformed fellows still standing beside the grave, leaning on some shovels.

Marco Lopez looked up from the vault and voiced his amazement, "That thing landed on top of him--and he lived?!"

DeSoto nodded.  "And, Johnny claims he was cracking jokes the whole time--clear up to the moment he passed out!"

The firemen looked even more amazed.

Kelly glanced up from the grave. "His name wouldn't happen to be Lazarus, would it?"

"If it wasn't, it is no-ow..." Mike Stoker surmised, and the looks on his friends' faces turned from amazement to amusement.