The mood that was currently permeating L.A. County Fire Station 51 was anything but pleasant.

Having to pull a double shift in an oppressive heat-wave was known to have that effect, even on the most easy-going of firemen.

As if battling the heat wasn’t enough, the lack of rainfall on the county’s tinder-dry hillsides was sparking one brushfire after another.

B-shift’s crew had been deployed to a bad one in El Domingo and working the lines in 110 degree heat had really taken its toll.

Hence, Hank Stanley’s current predicament: How to keep his exceedingly irritable crew from chewing each other’s heads off. The Captain glanced up over his newspaper.

His guys had literally collapsed into, and onto, various chairs in their rec’ room and were just sitting there, sweating.

Mike Stoker and Marco Lopez were engaged in a heated debate over when, and if, the weather would ever break.

“I predicted this was going to happen—way back in March already!” Chet Kelly cut in.

“Oh yeah? Well, good for you!” Stoker snapped back.

The Captain cringed. ‘Sheesh!’

Even his mild-mannered engineer was behaving a bit snippishly.

“Kelly’s clairvoyant,” John Gage sarcastically mumbled—er grumbled to his paramedic partner.

“It was right after that pyromaniac was killed,” Kelly continued and directed his gaze at the skeptic. “You were in the hospital, dying of pneumonia, and I was sitting right here—”

The skeptic cut him off “—What pyromaniac?”

DeSoto was massaging his sweat-drenched forehead. “It’s a long story and this heat is giving me a headache so ask me again, later…much later,” he aggravatedly added.

‘Sheesh!’ Hank really needed to do some morale boosting. He had heard talk among his fellow captains and had set a plan in motion. He prayed it would succeed.

The visitor’s buzzer sounded. No one moved.

“Don’t everybody race to the door at once,” the Captain quipped, sounding more than a bit snarky, himself.

“I’ll get it,” Marco half-heartedly volunteered. Lopez rose slowly and stiffly to his feet and then headed for their front door in the same manner.

_____________________________________________________________________

Marco returned a minute later precariously balancing six beige cardboard boxes in his arms. “Can somebody give me a hand here?...Thanks,” he added as Gage and DeSoto each took two of the boxes from him.

John read the side of one of the boxes. “Boots? Where did all these ‘boots’ come from?”

“Headquarters,” Marco replied. “At least, that’s where the guy said he was from.”

Five sets of eyes suddenly riveted upon their fearless leader.

The Captain cleared his throat. “Uhhh…Those must be the new safety shoes headquarters wants us to test in the field,” Hank semi-truthfully informed them.

His guys emitted a group groan.

“Ah c’mon! You haven’t even tried them on yet!”

“How could you?” Mike forlornly inquired.

“Yeah, Cap,” Kelly joined in, “I thought we all agreed, after testing that new safety harness, that we weren’t gonna be guinea pigs for the county anymore.”

Gage rubbed his left ribcage. “I remember that harness.”

DeSoto frowned. “Me, too.”

The guys gathered round the table.

Hank brushed their Bassett Hound’s hot, heavy head from his lap and joined them. “Didn’t I hear someone complaining of sore feet the other day?”

The guys locked their disgruntled gazes upon Gage.

John glared defensively back at them and then began rummaging through the boxes until he found his foot size. He crossed the rec’ room and sank down on their sofa, placing the box in his lap. He lifted the lid and found a note on top of some tissue paper. He picked the tiny piece of paper up and began reading, “Congratulations! You are the proud owner of the new Comfort-Stride safety shoes with the cushioned luxury of thousands of tiny air bubbles.” Gage couldn’t help but grin. He set the note aside and tugged at the tissue paper. “Man! What a tough lookin’ shoe!” he exclaimed and held one up for closer inspection.

The guys got a look at Gage’s shoe and began rummaging around for theirs.

“It’s kind of a cross between a boot and a shoe,” John determined. He slipped his old work boots off and his new work boots on. He gave his toes a wiggle or two. “They feel pretty good.”

“You can’t tell sitting down,” Chet chided. “You gotta get up and walk around.”

The fireman dutifully rose to his feet. The shoes made an odd sound…a very embarrassing odd sound.

Chet made a face. “Really, Gage!”

John snickered and raised his hands, “That wasn’t me. Honest!”

Kelly looked skeptical. “It sure sounded like it was you.”

“Well it wasn’t. It was the shoes. Watch…” John took a step forward. His shoes farted again, causing his crewmates to grin.

Mike got to his feet and was rewarded with the same sound.

Chet, Marco, Roy and Hank all rose to their feet at once, producing a very loud version of the embarrassing sound.

John collapsed back onto the couch, laughing delightedly.

The rest of the guys burst out laughing, too.

Stanley beamed a broad grin around the room. “Well, I don’t know if these things do anything for feet, but they sure are great for morale.”

Kelly raised his right foot and then slowly set it down. The shoe made a long, soft version of the embarrassing sound and sent the guys into another round of laughter.

“What the heck is that?” Marco wondered.

Roy grinned. “That must be the sound of thousands of tiny air bubbles—bursting!”

More laughter ensued.

Henry was staring down at the firemen’s feet with his head cocked. He inched his way over to the edge of the sofa cushion and barked at John’s boots. John went to stand but, as the sound started, Henry started to growl…a low, deep-throated growl. John froze and sank back into his seat. Henry remained on the edge of the cushion with his eyes riveted on the offensive footwear. “I don’t think Henry likes our new safety shoes, Cap.”

“So it would seem. Perhaps we should take them off,” Stanley advised.

“Ah, Cap,” Kelly groused. “But they’re so luxuriously comfortable…”

The guys snickered.

Roy turned to their Captain. “Are THEY gonna let us un-volunteer?”

“They’ll have to,” Hank came back. “I’ll just have to explain how our dog has taken an apparent dislike to these miniature whoopee cushions, so we had to take them off. And, of course, we couldn’t go around barefooted, so we had to put our old work boots back on,” he hinted.

The men took the hint and immediately swapped out their shoes.

Chet held up one of his new—never to be old—shoes. “I wonder if they’re water-proof?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “What difference does it make? With a noise like that, no one is ever going to be able to wear them, anyway.”

Gage managed a wry grin. “You forget, Marco…Chet’s foot spends a lot of time in his mouth, so he needs a water-proof shoe.”

The guys snickered.

Even Chet was forced to smile.

Stoker studied his new boots. “Can you imagine a whole auditorium full of people, all wearing these things, and all getting to their feet at once?”

The men exchanged grins.

Gage turned to his partner. “Can you imagine walking up to a patient with these on?”

“We wouldn’t dare,” DeSoto quickly determined. “They’d probably die laughing.”

Stanley finished securing the laces on his old work boots and stood. “I’m gonna go call headquarters.”

Kelly picked the little note up from his shoe box. “Hey, according to this, the noise goes away once you’ve broken them in.”

“Huh!” Stoker exclaimed. “Who could ever wear ‘em long enough to ‘break them in’?”

“Yeah,” Lopez agreed. “You’d have to wear them when no one else was around.”

“Once they’re broke in,” Kelly continued, “they’ll be the most luxuriously comfortable, long-lasting pair of safety shoes you’ve ever, or will ever, own.” He stopped reading and his jaw went slack. “Retail Value: 210 bucks!?”

The rest of the men dug out their papers and stared disbelievingly down at the suggested retail value of their FREE safety shoes.

Captain Stanley stepped back into the room, looking a little nervous.

Kelly turned to him. “Cap, maybe we should reconsider testing these shoes.”

“Yeah,” Lopez agreed. “We could break ‘em in at home, first. That way, the company dog wouldn’t have to put up with the ‘distraction’.”

Hank’s face filled with a look that was an equal measure of relief and confusion. “Does everyone feel the same way?”

His crew nodded.

“Well, that’s it then. Now, is everyone ready to go out and face the heat? THEY want us to patrol our district and make sure all the hydrants are shut off. Truck 23 just came from a structure fire over on Van Ness. They said they barely had any water pressure. It seems people are using the hydrants to cool off in this heat. Pressure in the main lines is real low.”

Stoker looked curious. “While we’re out patrolling, who’s gonna handle our runs?”

“Stations 8, 16, and 36 will be covering for us. Every available man the department has is off fighting brush fires. They don’t have anyone else to do the job. Roy, you and John can take the squad.” Hank turned to his engine crew. “They want us to use our personal vehicles. They are going to reimburse us for gas. Marco, you can ride with me. We’ll work the north side—east to west. Mike, you and Chet start on the east side and work north to south.” He aimed his gaze in his paramedics’ direction. “You two start on the west side and work north to south until you meet up with Chet and Mike. Any questions? Good! Then, let’s get to work!”

______________________________________________________

Twenty minutes later…

Roy pulled their rescue squad up to the corner of West Salisbury and Prescott and parked.

___________________________________________________________

The intersection was filled with people.

With the air temperature standing at close to 110 degrees, the neighborhood’s residents were seeking relief from the heat by standing in the cool refreshing spray of a partially opened fire hydrant. Some had donned swimsuits, but most were just wearing street clothes.

A group of small children was crowded around the hydrant. The kids were splashing each other and having a high old time.

As cars passed the partyers, they flicked their wipers on and honked.

_____________________________________________________________

The two patrolling paramedics exchanged a couple of glum glances and reluctantly exited their fire truck.

A young man sporting bright red swim trunks and a six-pack of beer spotted the hydrant tool in the blond fireman’s hand and sprang up out of his lawn chair. “Hey, man! Don’t do that! Can’t you see we’re havin’ fun?”

Roy ignored the young man’s plea and continued to approach the hydrant amid ‘boos’ and jeers and a variety of other hurled insults.

“Give us a break, will yah?” the young man re-pleaded.

Roy attached the tool in his hands and started cranking the hydrant valve closed, terminating its refreshing shower. “We have a serious problem maintaining water press—”

“—Can’t THEY just increase the pressure, or somethin’?” the protester cut in.

“The system isn’t geared to handle that,” Gage patiently explained. “It could damage residential pressure valv—”

“—Give us a break, will yah!” the complainer cut in again, remaining unconvinced.

Roy locked gazes with the grumpy young guy. “If you were all trapped in a burning building, and we couldn’t save you…because a bunch a’ people were using the water to have a little fun…and there was no pressure in the lines to supply water to our fire hoses…you might understand. You just might understand,” he softly repeated and picked up the pipe wrench that was leaning against the hydrant.

The young man was now just standing there, staring thoughtfully down at the damp ground beneath his bare feet.

“We’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t turn this back on when we leave,” Roy solemnly requested.

The silenced young man nodded his compliance. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch it. I’m sorry. I guess we just weren’t thinking.”

The blond fireman flashed him back an appreciative smile. “Must be the heat,” he reasoned lightly and passed the young fellow the pipe wrench.

The young man returned the fireman’s smile but kept the tool.

“I still think the cops should be doing this,” Gage griped as they began trudging back over to their truck. “I mean, they’re already pretty unpopular with the public.”

“Sticks and stones,” Roy reminded him, following a weary roll of his eyes.

“It ain’t the names I’m worried about,” John assured him. “It’s the pipe wrenches and empty beer bottles.”

“You could always put in for hazard pay.”

“The thought has crossed my mind. Or, at least, start wearing our helmets.”

Roy’s right eyebrow arched. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

The firemen slid themselves into their seats and their helmets onto their sweaty heads and then reluctantly resumed their hydrant patrol.

____________________________________________________________

Two and a half steaming, stressful hours later…

Roy backed the Squad into its parking bay and killed its hot engine.

Hank and Marco stepped out into the garage to greet them.

“How’d it go?” their Captain inquired.

“Four,” Roy replied. “We ran into Chet and Mike over on Chelsea. They said they found three. What about you guys?”

“Eight,” Stanley announced.

“Eight?!” John exclaimed in amazement.

Marco nodded. “And we needed police assistance to shut two of them off.”

John shot his partner a ‘See?’ look.

“The beer was flowing as fast as the hydrants,” their Captain explained and pointed to a slight tear in his front shirt pocket.

Stoker and Kelly entered the back door and came stepping up.

“We found two more,” Mike informed them, “for a total of five.”

The Captain acknowledged his engineer’s report with a slight nod and turned back to his paramedics. “We were going west on Salisbury when we found a wet intersection and some guy sitting in a lawn chair ‘guarding’ a hydrant…”

Roy shrugged. “It was his idea, not ours.”

“And it’s a good idea, too,” Kelly conceded. “Because I got a feeling those five hydrants we just shut off are back on again. How do you get through to people like that?”

“You wait until their homes burn to the ground with their loved ones inside,” Roy bitterly replied. “Then it sinks in pretty easily.”

The guys exchanged grim glances.

The visitor’s buzzer sounded. No one moved.

Hank emitted a resigned sigh and headed off to answer it himself.

The Captain’s overheated crew headed for their rec’ room and some liquid refreshments.

_______________________________________________________________________

Stanley came strolling in a few moments later. He shoved the shoe boxes aside and deposited a handful of envelopes onto their kitchen table.

“The mail?” Marco questioned. “This late?”

The Captain dropped into a chair to begin sorting through their late mail. “He said the regular postman collapsed in this heat and that he’s sorry he’s so late but he doesn’t know the route. Marco…”

Lopez snatched the letter from his boss’ raised right hand.

“John, two for you, pal…”

Gage grabbed his correspondence and collapsed onto the chair beside his Captain.

“Chet…”

Kelly latched onto his letter and noted the Marquette, Michigan postmark. “Vicki!” he gleefully exclaimed and kissed the envelope.

Gage glanced up from his letter. “She still writing you?”

“Twice a week!” Kelly replied with a smug smile. “I’m going back there when my next vacation comes up.”

John’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious!”

Chet’s smug smile broadened. “You wanna come with?”

“No!” John assured him.

Marco was equally mystified by his friend’s choice of vacation spots. “Why would you ever want to go back to that god-forsaken place?”

Mike glanced up from his mail. “Maybe he just has a thing for snow?”

“Yah mean, maybe he just has a thing for Vicki,” John corrected and watched Chet’s cheeks redden.

Kelly turned to Stoker. “When I go back this time, there won’t be any snow.”

Mike looked incredulous. “According to Newcomb, there is always snow in Upper Michigan. He claims they have nine months of winter and three months of bad snowmobiling.”

His shiftmates exchanged grins.

The Captain gathered up the remaining envelopes and then headed for his air-conditioned office, to open his mail and place their fire station back in service.

Kelly remained undeterred. “Yeah? Well, what’s wrong with snow? It’s a nice change of scenery…and weather. I’ll bet they don’t get droughts and heat waves up there. Man! I still get a chill just thinking about the cold. Vicki and I went for a walk along the Lake Superior shoreline. You should have seen the incredible ice sculptures the waves made when they hit and froze. We were so cold, we had to hold each other for warmth…and when we kissed, our lips were blue and our teeth were chatter—”

“—And your brains were frostbitten,” Mike summed up, before their love-sick crewmate’s comments could get any more explicit.

His chums were forced to chuckle.

“No,” Kelly quickly came back. “But we did have frost on our eyelashes…and the snowflakes tickled our noses,” he shivered. “Man! I really do get cold just thinking about it.”

“If thinking about Michigan would make me cool off,” Marco chimed in, “I’d be thinking about Michi—”

The remainder of the lineman’s comment was drowned out by the claxons.

The guys guzzled down the remainder of their cool, refreshing beverages and began trotting toward the garage and their trucks.

____________________________________________________________

“Station 12, Station 51, Battalion 10, Truck 123…Structure fire…1422 West Gaylord…One-four-two-two West Gaylord…Cross-streets: Otis and Aliverra…Ambulances responding…Time out: 15:33.”

Hank had just placed them back in service so he was still standing at the call station when the tones sounded. He gave the mic’s send button another click and acknowledged the call. “Station 51, KMG-365.” He handed his senior paramedic a copy of the call slip and then joined his engine crew.

Both trucks exited the station and went wailing off in the direction of their structure fire call with their warning lights flashing.

___________________________________________________________________

Less than five minutes later, and fewer than three blocks from the fire scene, 51’s crew came upon Ladder 123. The truck was stalled right in the middle of the roadway.

The Captain motioned for Big Red’s driver to pull up beside the stationary rig.

“What’s wrong?” Hank called out to the ladder truck’s engineer.

The driver shrugged. “Must be electrical, cuz everything just died. Tow truck’s on the way.”

Stanley nodded and motioned for Stoker to get going again.

________________________________________________________________

Sixty seconds later, Station 51 arrived on scene.

Billowing black smoke and flames were visible from the B side of the red-brick building’s third floor.

Steady streams of occupants were exiting its two main entrances.

Stanley snatched up their dash-mounted radio’s mic’ and thumbed its call button. “L.A., Station 51. You can show us on scene,” he informed the dispatcher.

“10-4, Station 51.”

Before stepping down, 51’s Captain took a few moments to survey the structure on fire.

Judging by the conjoined rooflines and the overhead skywalk, someone had apparently turned a couple of old hotels into an apartment complex.

The fire officer frowned.

If the structural renovation hadn’t been done right, the whole place could turn into one big death-trap.

Hank saw arriving companies’ crews carrying hotel packs into the building and exhaled an audible sigh of relief.

The hoses meant they had water.

They may have lost their ladder truck, but at least they still had water…for now.

Stanley finally dropped to the ground and went trotting up to Battalion 10’s Chief to receive their station’s assignment.

________________________________________________________________

Hank recognized his superior officer and groaned inwardly.

It was none other than old ‘By-the-Book’ Bergmann.

The guy knew all the department manuals—inside-and-out, and could quote regulations—word-for-word. Unfortunately, when it came to dealing with the men under his command, Old Bergie didn’t have a clue.

Bergmann saw the numbers on the new arrival’s helmet and looked down at his list. “I want you and your men to assist 12’s engine crew with an interior attack on the fire floor. I’m assigning your rescue guys to sweep the building.”

Hank heard the orders and winced. “123’s rig broke down about three blocks back.”

“So I heard.”

“How long before another ladder truck and the additional companies get here?” the Captain tactfully inquired, knowing full well that neither had even been requested. “The men won’t hold up for long in this heat, and, if the pressure in the main drops, we’ll have to switch to an exterior attack.”

Bergmann ‘harrumphed’, but then raised his HT to his lips. “L.A., Battalion 10. Respond a second and third alarm—and an additional ladder company—to this location.”

“10-4, Battalion 10...Station 16, Engine 18, Engine 32, Station 36, Station 45, Ladder 110…Structure fire...””

‘One down.’ Stanley drew a deep breath in and readdressed his superior. “Who’s assigned to the roof? Without ventilation, we’ll be working blind.”

“Of course. You and your crew will be in charge of ventilation,” the chagrined fire chief quickly reassigned.

‘Two down.’ “Has the gas been shut off?”

Bergmann nodded.

‘Three down.’ The Captain exhaled an audible sigh of relief and headed back over to his crew.

_______________________________________________________________________

His profusely perspiring men were huddled there on the hot pavement, patiently awaiting their marching orders…air-pacs already strapped in place…fire axes, and Haligans in hand…the K-12 and more hotel pacs resting at their feet.

51’s Captain quickly donned his own SCBA. “We’re gonna be working the roof,” he informed his engine crew. Hank snugged up his airpac’s straps and his squinting gaze shifted to his paramedics. “The Chief wants you two ‘to sweep the building’,” he parroted, failing miserably to contain his disbelief. “Head on up to the top and start working your way down. I’ll have 16’s or 36’s guys relieve you when they get here,” he reasonably re-ordered. “Then, I want you to find some shade and set up a REHAB. We’re gonna be needing it!”

All five of his men nodded acknowledgment of their assignments. Then they picked up their ventilation tools and followed their C.O. over to the apartment complex’s main entrances.

_______________________________________________________________

John swiped the salty sweat from his stinging eyes. “Man, I hope the elevators are still working,” he said in an aside to his equally perspiring partner.

“Yeah,” Roy breathlessly agreed. He swiped the sweat from his own stinging eyes and glanced up. “Which fourth floor are we supposed to start on?”

Hank overheard the sweeper’s comment. “Stick to the fire wing…for now.”

All six firemen stepped through the building’s left entrance and then headed for the elevators.

__________________________________________________________________

Less than twenty minutes of sweeping later…

51’s paramedic team came staggering back out of the building. Working in such oppressive heat and humidity had sapped both their air and their energy much faster than normal.

The pair peeled their helmets and masks off and went stumbling over to their rescue squad, to begin setting up a REHAB, slipping their SCBA’s and sweat-drenched turn-out coats off along the way.

They set their coats, helmets and empty air-pacs down beside the Squad.

John retrieved a couple of fresh air bottles from the back of their truck and their SCBA’s empties were quickly swapped out.

That task completed, the pair promptly began surveying the area for a ‘shady’ place to set up.

But there wasn’t a tree in sight.

They settled for the growing shadow on the breezy side of Big Red and started pulling salvage and overhaul tarps from one of her rear compartments.

“I think we’re gonna be our REHAB’s first guests,” Johnny only half-jokingly predicted as he and his equally spent buddy began shaking the tarps out and covering the blistering blacktop beneath their feet.

“I know we’re gonna be its first guests,” Roy corrected. “Cap was right. It was brutal in there!” he added and collapsed onto one of the tarps. The thick layer of canvas did little to protect his backside from the asphalt’s burning heat. “But then, it’s brutal out here, too.”

Chief Bergmann came stomping up, just as Johnny was about to join his complaining companion on the ground. “What are the two of you doing out here?” he demanded. “You can’t possibly have completed your assignment already!”

The two sweepers exchanged a couple of ‘Is this guy for real?’ glances.

As if the insufferable heat wasn’t enough, they had to have some hard-nosed Battalion Chief on their case.

“We cleared the fourth floor and half of three,” John patiently replied. “Then, 16’s relieved us.”

“Relieved you?”

“Our air bottles were empty and neither of us was in physical condition to continue ‘our assignment’,” Roy respectfully added. “We’re setting up a REHAB.”

“REHAB?” the fire officer repeated, his face filled with disdain. “They sure don’t make firemen like they used to.”

“A fact for which we can all be eternally grateful,” DeSoto muttered, just beneath his breath.

Gage caught his companion’s quiet comment and had everything he could do to keep from smiling. He considered mentioning the deplorable working conditions inside the building, and their double-shift duty, but then thought better of it. He had a feeling it would have just been a waste of breath.

Bergmann managed another ‘harrumph’ before spinning on his heels and heading back over to his car.

The moment the Chief’s back had turned, John had dropped to the ground beside his buddy. “Ouch!” he exclaimed as his backside promptly began to burn. “I think we should have added another layer.”

“I know we should have added another layer,” his already rump-roasted companion quickly came back.

The two of them helped each other back up onto their still unsteady legs and began tugging more salvage and overhaul covers from Red’s rear compartment.

____________________________________________________________________

Two addition layers of tarp later…

51’s paramedics were seated, back-to-back, in REHAB, their re-donned helmets shading their stinging eyes from the late afternoon sun’s blazing brightness.

DeSoto swiped a ticklish bead of sweat from the tip of his nose. “I could go for a gallon a’ Gatorade, right about now.”

“Orange? Or Lemon-Lime?”

“Yes.”

Gage grinned. “I got some Gatorade gum in the glove compartment.”

“Gatorade gum?”

“Yeah. Want some?”

“Gatorade gum? Does it taste anything like Gatorade?”

“It tastes like shit. Which is why it’s in the glove compartment instead of my shirt pocket.”

“Thanks. But, I think I’ll pass.”

“You could always down a couple a’ bags a’ normal saline. That’s gotta be pretty close to Gatorade. No?”

“No.” Roy suddenly realized something and raised his blurry gaze to the apartment complex’s roof.

The billowing black clouds of smoke that had been coming from the corner of the third floor were now venting through the roof, directly above the fire. The flames had opened the fourth floor’s floor and their engine crew had opened the roof. So…where were they?

Roy’s sweaty brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t our guys have been back by now?”

John’s sweat-soaked head swung in the burning building’s direction and he gave it a worried once over.

The location and color of the smoke had changed. Cap and the guys had completed their assignment. So…where were they?

Before Gage could give voice to his growing concern, a rather disturbing call came in over their radios. According to 12’s Captain, the third floor had just suffered a ceiling collapse—with entrapment.

Both paramedics were on their feet and back in their gear, before Command could even finish acknowledging Yaeger’s ‘Mayday’ call. The pair grabbed some pry bars and the Ajax and went trotting over to the Chief’s car.

______________________________________________________________

The Chief eyed the new arrivals warily. “You guys all ‘rehabilitated’ now?”

“Yes, Sir!” the rescue team responded, in unison.

“Good! Because I want the two of you to assist Squad 36 with the ceiling collapse up on three.”

“Yes, Sir!” the paramedics readily, and relievedly, acknowledged, again speaking in perfect unison. The pair spun on their heels and began heading for the building’s left front entrance at a jog. _________________________________________________________________

They met up with the guys from 36’s at the elevator. All four rescue men went ‘on air’ as they rode up to the fire floor.

_________________________________________________________________

The stiflingly hot and stuffy lift’s doors slid open and Captain Stanley and his engine crew appeared. They had been descending the stairs when the ‘collapse’ call came in. And, since their air bottles were still nearly full, Hank had stopped to render their assistance.

His paramedics exchanged extremely relieved glances.

“Where were you guys?” DeSoto demanded.

“Yeah,” Gage irritatedly added. “We were beginning to get worried.”

“After all that exertion, Cap figured we could use a little breather,” Kelly replied, his voice muffled from speaking through his facemask.

“Yeah,” Marco continued, as all eight rescuers began advancing down the ridiculously dark, soggy hallway, following two snaking lines of fully charged hose. “You wouldn’t believe how breezy it is up there. Very refreshing!”

“What do we got, Steve?” Hank asked his fellow Captain when they’d gone as far as they could go.

Yaeger directed the beam of his light down the hall. Through a haze of smoke and steam, a fifteen foot long pile of rubble appeared. “Two a’ my guys and one of 16’s are under there—somewhere. They claim they’re not injured. Seems they just can’t move under all that weight.”

“We should be able to do something about that,” Hank assured him. “All right guys, start digging!”

The guys set their equipment down, freeing up their gloved hands. Then everybody began hefting and heaving broken 4x8 hunks of crumbling sheetrock out of the way and flinging soggy ceiling tiles, metal stripping, and light fixtures aside.

_____________________________________________________________________

The rescue was progressing both smoothly and quickly when Roy’s HT, and the radios in the two Captains’ pockets, suddenly crackled to life and another alarming call came in—this one announcing that interior crews had just lost all pressure in their attack lines.

The firemen stopped for an instant or two to stare solemnly down at the now flattened hoses beneath their feet, but then all nine of them promptly resumed working—at an even more rapid pace.

_________________________________________________________________________

Not two minutes later, the continuous ‘Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk’ sound of an engine’s air-horn filled the steamy hallway.

Bergmann was closing the building.

_______________________________________________________________________

The fire that had ravaged the apartments at the end of the third floor hall had been beaten into submission and its fuel supply had been soaked to the max.

But its offshoots remained very much alive, protected from the firemen’s lethal hose spray, and left to freely play, behind charred walls, blackened floor boards, and soggy ceilings.

There were plenty more apartments and a lot dryer fuel for their flickering flames to feast on.

Now, no longer under attack, these tentacles of the main fire continued to feed…and grow.

It wasn’t long before the entire third-floor hallway was re-filled with its oily, black, blinding smoke.

______________________________________________________

Fire operations on the building’s B-side had just begun to transition from attack to overhaul, when the ‘ceiling collapse with entrapment’ occurred.

The hook end of Fortney’s pike pole had dislodged more than just a ‘chunk’ of the waterlogged sheetrock. It had managed to take down a whole ‘hunk’ of it. The weight of that sizable section of ceiling had flattened him, and two other guys, to the floor, pinning their outstretched arms above their helmeted heads. “Ouch!” the entrapped overhauler cried out, as an unseen member of their rescue party stepped on his right glove. “Watch the hand!”

“Rick!” his Captain relievedly exclaimed, “You hurt anywhere? Besides your hand?”

His fellow firefighters must have found the sound ‘alarming’ all right, because their already rapid efforts to free him suddenly picked up a notch or two.

___________________________________________________

Less than sixty seconds later, the last bit of debris had been lifted from Rick’s back.

________________________________________________

Following a brief interrogation and completely blind inspection, two of the four paramedics on scene finally deemed that their first victim was, indeed, fit to travel.

“Gage! Kelly! Escort Rick, here, down and out!” Stanley ordered.

Fortney felt himself being pulled to his feet. His freed arms were draped around ‘Gage’ and ‘Kelly’s’ necks and he was immediately escorted ‘down and out’.

__________________________________________________

The two rescuers reached fresh air just as their burden’s bottled air supply ran completely dry.

Rick freed his arms and frantically whipped his helmet and facemask off. “Good timing, guys!” he gasped with a big, toothy grin.

The ‘guys’ removed their helmets and masks and returned his grin.

45’s paramedics latched onto Fortney’s freed arms. He tugged his right free, and one of his thick leather gloves off, and gave each of his helpers’ hands a hearty shake—before finally being whisked away.

His escorts tipped their sweat-soaked, slightly spinning heads back and gazed solemnly up at the ‘closed’ building.

The now unimpeded fire was once again engulfing an entire corner of its third floor, and, judging by the additional smoke-billowing windows, a good portion of the corners of the second and fourth floors, as well.

Their glum gazes lowered.

The supply line, connecting 10’s and 12’s engines to the complex’s standpipe, remained completely limp.

There was still no pressure in the mains.

Gage and Kelly exchanged a couple of exceedingly grim glances.

Attack crews still had no water and their fellow rescuers would soon have no air.

______________________________________________________________

A few anxious minutes later, four more rescuers came stumbling out of the now freely burning building, carrying the other member of 12’s engine crew.

Captain Yaeger had a firm hold on his lineman’s left arm.

Captain Stanley was gripping his right.

Marco and one of 36’s paramedics each had a leg.

Their burden was half lowered and half dropped onto a waiting gurney, and promptly rolled over to where Squad 45 was parked.

The injured man’s escorts were coughing so violently, and were apparently so wiped out, that they needed to be assisted over to REHAB.

_______________________________________________________________

A few even more anxious minutes later…

“Eleven,” Kelly counted aloud, as Mike, and the other paramedic from 36’s, came coughing out, carrying the lineman from 16’s. “Leave it to Roy to be the last one out.”

Upon being relieved of their burden, ten and eleven had dropped to their knees and doubled up in painful fits of coughing.

Gage and Kelly exchanged looks of growing alarm.

A dozen firefighters had occupied that hallway.

So then, where the hell was number twelve?!

John went stomping up to Mike. “Where’s Roy?!”

Stoker didn’t answer him. He was coughing too hard at the moment to speak.

“Where is my partner?!” John re-demanded of his fellow paramedic.

Neil Capadelli was suffering from some smoke inhalation, himself. He pulled the non-rebreather mask that was being pressed over his nose and mouth down. “There was another collapse!” he somehow managed to get out between coughs. “Rob had our radio.”

John’s alarm promptly switched to anger. “You left him there?!”

John unclenched his jaw and nodded his understanding, but didn’t hang around to apologize to Capadelli for his angry outburst. He just turned and went trotting off in the direction of their Squad, looking very determined.

Kelly was torn between following Gage or helping their still fitfully coughing co-worker over to REHAB. He exhaled a resigned sigh and started hauling the exhausted engineer back up onto his unsteady feet.

______________________________________________________

Gage reappeared in front of the building less than two minutes later. He’d donned a fresh air-pack and was toting an extra one, along with 36’s porta-power.

Two of Battalion 10’s linemen were stationed out front, blocking access to both entrances.

“The Chief has closed the building,” the lineman in front of the left entrance informed him as he attempted to go in. “Nobody goes inside until we get water.”

“Look, my partner’s still up there and he’s out of air!”

“Operations have shifted to an exterior attack.”

“I don’t intend to ‘attack’ anything! This is a rescue! Please?! I’m trying to save my partner!”

But 10’s guys continued to deny him access.

Gage quickly shed his rescue equipment and gear and headed off in search of Neil Capadelli’s partner, Rob Turcott.

_________________________________________________

“Rob!” John breathlessly blurted as he came running up. “I need to borrow your radio for a few seconds.”

Rob didn’t say a word. He simply unclipped their HT from his belt and handed it over.

“Thanks!”

‘First our porta-power and now our radio…Just what are you up to, Johnny?’ Turcott watched in growing confusion as Gage went racing off in the direction of the Chief’s car, where a group of station captains seemed to be gathered…and a great deal of shouting seemed to be going on.

_________________________________________________________

Bergman, who was on the receiving end of all the shouting, threw his arms up, but not in surrender. “Water tenders have been dispatched! 110’s snorkel should be arriving any second now. It shouldn’t take them too long to get into posit—”

“—We don’t leave one of our own behind!” 51’s Captain continued to protest, as his straining ears failed to detect the sound of approaching sirens.

“We are out of water!” the Battalion Chief shouted back, by way of a reminder.

Stanley’s dark eyes narrowed into icy slits. “And DeSoto is out of air! We’re wasting time here!”

His fellow fire officers vehemently voiced their agreement.

“Regulations clearly sta—”

“—Sometimes the rules need to be bent a little!” Yaeger shouted, cutting the Chief’s by-the-book comment short.

John Gage came trotting up just then, brandishing his borrowed HT. “Chief?! Chief?!” It took four more shouted ‘Chief!’s before he finally caught the beleaguered Battalion Chief’s attention. The paramedic raised the borrowed radio in his hand. “Permission to try to reach my partner?” he inquired, looking and sounding hopeful.

Bergmann gave the annoyance a disinterested nod and turned his full attention back to his angry officers and the little ‘rule revolt’ they were staging.

________________________________________________

John returned the radio to its rightful owner and himself to the complex’s left front entrance. His coat, helmet and air-pac were quickly re-donned. He slung the extra SCBA’s straps back over his left shoulder, picked the borrowed porta-power back up and attempted, once again, to gain access to the ‘closed’ building. “The Chief has given me permission to try to reach my partner,” he truthfully told the two door guards.

But the pair remained unconvinced.

“If you don’t believe me, just ask him,” Gage invited.

The guard on the right raised their radio to his lips and thumbed its send button, “Battalion 10 from HT 10…”

“Bergmann here. Go ahead, HT 10…”

“Chief, did you give—”

“One of 51’s paramedics,” John helpfully supplied.

“—one of 51’s paramedics permission to try to reach his partner?”

“Yes.”

‘Man, are you in trouble!’ John chided himself as he brushed passed the lineman on the left and then disappeared into the building.

“Why?”

“Just checking, Sir. Our orders were: Nobody goes inside until we get water.”

Their HT crackled back to life just in time to catch the tail end of an exasperated gasp. “I meant with a RADIO!”

Both guards winced.

The one on the left poked his helmeted head into the lobby.

But, the sneaky paramedic was long gone.

_______________________________________

Speaking of the sneaky paramedic…

Captain Stanley had realized in an instant what John was up to. He had given the retreating rescuer’s back the slightest of smiles, before heading off himself, in the direction of REHAB.

______________________________________________

Hank had been a fire officer long enough to know the role ‘politics’ played in handing out promotions.

Ever since he’d assumed the role of Chief Engineer, Bill Jenner had been doing his damnedest to rid the LACFD of its ‘Good Old Boys’ mentality—where promotions were based more on who and what you knew than on how qualified you were to lead the men under your command.

But Bergmann was living proof that a few vestiges of it must still remain.

This particular problem had been brewing for years.

‘How appropriate,’ Hank thought, ‘that it should all come boiling over now, on the hottest damn day of the year!’

Damn Bergmann! And damn department regulations! You NEVER leave one of your own behind!

___________________________________________________

“John’s gone back inside to rescue Roy,” the Captain informed his engine crew when he finally arrived at REHAB.

His men exchanged astonished glances.

“You sure about that, Cap?” Kelly inquired, giving voice to their disbelief.

Hank nodded. “C’mon! Gear up! We’re gonna go help him!”

Speaking of help…

His guys exchanged grins and obediently began assisting one another up off the pavement.

“I love this man!” Chet said in an aside to his amigo.

“Me, too,” Marco whispered right back.

Craig Brice heard the officer’s order and placed himself between Hank and his crew. “Your plan is commendable, Captain. But, neither you—or your men—have received medical clearance yet. None of you are in any condition, at the moment, to return to work.” Craig saw the fire officer’s mouth opening and headed the unhappy Captain’s protest off at the pass. “You go in there now, and start collapsing, and more men will end up having to risk their lives to save the four of you.”

The Captain swore beneath his breath but didn’t argue with Brice. He realized the infuriating little fellow was probably right.

You don’t leave one of your own behind and you don’t place yourself in a position that would recklessly endanger the lives of your fellow firefighters, either.

Hank felt someone’s hand on his now slumping right shoulder and turned to see who it belonged to.

36’s Captain and engine crew had already been released from REHAB. He and his men were standing there beside Big Red, all geared up, and looking both ready and eager to return to work.

Dave Carlton gave his fellow Captain’s sagging shoulder a reassuring slap. “Don’t worry, Hank. We’ll get your guys down for you.”

51’s guys gave 36’s guys looks of undying gratitude.

Carlton and his well-rested crew turned and went trotting off toward the ‘about to be forcibly reopened’ apartment complex’s left front entrance.

Power was now out in the apartment complex’s fire wing. So Gage had been forced to take the C-side stairs back up to the third floor.

_____________________________________________

Outside, the air temperature was uncomfortably hot.

In that solar-heated enclosed stairwell, it was both unbelievable and unbearable.

John’s lungs were hurting so bad, and his chest was heaving so hard, he could barely draw a breath. Sweat was streaming from his forehead in steady, ticklish torrents. He couldn’t blink fast enough to keep the salty substance from burning his eyes and blurring his vision, so he could hardly see the floor numbers.

‘Two?’ Gage gasped and forced himself to take another step up.

It felt like someone had strapped bars of lead to his ankles, and the equipment he was toting also seemed to weigh a ton.

The fireman’s over-heated and over-exerted body kept telling him that he really, really, really needed to sit down and rest a spell.

John kept telling it that he could not—would not rest until his trapped partner had some breathable air.

Roy’s rescuer was a firm believer in willpower.

It had always worked for him during past rescue efforts. Hopefully, it would enable him to complete this life-saving task, too.

It had to!

_________________________________________

At long last, John reached the fire door that led to the third floor’s hallway. He lowered the extra SCBA and borrowed porta-power onto the landing and flicked his turnout coat’s collar up before going ‘on air’.

The fireman’s helmet was replaced and its dangling chin strap was pulled snug.

He reached for the right pocket of his coat, fished a flashlight out and flicked it on.

The fire door was cautiously cracked open and kept open with the toe of his left boot.

Gage gathered his heavy burdens back up off the floor of the landing, his gloved right hand pulling double duty—holding both his light and the air-pac’s straps in place on his shoulder. He used his left knee to nudge the heavy portal open enough to allow him passage and promptly disappeared.

_________________________________________________________

A wall of intense heat and smoke hit the fireman full force and, momentarily, halted his forward progress.

Why, the stairwell had been cool, by comparison.

The paramedic immediately dropped to his hand and knees. He gave his now swimming head a few shakes and then started crawling toward the bright orange glow at the end of the long hallway.

_____________________________________________________________

The two guys from 10’s, that had been charged with the unsavory task of keeping the ‘closed’ building closed, saw 36’s Captain and engine crew approaching, carrying hotel pacs and fire axes. The unhappy pair noted the determined looks on their fellow firefighters’ perspiring faces, and the mutinous gleam in their narrowed eyes.

The lineman blocking the entrance on the left emitted an audible sigh of resignation and promptly stepped aside.

Captain Carlton and his men flashed the cooperative door guard appreciative smiles.

The guard returned their smiles. Hell, truth be told, he wished he could go with them. The 'mutineers' were just about to file past him when someone suddenly shouted.

“PRESSURE’S BACK IN THE MAINS!!!”

Carlton swung his helmeted head around just in time to see 110’s Ladder Truck come rumbling up.

The sound of an engine’s air-horn, announcing their water pressure’s return, and the burning structure’s reopening to interior attack crews, was nearly drowned out by the cheers of the fifty, or so, men currently occupying the fire ground—Dave, his grinning guys, and the two extremely relieved door guards, included.

36’s rescue attempt would proceed, as promised.

These new, and extremely welcome, developments just meant there’d be a change of tactics.

_________________________________________________

John Gage was now low-crawling.

Even down at floor level, the smoke was so thick and so black the beam of his light barely penetrated it.

And, the heat!

It was so intensely hot in that hallway! Hot enough to sear his exposed flesh and melt the clear, plastic face-shield on his SCBA’s rubber mask.

His fire glove hit something—something other than smoldering carpeting.

It was a ceiling tile.

He’d reached the site of the second collapse! Well…almost. He tossed the tossed tile out of his way and continued down the hall.

An engine’s air-horn suddenly sounded. The pattern of its blast caused the crawling fireman to smile.

Pressure was back in the mains! The crews now had water for their attack lines!

Then, over the roar of the fire, came an even sweeter sound, a sound that caused Gage to grin outright.

If his partner was coughing, that meant that he was still breathing!

His mission, to bring his trapped partner some breathable air, was accomplished! Well…almost.

The smoldering carpeting was beginning to ignite, forcing the low-crawler to his unsteady, and somewhat scorched legs. Flames licked out at him from the hall’s burning walls.

In order to get to his partner, he was going to have to pass through a gauntlet of fire.

To get to the ceiling collapse, the rescuer would have to risk a floor collapse. John retreated down the hall a bit. Then he ran back up to the burning obstacle and made a tremendous leap of faith. "Ro-oy?!"

_________________________________________________

Speaking of Roy…

DeSoto had taken it upon himself to see to it that their K-12 and porta-power—two very valuable pieces of LACFD equipment—were also ‘rescued’.

Their Haligans and fire axes—tools that were a lot less expensive to replace—had been left to fend for themselves.

_______________________________________________________________

Roy had just started down the hall, carrying the saw in his right hand, and the hydraulic pry bar in his left, when the second section of soggy ceiling let loose.

The falling sheetrock, itself, hadn’t caused him too much damage. But the sudden weight on his back and shoulder’s had shoved the fireman to the floor with such tremendous force, he’d ended up cracking a rib on the K-12.

Because his lowered arms had been pinned to his sides, Roy had been unable to assist Mike and Neil in their valiant efforts to free him.

The already completely exhausted pair had managed, somehow, to dig their trapped colleague out to about the level of his belly button, when their SCBAs ran out of air and they ran out of energy.

Roy’s own air bottle had also emptied and Mike had mercifully removed the air-tight rubber mask from his face, allowing him to breathe.

______________________________________________

The trapped fireman was still lying face down on the hall’s carpeted floor, still buried to his waist with ceiling rubble, and with his arms still pinned to his sides. He lay there, coughing painfully…thinking of his family…hoping they’d be okay without him…and praying that asphyxia would cause him to pass out before being burned alive.

He’d heard the air-horn blast but figured rescue would come too late.

_______________________________________________________

When he heard Johnny calling his name, Roy figured hypoxia had to be setting in, for sure. The lack of oxygen to his brain must be causing him to hallucinate.

But, less than an instant later, something ‘thudded’ onto the carpeting beside his turned head. “Johnny?!”

Gage quickly regained his balance and then aimed the beam of his light in the voice’s direction. ‘Shit!’ He’d damned near landed on his friend’s face. He crouched down and freed up his hands so he could crank the extra SCBA’s air bottle open. “You hurt anywhere?”

“Feels like I lost a rib,” Roy replied, between coughs and involuntary groans. Another rubber mask was quickly positioned over his face, its straps were snugged up, and breathing suddenly became a lot easier for him. “You’re NOT alone?” Roy incredulously inquired, when more darting beams of hazy light failed to appear. His buddy may be nuts, but he wasn’t completely insane.

“Of course not,” John assured him. “I’m with you.”

“You are completely insane!!!”

“We been together for how long? And, you’re just figurin’ that out now?” John had already positioned the porta-power and was busy pumping it’s handle. “Can you move at all?”

“No.”

More pressure was applied. The rubble pile raised.

“How about now?”

“A little.”

Johnny released the hydraulic pry bar and began tugging debris out of the little cave he’d just managed to create.

Roy’s anger left him and he smiled up at his friend, who’d just risked everything, and was now working so frantically, to free him. A thought suddenly occurred to him and his unseen smile graduated into an unseen grin. “I’ve never pictured myself as ‘a heavenly cause’.”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t that what that song says a person is ‘willing to march into hell’ for? ‘A heavenly cause’? Well, this is hell, and you just came ‘marching in’ here.”

“I came jumping in,” the leaper corrected. “This is actually a whole lot hotter than hell. And, you are more of a ‘lost cause’.”

Roy’s grin broadened. “You’re getting pretty damn good with the repartee there, partner!”

“It’s the company I keep,” John quickly came back, “partner!” He gave the porta-power’s handle a couple more pumps. “How ‘bout now?”

“Yeah! Yeah! Try giving me a tug and maybe I can work my arms free…”

Gage grabbed his friend under the arms and began tugging.

In no time, DeSoto was out from under the rubble pile.

John saw Roy using his freed right arm to stabilize his damaged ribcage and helped him switch his empty air-pac for the practically full one. His partner’s helmet was plopped down on his head and he was tugged up onto his feet.

The heat quickly forced both firemen back into a crouched position.

Flames seemed to be everywhere!

Roy had been freed from one trap only to find himself, and his completely insane partner, smack dab in the middle of another. “Out of the frying pan…” he glumly muttered between agonizing coughs, his mumbled words muffled even more by his facemask.

“…And into the fire,” Johnny quietly completed for him. Their helmeted heads were close together. Close enough for him to catch his amigo’s morbid comment.

_____________________________________________

The nearly beaten beast had managed to make a complete recovery. In fact, it was blazing hotter and stronger than ever.

Its swords of flame had been steadily closing in on two of its enemies and it now had them completely surrounded.

________________________________________

51’s paramedics scanned the entire area, searching frantically for some sort of an escape route.

But their efforts proved to be in vain.

There was no visible way out.

The experienced rescue men immediately began searching for an escape route that wasn’t visible.

There must be an apartment somewhere around there. There had to be, because they desperately needed to get the hell out of that hallway.

Gage ran the hazy beam of his light along the rubble pile. Through the thick curtain of smoke and flames, he suddenly spotted—what he hoped was—the burning outline of a doorway. He handed Roy his light and then picked up the discarded SCBA. “Follow me!” he ordered

Roy did, and soon found himself on top of the rubble pile he’d just been buried under.

His buddy banged the blazing hall wall with the air-pac’s empty air bottle until he heard a change in its ‘thud’s. John then used the heavy metal canister as a battering ram.

The second ‘wha-ack’ produced a muffled ‘cra-ack’ and the apartment’s unseen, and already-weakened-by-fire, portal flew open.

Johnny tossed his battering ram aside.

The two about-to-be-burned-alive firemen crossed their canvas-coated forearms up in front of their face-shields and then blindly jumped—clear through that thick curtain of smoke and flames—and, hopefully, onto the apartment’s carpeted floor.

_______________________________________

“Out of the frying pan…”

“And into the fire.”

The pair breathlessly repeated, upon seeing that the apartment they’d just jumped into was also completely ablaze.

The door was slammed shut and a small wooden table was shoved up in front of it, to keep it that way.

The apartment’s street-facing windows were currently inaccessible.

John spotted an undamaged door to their left and jerked it open—a clothes closet.

They rushed into the tiny space, pulling the undamaged door closed behind them.

_______________________

It was a tad bit cooler in that little closet, and visibility was pretty decent, too.

John yanked several brightly-colored shirts from their wire hangers and then cracked the closet’s portal open just enough to allow him to drape the colorful articles of clothing over the top of the door.

The thick material would serve as a seal and the flashy colors would help pinpoint their location.

The portal was pulled shut and then the rest of the closet’s contents were used to seal the gap between the door and the floor.

Roy released his damaged ribcage so he could have his right hand free. Then he pulled their HT from his coat pocket and thumbed its send button. “Engine 51 from HT 51…”

Nothing.

“Engine 51 from HT 51!” Roy repeated, between coughs.

Again, nothing.

Even messing with the squelch button couldn’t get it to produce a squeal.

Crashing onto the K-12 had taken out more than just his rib. It had also taken out their radio.

The no longer functioning communication device was returned to the coughing fireman’s coat pocket.

John finished securing his flashlight to the ceiling fixture’s pull cord. He lowered his leaden arms, rested his air bottle up against the back of the closet and then slowly began sliding down the wall and onto his ‘busted’ butt. It had taken everything he had to make it this far and, now, there was nothing left in the tank. Something suddenly dawned on him. “This mus’ be ‘the unreachable star’,” he lightly declared, as the ‘heavenly cause’ came sliding down the same wall to sit beside him.

Despite the pain he knew it was sure to cause, Roy couldn’t help but laugh.

Though, his partner’s witty realization was actually more truthful than amusing. The two of them had just ‘strove’ with their ‘last ounce of’ everything to make it this far.

There followed a long, comf—er, uncomfortable sile—er, the blond paramedic’s constant cough kept the closet from being completely devoid of sound.

______________________________________

Speaking of the blond paramedic…

John Gage was worried about his partner. Prior to his arrival, his buddy had to have inhaled a ton a’ tar and superheated air. ‘Edema could cause Roy’s airway to become compromised. That busted rib could puncture a lu—‘. John quickly derailed his morbid train of thought. “I don’t think I have ever felt this hot before.”

“Me, either,” Roy confessed. “Maybe we should start*cough cough*thinking of Michigan.”

John was forced to laugh, this time.

“I can’t recall,” Roy continued, between more bouts of painful coughing, “ever being this thirsty.”

“That reminds me…” John shook one of his fire gloves off and began fishing around for something in his coat pocket, “I brought you some Gatorade gum—er, syrup,” he corrected, noting that the gum’s previously solid bright-orange package now felt all squooshy. “It’s supposed to help quench your thirst. See? It says so right there on the wrapper…”

DeSoto reluctantly shook one of his gloves off and, even more unenthusiastically, accepted his buddy’s, supposedly shitty, offering.

Their facemasks were lifted just enough to allow them to lick the melted substance from its soggy individual wrappers.

Roy took a cautious chew or two and his face scrunched up. His friend’s assessment had been accurate, and being in a liquid form did nothing to improve the gum’s taste. “Thanks. This really hits the spot.”

Johnny found his friend’s insincere statement most amusing. In fact, he laughed so hard he nearly swallowed his gum.

Gage gradually regained his composure and the two of them just continued to sit there, on the floor of that tiny clo—er, ‘unreachable star’, chew—er, licking Gatorade gum…and thinking of Michigan.

“I feel cooler already,” Roy suddenly, and even more insincerely, announced between bouts of painful coughing. “And I’ve never even been to Michigan.” The hurting fireman grinned, seeing that, once again, his masterful use of sarcasm had caused his companion to crack up.

Johnny’s light laughter was suddenly drowned out by the sound of his SCBA’s low air alarm.

Roy bumped shoulders with his suddenly sober looking friend. “Could be wors—”

“—Ahh nah. Nah, nah, nah,” Johnny quickly cut in. “Not this time. Ro-oy, the two of us are trapped in this stinkin’ closet…in about five more minutes, we’re both gonna be outta air…in even less time than that, the fire’s gonna be comin’ through that door…you’re sittin’ there, about to prove that a person really can ‘cough up a lung’…and nobody even knows where the hell we are! How could things possibly be any ‘worse’?”

“I could still be out there in that hallway,” DeSoto solemnly replied, “…alone.”

Gage didn’t—couldn’t—say anything. His own airway suddenly seemed to be obstructed. Something, other than sweat, was causing his eyes to sting.

Roy was right again.

It really could be worse.

A whole helluva lot worse.

Johnny blinked his blurred vision a bit clearer and then bumped his buddy’s shoulder right back.

___________________________________________________

The fire may have surpassed its previous strength, but it was still no match for six fresh interior crews, twelve steadily advancing attack lines and a snorkel operating under full pressure.

Once again, the raging beast was beaten into submission, reluctantly releasing its flaming hold on one apartment after another.

But then, that’s the way the ‘game’ was played.

Sometimes the fire won—sometimes it lost.

No matter.

It would just return another time…another place.

The fire and the water and the firemen were age old enemies.

And they would remain enemies—to the death!

____________________________________________________

Speaking of which…

Still stuck back up on—er, in ‘the unreachable star’, 51’s paramedics had managed to completely exhaust both themselves and their supply of breathable air.

What little oxygen the closet may have contained had long since been sucked out to fuel the fire raging out in the apartment.

The two trapped men sat there, with their legs bent at the knees and the backs of their sweat-drenched heads resting against the closet wall, growing woozier and woozier with each deadly, labored breath.

A drop of something other than his own sweat struck the dark-haired fireman on the forehead and he opened his burning eyes a bit to investigate its source. He gazed dazedly up past the hazy glare of his dangling light.

Water was dripping down from the ceiling fixture and splattering off the metal clothes rod.

“Hey,” he mumbled groggily, “it’s…raining…on our…parade.”

The, at first, refreshing spray quickly became annoying.

The little trickle soon became a torrent and their discarded helmets were slowly re-donned.

Because they’d managed to seal the bottom of the closet door so well, the water had nowhere to go, and quickly began to accumulate.

“I can…just see…the headlines…now,” DeSoto dryly remarked, between more fitful bouts of painful coughing. “Firemen…Drown in…Apartment Complex…Blaze.”

Gage was forced to grin. “That…would be…embarrassing.”

Suddenly, the coughing stopped.

The sound of his buddy’s helmet, banging into the side of his, broke the silence. “Ro—?” Johnny anxiously began.

But, before the worried fireman could even finish speaking his friend’s name, he, too, was out cold.

The beast had left its lethal breath—carbon monoxide gas—in the devoured oxygen’s wake.

________________________________________________

36’s captain and crew were among those fighting the fine fight. They had managed to push the fire back down the building’s third floor and now had it contained to the end of the hallway.

_________________________________________________

The fire continued to slowly die back until, finally, it was extinguished.

In its flaming fury, the beast had managed to take with it most of the building’s B-side.

___________________________________________

A faint light was streaming through what remained of the third floor stairwell’s soot-covered windows.

The guy’s from 36’s stared down its blackened hallway not feeling very triumphant.

There was no way they were going to find the two missing firemen alive.

The rescue party exchanged sad, solemn glances and then went right back to work. They still had a promise to keep.

Using their fire axes to sound the charred floor boards beneath their boots for structural integrity, Captain Carlton and his recovery crew continued down the gloomy, water-logged hallway, in search of their fellow firefighters’ bodies.

____________________________________________________

The door to one apartment had a gaping hole in it.

Tod Whitley yanked a few ragged pieces of charcoal out of his way, creating an opening large enough for him to insert the entire upper half of his body into the blackened abode.

Fire had completely gutted the apartment. Even its floor and ceiling were gone.

The searcher was about to duck back out into the hall when he caught a flash of color out of the corner of his facemask. Curious as to what had managed to survive the fire’s sooty assault, the fireman swung the beam of his light in the object’s general direction.

A rather large portion of a once neon-yellow jacket was protruding from a crack at the top of a blackened door. In fact, it appeared as though someone had draped several articles of clothing over the door. Either the apartment owner had run out of hangers or—

Whitley stiffened and promptly backed out of the apartment. “Cap! Over here! I think I may have found something!”

“What d’yah got?” Carlton inquired as he came cautiously stepping up.

“Look above the door on your left,” Whitley advised and stepped out the way.

The Captain poked his helmeted head into the apartment and obligingly swung the beam of his bright light to the left. Dave Carlton took note of both the dangling articles of clothing, and the apartment’s missing floor and ceiling, and swore.

Any attempt to see if anybody was on the other side of that door, was going to have to be made from the roof.

Carlton pulled the HT from his pocket and thumbed its send button.

___________________________________________________

Hank Stanley was seated on Big Red’s sideboard with his HT in his hand.

The radio suddenly crackled to life, causing 51’s guys to stiffen.

“Battalion 10 from Engine 36…”

51’s Captain and crew sprang to their feet and exchanged extremely anxious glances.

Could this be the news they’d been both hoping for…and dreading?

“Battalion 10 here. Go ahead 36...”

“Chief, the floor and ceiling are gone in one of the apartments up here on Three, and we need to check something out. Is there any way 110’s could get some ladders, rope and life-belts up to the roof for us?”

“What is your current location, 36?”

“Heads up!” Carlton cautioned via his radio.

Every helmeted head on the fire-ground obediently tipped back and every eye watched as a flashlight suddenly came sailing out of one of the third floor’s charred windows and exploded onto the sidewalk.

“Okay, 36. We’ve got your position. Help and equipment are on the way.”

Hank and his men glanced hopefully in Brice’s direction.

The coughing had stopped. Their vitals were all stable.

Craig gave his watch a quick glance and then nodded the crew’s release from REHAB.

51’s already geared up guys rewarded the paramedic with looks of undying gratitude and then went trotting off in the direction of the Chief’s car.

_________________________________________________

By the time the snorkel platform of 110’s rig descended to street level, the requested items were all lined up and ready to be loaded.

The ladders were lashed onto the tops of the snorkel’s safety cage and the other items were tossed up onto the platform’s deck.

Dale Manthey stared disbelievingly down at his cargo. The combined weight of all those coiled ropes and ladders meant he would to have to place a restriction on the lift’s number of passengers. “I can only take two, this trip.”

“All right. Stoker! Kelly!” 51’s Captain unhesitatingly called out.

The two thrilled to have been selected crewmen quickly scrambled up onto the snorkel’s crowded deck. The security bar was lowered into place and the hydraulic ladder’s platform began climbing slowly and steadily toward the roof.

____________________________________________________________

A few extremely hectic minutes later…

The ladders were still lying flat down, having been stretched across one of the gaping holes in the building’s weakened roof—the hole that was located directly above the third floor apartment.

Stoker and Kelly had donned life-belts on the ride up. Their belts were secured to some ropes and, working from the ladders, 36’s guys began lowering 51’s guys down through the hole in the roof.

__________________________________________________

“Okay! Hold it!” Whitley shouted up as the lowered men drew level with him.

The guys manning the ropes held it.

Stoker and Kelly grabbed onto each other’s ropes, to keep from spinning, and took a look around.

The apartment they’d just been lowered down to may have been devoid of a floor and ceiling, but it still had walls.

And one of 36’s guys was standing in the doorway to the hall, pointing toward one of them. “See that door over there? We wanna find out what’s behind it. Can one of yous swing over there and check it out for us?”

Chet released Mike’s rope and the engineer obligingly gave him a shove in the door’s direction. He kept on shoving.

A flashlight was dangling from the ceiling cord and, by its dim glow, Kelly saw that their eyes remained closed.

“Johnny?!...Ro-oy?!” he shouted again, a whole lot louder.

But the two of them just continued to sit there on the floor of that water-logged closet, shoulder-to-shoulder and helmet-to-helmet, not moving a damn muscle.

Kelly unclipped the top of John’s sopping wet turnout coat and placed the palm of his hand down on his chest. His mustached face filled with horror. “Get in here! Quick! They ain’t breathin’!” he screamed back at Mike. “An’ tell ‘em ta send down a couple a’ belts!” Before starting AR, he took a moment to grind his knuckles into Johnny’s sternum.

No reaction. No response.

‘Damn!’ Chet pinched the unresponsive paramedic’s nostrils shut and started breathing for him— praying to God that it wasn’t already too late.

“Nice suit,” Joe Early commented as he came stepping up beside his colleague.

“Thanks,” Kel Brackett replied, “Yours isn’t too shabby, either.”

Early surveyed the scene and his right brow arched in surprise. But then, he’d heard the two of them had been together when they were found. So, it was only fitting that they should be together now…especially now. “They look so peaceful.”

“Yea-eah…” Kel smiled sadly down at the peaceful looking pair. “They sure put us through our paces, didn’t they?”

“That they did. That they did.”

Speaking of their paces…

____________________________________________

Brackett’s ordered treatment for the two victims of carbon monoxide poisoning had been aggressive.

The skillful application of artificial respiration had managed to keep the pair alive on scene.

By the time the two poisoning victims reached Rampart, their respirations had even become spontaneous.

Unfortunately, both men’s conditions remained extremely critical.

DeSoto, who had been deemed the more critical of the two, had been whisked right up to Respiratory Medicine—bypassing the ER, entirely.

Kel had carefully weighed his options.

They didn’t have five hours.

They didn’t have eighty minutes.

They probably didn’t have that much time, either.

But that was the treatment Kel had prescribed.

________________________________________

“Of course we won’t know for sure, if there’s been any cognitive damage, until they regain consciousness. But their latest EEG’s look good and pupillary response remains excellent.” Kel flashed his firemen friends another, more radiant smile, and then turned to address his doctor friend. “No-ow, you’ll have to excuse me, Joe. I promised someone I’d take them to dinner.”

“I gotta run, too. I have reservations at my favorite jazz club. They’ve booked a new combo and I hear they’re supposed to be pretty good.”

The two of them started heading for the door.

“Oh yeah? Maybe we could meet up with you later?”

“Sounds good, Kel. It’s The Mad Sax…over on Melbourn. Don’t look at me,” Joe added upon seeing the strange look his associate was now shooting him. “I didn’t name it.”

Speaking of his associate…

Kel paused in the ICU room’s doorway to take one last, fond glance back at the two peacefully sleeping hose jockeys. “Try to leave us a little more to work with next time, will yah fellahs?” And, with that whispered—extremely heartfelt—request, the good doctor disappeared.

_______________________________________

Speaking of regaining consciousness…

Around midnight, awareness returned to John Gage.

The first thing his brain registered was an incessant ‘beep’ing sound.

The next realization was that his head hurt, really, really, really bad—hands down, the worst headache he had ever experienced in his entire life!

The third thing it was made painfully aware of was that his legs felt like they were on fire.

He groaned in agony and gradually got his sore eyes to open and remain open.

A ceiling mounted camera eventually came into focus.

That meant he must be in ICU…which meant he must still be alive.

‘But…how?’

There was just no way!

‘Talk about an ‘Impossible Dream!’ If he wasn’t afraid it might cause his hurting head to explode, he would have been forced to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He glanced down at all the wires and tubes that were currently connected to his body and groaned again.

A nurse suddenly appeared in his field of vision.

The video monitor had recorded his waking and the audio monitor had recorded his groans.

His first few attempts to speak produced dismal results. “My partner?” he finally managed to anxiously inquire, following much throat clearing and grimacing.

The woman emptied a hypo into his IV port and then smiled reassuringly down at him. “He’s right over there—and doing about as well as can be expected,” she quietly added, anticipating his next question.

John gulped in relief.

Joann was seated at her husband’s bedside. Both of her hands were keeping a secure hold on his partner’s left hand, even though they both seemed to be sound asleep.

‘Sheesh!’

Roy seemed to have even more wires and tubes connected to him than he did.

Whereas he just had a nasal canula supplying him with O2, a non-rebreather mask was still sealed over his roommate’s face.

“Smoke inhalation,” the nurse explained in a whisper. “He’s responding well to treatment. Oxygen SATS for the both of you have been steadily improving. The two of you are suffering from the after-effects of carbon monoxide poisoning. You have also sustained some dandy first and second degree burns to your lower extremities. So, lie still. Give the medicine a chance to work…”

“I’ve had worse sunburn,” the growing antsier by the second young man replied—er, lied, and refused to take his gaze off the body in the bed beside his.

“Sunburn that blisters is considered a second degree burn. Second degree burns require dressings, antibiotics and pain management. So, lie still and give the medicine a chance to work,” she sternly repeated. But then the woman’s warm smile reappeared. “Okay?”

John nodded and did his level best to relax.

The nurse’s smile broadened and she immediately set about taking vitals.

_________________________________________

Two hours later…

Following a few hours of wining, dining and dancing, Dix had asked her dinner date to drop her off at Rampart.

___________________________________________

“Wow! Dix! You look amazing!” John Gage exclaimed in a hushed tone, as the off-duty nurse came strolling into 604 on the ICU floor in her slinky, black, be-jeweled dinner dress.

She flashed the young fireman back a smile that illuminated the entire, otherwise dimly lit, room. “Thanks.” Her smile was quickly replaced with a worried frown. “And you look like hell. Feeling pretty miserable, huh.”

“I would have to improve considerably to feel that good. I have this Harvey-wall-banger of a headache that I can’t seem to shake. Don’t suppose you could bring me a couple a’ aspirin?”

“Sorry. Consumed some alcohol—a little wine with dinner. Can’t administer any meds, at the moment. But I know someone who can.” She reached down and pressed the patient’s call button.

John got a whiff of something and his face scrunched up. “Man! I can not stand the smell of burnt hair. Is it bad? Nobody will bring me a mirror.”

“The ends are a bit singed. Nothing a little creative cutting and blending couldn’t fix.”

Johnny remained devastated.

“Here, you be the judge,” Dixie pulled a compact from her purse, flipped it open and passed it to him.

He definitely didn’t find the stringy/frizzled look becoming. “Ahhh-ahhh…ma-an.”

“Would you like me to fix it for you?” his lovely visitor volunteered.

There was more than one kind of medicine.

The fireman’s forlorn frown immediately turned upside-down. “Would you?”

It meant a lot to hear how willing the young man was to take her up on her offer.

Johnny wouldn’t entrust the care of his hair to just anybody.

“Sure.”

“I, uh, don’ suppose you could wash it too…while you’re at it?”

They’d managed to bathe every surface of his soot-blackened, badly-abused body—with the exception of his stringy, burnt-smelling hair.

Dixie checked the patient’s medical chart, noted the semi-ambulatory designation, and flashed the pitiful looking paramedic another mega-watt smile. “Oh-oh, I think we can manage that.”

John was delighted to no end.

The duty nurse entered and flicked the call light off.

“Amy, this patient would like something for his headache,” Dixie quietly announced.

The two women exchanged a knowing glance.

“And see if you can rustle us up some scissors.”

Amy suppressed a smile. “Yes, Miss McCall,” she acknowledged and then left.

Miss McCall stepped up to the wall phone and requested that an orderly bring a wheelchair up to ICU Room 604. She pulled some towels from a cupboard and then removed a comb and a couple of small plastic bottles from the patient courtesy pack in the top drawer of John’s nightstand.

Amy returned and emptied another hypo into her patient’s IV port. She then pulled a pair of scissors from her right pocket and handed them to her patient’s hairdresser.

The orderly and chair arrived.

The head of John’s hospital bed was raised until he was sitting completely upright.

Amy took his vitals and then gave Miss McCall the go-ahead.

The plastic bag of saline was transferred to the chair’s IV pole.

The nurses got the patient unplugged from the various machines that were monitoring his medical condition. John was carefully detached from his hospital bed and then lowered, even more carefully, into the wheelchair.

Dixie eyed the upright young man critically. “Do you feel dizzy at all?”

John was about to shake his hurting head but then thought better of it. “No.”

But Dixie was apparently not willing to take any chances.

A broad, black nylon strap was stretched across his chest and then secured.

Johnny sat there with his lap full of wires and his upper body all buckled in, wearing a big, silly grin.

Dixie couldn’t keep from grinning herself. “Follow me.” With that, the woman headed out the door and disappeared off down the hall.

The orderly obeyed.

_______________________________________

John was rolled down the corridor in ICU and up to a utility closet.

The fireman wasn’t too keen on seeing the inside of another closet so soon. But he was even less keen on having grungy, burnt-smelling hair.

The chair was backed into the closet and up to a big galvanized wash basin, where Dixie already had the water running.

A towel had been rolled up and draped over the edge of the metal basin.

John tipped his hurting head back until the nape of his neck was resting comfortably on the towel cushion.

Before beginning, Dixie performed another quick patient check. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” Gage assured her with another broad grin. “I cannot even begin to tell you how ‘okay’ I am.”

His ardent assurance caused Dixie to chuckle. She placed her wrist under the steady steaming stream and adjusted the tap’s valves until the water’s temperature was ‘just so’. Then she latched onto the sink’s extendable spout and began the first rinse cycle. Once the hair was wet, she applied a generous amount of shampoo and began massaging it into his hair and scalp. The woman was rewarded for her efforts as the foamy-white lather immediately began to darken in color.

“Why are we here?” John suddenly wondered, clean out of the blue.

Dixie’s eyes widened in surprise but then sparkled with amusement. “You mean, as in ‘What is the meaning of life?’ or as in, ‘Why are the two of you in ICU instead of the morgue?’”

“That last one. Do you know?”

Dixie rinsed the soot-laden suds from the fireman’s hair and quickly re-lathered. “From what I have been able to piece together…one of 36’s men saw some sort of sign you had left above a door. Chet Kelly and Mike Stoker were told to check it out. Chet claims you weren’t breathing when they found you, so they started mouth-to-mouth. Those two kept you going from the closet to the roof. Rob and Neil managed to keep you going from the roof to Rampart. Kel saw to it that you made it from ER to Respiratory Medicine, where the two of you each spent 90 minutes in the hyperbaric chamber. The hyperbaric treatments kept the two of you alive long enough to be admitted to ICU. You are here because a lot of very dedicated, highly-trained professionals did their damnedest to keep you here…yourselves included. ”

The fireman flashed his informant a grateful smile, but refrained from commenting.

A final rinse and Dixie’s daunting task was half accomplished.

The paramedic’s wet head was entombed in a towel and he was promptly returned to his hospital room.

___________________________________________________

Most of the remaining water was toweled from the patient’s squeaky clean hair. Dixie picked the comb and scissors up from the nightstand and began ‘cutting and blending’ the young fireman’s still damp, slightly fire-damaged locks.

__________________________________________

Roy DeSoto slowly surfaced from the depths of unconsciousness. Over the painful throbbing in his head he could hear some strange ‘beep’ing and ‘snip’ping sounds. He forced his burning eyes open and blinked his swimming vision a bit clearer. Joann was asleep in the chair beside his hospital? bed. His blurry gaze traveled across the room and riveted upon a truly bizarre spectacle.

Dixie McCall was standing there, in a sensuous black dinner dress, cutting and combing his partner’s hair.

‘Talk about an ‘Impossible Dream’,’ he sleepily mused before drifting back into the depths of unconsciousness.

___________________________________________________

Following a thorough towel drying, and one last careful combing, Dixie set her hairdressing instruments aside and passed the paramedic back the open compact. “What d’yah think?”

Johnny was overjoyed with the results. “Dix, you are every bit as amazing as you look!”

Once again, Dixie was forced to chuckle. “Think you’ll be able to rest now?”

Johnny drew in a long, relaxed burnt-hair-free breath and nodded.

The duty nurse had changed the paramedic’s pillow case and re-lowered the head of his bed.

Their now practically asleep patient was carefully returned to his hospital bed and rewired to his machines.

The off-duty nurse noted that Johnny had managed to fall asleep with a smile on his pain-free face.

Yup! There was more than one kind of medicine.

“Sweet dreams, Tiger…” she wished in a whisper, and realized she was now feeling ‘all relaxed and sleepy’, herself. Dixie flashed her firemen friends a final smile and then headed off to call a cab.

Kel had promised to wait up for her.

_________________________________________________

Roy’s smoke-irritated eyes eventually re-opened.

It wasn’t a dream.

He really was lying in a hospital bed, in I-See-You, judging by the camera on the ceiling.

His wife, however, was no longer seated beside him.

“She went home to change and check on the kids,” his partner suddenly volunteered.

Roy slowly turned his head.

Sure enough. His buddy was lying in the neighboring bed.

Roy stared at his partner in complete and utter disbelief and then gave him a ‘What are we doing here?’ look.

“I know. Right?” Johnny then proceeded to relate the explanation Dixie had so kindly provided for him earlier that morning.

Roy still found their continued existence completely incomprehensible and the two of them enjoyed a good laugh.

Joanne returned just then. “What’s so funny?” she wondered and couldn’t keep from grinning herself.

“Nothing,” they replied in perfect unison.

There was just no way the woman would ever understand.

Joanne planted a passionate kiss upon her hubby’s still smiling lips. “Your son wanted me to give you this.”

Roy took the folded piece of construction paper and opened it.

Christopher had made his father a crayon drawing. A red blob with four smaller black blobs. ‘The Squad?’

“And your daughter wanted me to deliver these,” Joanne pressed her face right up to her husband’s and fluttered her long eyelashes against his.

Susie had sent her Daddy a whole slew of butterfly kisses.

Joanne then crossed over to the neighboring bed and smiled down at her husband’s partner. “Thank you,” she shakily whispered just prior to planting a kiss on his forehead.

Johnny didn’t—couldn’t say anything. He just blinked his misty eyes and smiled right back at her.

It was then that Roy noted the present condition of his partner’s hair. His dream hadn’t been so impossible, after all. “Dixie was dressed in a sultry black dinner dress…and she was standing right over there…cutting your hair.”

Gage grinned and nodded. “She did a damn good job, too. Don’t yah think?” He picked his head up from his pillow and turned it from side to side.

Joanne’s right eyebrow arched and she aimed an accusing glare at her mate. “Sultry black dinner dress?”

DeSoto saw ‘the’ look and promptly ducked beneath his bed covers.

_________________________________________________

Kel Brackett was the next person to pay the recuperating firemen a visit.

The doctor gave both of his patients a very thorough neurological exam….and one of his infamous lectures.

“These latest tests show signs of significant improvement. However, anytime the brain is deprived of oxygen there is the potential for cell damage. I’m hoping that exposure time was limited and that treatment was administered quickly enough to minimize whatever neurological damage may have been done.

Since neurological damage from CO poisoning can be delayed, the two of you will have to undergo weekly cognitive testing for the next couple of months.”

The two firemen exchanged grave glances.

“When can we get out of here?” Gage wondered.

“You can probably go home tomorrow.” He turned to Roy. “We’ll be keeping you for a few more days. We still have a few tests to run. With that busted rib, we’ll need to monitor your lungs and administer breathing treatments to ward off pneumonia. Any questions?”

The dark-haired fireman proceeded to fire off a whole barrage of questions.

Kel winced. He was going to have to stop loaning the paramedic his old medical journals.

_____________________________________________________

Johnny’s old ear doctor was the next visitor.

“I’ll be needing an upright chair,” the doctor informed the nurse who had escorted him into the room.

The nurse nodded and left to procure an upright chair.

“Hi, Mr. DeSoto. My name is Dr. Jeff Perry. I’m an otolaryngologist. An ENT.”

“An ear, nose and throat guy. Right?”

Perry smiled. “Right. This is my assistant…” he added and motioned to a young woman with a medical chart and a satchel strung over her left shoulder. “Dr. Brackett has asked me to examine your airway. Is that all right with you?”

Mr. DeSoto nodded.

“I understand that the two of you are firemen.”

Another nod.

“Inhalational burns are, by far, my biggest challenge as an ENT. But, I must confess, I don’t see too many firemen. Firemen will rarely be symptomatic from smoke exposure unless the SCBA wasn’t worn or the mask was dislodged or failed during fire suppression.”

“I was the victim of a ceiling collapse and ran out of air before I could be rescued.”

Perry appeared somewhat astonished. “Were you close to the fire?”

“I was in the fire.”

Perry appeared even more shocked, but then obligingly began his exam. “Complications from smoke inhalation can take hours or even days to manifest themselves. No sign of any burns to the face or neck.”

His assistant noted the observation on her chart.

“The magnitude of an airway burn depends on both air temperature and time of exposure. The hotter the temperature the less exposure time is required to produce a significant burn. Significant burn starts at around an inhalation air temperature of 184.73 °.”

“I figure that was the temp’ the air in that hallway was about to reach, when Don Quixote over there showed up with an air-pac.”

Perry shot Don Quixote a quick glance. Then he donned his stethoscope and listened closely for any abnormal lung sounds. “Thermal damage to the upper airway can induce stridor or hoarseness. None present. Chemical damage to the trachea and bronchi can create wheezing or rhonchi. Also absent. Deep inhalation into the alveoli can cause pulmonary edema. Your lungs sound remarkably clear and your oxygen SATS and latest blood gases are both contraindicative of edema.”

The requested ‘upright chair’ arrived.

“Stick around,” Perry told the orderly. “I’m going to need your help to move this patient.” The doctor handed his assistant the stethoscope and she passed him back a powerful headlamp. He strapped it on and then announced, “Laryngoscopic exam.”

The young woman promptly picked her pen back up and began writing.

“We are going to sit you in this chair…”

“Careful,” John advised. “He’s got a busted rib.”

Roy was carefully moved to the chair.

“I’m going to ask you to open your mouth as wide as possible. I will then spray your throat with this anesthetic…”

The woman stuck her pen between her teeth and handed her boss a spray can.

“…to numb it. I’ll have you gargle and then spit. I will then cover your tongue with gauze and hold it down. A mirror will be placed at the back of your throat. Even with the topical, it may cause gagging. If the exam becomes too uncomfortable for you, just give me a poke. Open wide for me please…” Perry examined the fireman’s mouth while spraying the anesthetic. “No apparent swelling or blistering.”

The observation was duly noted.

Roy winced at the spray’s bitter taste. Gatorade Gum was yummy, by comparison. His throat instantly felt swollen.

Perry’s assistant held an emesis basin up to his mouth.

The patient obediently gargled and then spat.

“Just try to breathe normally. It will all be over in just a few minutes.” Doctor Perry flicked his headlamp’s ridiculously bright light on, covered Roy’s tongue with a gauze pad and held it down. A warm mirror was inserted into the fireman’s mouth and held up to the back of his throat. With the aid of his headlamp, the doctor tilted the mirror to view various areas of the throat. “Say ahhh.”

“Ahhh…”

“The larynx, vocal cords, and hypopharynx are unremarkable. I’m not seeing any soot deposits in the nares or oropharynx. The oropharynx is lined with moist mucous membranes, making heat transfer very efficient. Which is why most thermal burns caused by hot smoke occur above the glottis. There is an absence of swelling on both the oropharynx and laryngopharynx.” Perry removed his mirror, released the fireman’s tongue and flicked his headlamp off. “The numbness will wear off in about 30 minutes. You should not eat or drink anything for about 2 hours.” That said, the ENT doctor flicked his headlamp back on and began a thorough examination of his patient’s nose. “You didn’t singe your nasal hair, but the nasal cavity, itself, shows significant signs of heat damage.”

“I inhaled through my nose.”

“That’ll do it.

“The entire olfactory region is pretty much fried.” Perry saw the perplexed look on the face of his assistant. “Substantial burn to the olfactory cleft,” he quickly clarified. “The olfactory cleft is where the receptors for smell sensations are found. Olfactory cilia are located along the upper surface of the inside of the nasal passages. These hair-like receptor cells respond to chemical stimuli that have dissolved in the nasal mucus. 80% of our taste is related to smell. That’s why we can’t taste food when we have a stuffy nose. Anything that impairs your sense of smell, will also decrease your perception of taste. The good news is that the damage isn’t permanent. Olfactory cilia are constantly being replaced. The bad news is you won’t be smelling anything for a few days. This also means an inability to taste. Then again, considering your current address, that may not be such a bad thing.”

Everyone was forced to grin.

“In spite of your close proximity to the fire, I am pleased to report that I can find no permanent damage to your airway. You are a very lucky man.”

Roy flashed his friend in the bed beside him a grateful grin. “It helps to have a partner who is completely insane.”

Gage grinned back and waggled his eyebrows.

If someone had to be completely insane to champion a lost—er, heavenly cause, then so be it.

__________________________________________

Captain Hank Stanley, and his entire engine crew, stepped out of the elevator on Rampart’s sixth floor and up to the Nurses’ Station.

“We’re here to see Gage and DeSoto,” Stanley announced.

“Patient relationship?”

“Brothers,” Hank truthfully replied.

The nurse fought back a grin. “One at a time and visits must be kept to under two minutes.”

“Chester, you’re up first, pal.”

Chet hurried off down the hall.

_______________________________________

The three remaining firemen poured themselves some complimentary coffee and sank into some seats in the visitors’ lounge.

Stoker glanced up from his steaming brew. “Can I ask you something?” he quietly inquired of his Captain.

“Shoot.”

“Why did you pick Chet and me?”

Hank studied his engineer carefully. “Why do you think I chose the two of you?”

“Because you could see how tore up I was that I couldn’t save Roy the first time…and you were hoping I might be able to help save him the second time?”

Hank smiled. “And Kelly?”

“Because he looked like he was about to start scaling the outside of the building?”

The two of them enjoyed a good chuckle.

But then Hank forced himself to sober. “The ability to think like your Captain is the sign of a really good engineer. It’s also a sign that you may be ready to become a Captain, yourself.”

“Thanks but, I think I’ll stick with being a really good engineer.”

It made 51’s Captain deliriously happy to hear that and the two of them exchanged grins.

___________________________________________________

Kelly just stood there, in the open doorway to ICU Room 604, smiling.

The room’s occupants’ eyes were open and they were both moving.

He blinked his blurring vision clear and finally stepped up to the foot of Johnny’s hospital bed.

A nurse was in the process of changing the dressings on his buddy’s burned legs.

“Sheesh, Gage. You really are a red man.”

John glanced up at his visitor and suppressed a smile. “I hear you helped save my red hide. So I’ll let that one slide.”

“Thanks, Roy!” Kelly suddenly declared in the most sarcastic manner imaginable.

DeSoto lowered his magazine and looked up. “What did I do?”

“What did you do? What did you do? You ruined a perfectly good pigeon. That’s what you did.” That said, Chester B. turned and took his leave. He’d seen what he’d come to see. Besides, his two minutes were up.

The remaining firemen exchanged more than a few mystified glances.

Johnny’s gaze returned to the open doorway, through which their visitor had just vanished. “Talk about being completely insane…”

Roy couldn’t keep from grinning. “Must be the company he keeps.”

________________________________________________________________

Two days later…

Hank Stanley had been ‘summoned’ to headquarters.

Chief Brevik escorted the fire officer up to his boss’ office and gave its closed portal a tap. “Captain Stanley is here to see you, sir…”

“Yes. Of course,” an amicable voice called through the door. Moments later the portal opened. “Captain,” LACFD’s Chief Engineer gave the fire officer’s hand a hearty shaking. “Come in. Come in. Have a seat,” he continued, the invitation matching the warmth in the broad smile on his face.

“Thanks, Chief,” Hank acknowledged, sinking into the only seat in sight—a rather large, heavily cushioned chair situated smack dab in front of Jenner’s desk.

Jenner re-assumed his seat, and steepled his fingers. “I assume you know why you were summoned here today.”

“If I were to guess, I’d say it had something to do with one of my men. Firefighter Paramedic John Gage, to be precise.”

Jenner smiled. “Good guess. I had a whole pile of paperwork sitting on my desk: half of it citing him for valor, the other half for insubordination. The way I looked at it, it all sort of balanced out. So-o, seeing as how I happen to love a clean desk...and how regulations state that all reports must be filed…I gathered the whole works up and stashed it into File 13."

Hank saw the Chief pointing to his wastebasket and couldn’t help but smile. "I've filed a few things there, myself."

"All disciplinary measures in this matter will be left to your discretion, Captain."

“Appreciate that, Chief. But you may want to reconsider that, because I have no intentions—what-so-ever—of disciplining John Gage. If we'd a' had medical clearance at the time, my guys and I would a' been right behind him.” If saying that cost him his job, then so be it. Any department that would fire someone for wanting to save one of their own wasn’t worth working for, anyway.

The officer’s frank admission caused Jenner’s smile to return. “Not just you and your crew. The way I hear it, half the men on the fire-ground were set to go in.” The head honcho’s smiling face quickly filled with a scowl. “None of you should have been forced into that position in the first place. It may interest you to know that I have already taken ‘steps’ to assure that it won't happen again…”

Hank knew how the political game was played, so he understood what Jenner was hinting at.

Bergmann had been promoted.

‘Probably figured he’d pose less of a danger to the department if he was stuck behind a desk,’ Hank silently mused. “Appreciate that, Chief,” 51’s Captain repeated and exchanged a knowing smile with LACFD’s Chief Engineer.

_____________________________________________________________

John Gage had also been ‘summoned’ to headquarters, which, he figured, signaled the end of his career…at L.A. County, anyway.

He had hoped his efforts to save his partner’s life wouldn’t get him fired. But, if they had, well…it was worth it…Roy was worth it!

Besides, any department that would fire a guy for trying to save his partner wasn’t worth working for, anyway.

He had contemplated wearing his dress blues, but had finally settled on his duty uniform. Might be the last time he’d be donning it. Besides, he’d learned the hard way that it was always best to be under, rather than over, dressed.

____________________________________________

The paramedic pulled up in front of the LACFD headquarters building and was amazed to find every off-duty firefighter and paramedic that had responded to that apartment complex fire with him standing out front, apparently, awaiting his arrival.

He parked his Rover and went stepping up to the building’s blocked main entrance. “Look, guys, I appreciate this show of support. I really do. But I don’ wanna see anybody else gettin’ in trouble on account a’ me.”

“That’s very noble of you, Gage,” Rob Turcott told him with a grin, “but we ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Gage flashed them all a grateful grin. “Thanks!”

The crowd of supporters parted, and the summoned paramedic reluctantly stepped inside.

___________________________________________________

John was seated just outside Jenner’s office, massaging his forehead and critiquing the color and pattern of the weave in the carpeting beneath his tapping feet. Of course he was nervous. Who wouldn’t be?

Suddenly, the Chief Engineer’s office door opened and his Captain emerged.

“C’mon, pal,” Hank warmly invited, giving Gage an assist to his feet. “Let’s go find a coffee machine and a quiet place…where we can talk.”

‘Uh oh…here it comes.’

_____________________________

John had sniffed out a coffee machine and his Captain had found an empty conference room.

The two of them sat at the room’s long oval table, steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee in hand, staring aimlessly down at the floor.

Stanley suddenly realized something. “You’re wearing you’re luxuriously comfortable new safety shoes! How did you get them to stop passing gas?”

“Well, after I got that call from headquarters, I couldn’t sleep. So I decided to take ‘em for a long walk.”

“How long a walk?”

“I ain’t exactly sure. But it cost me over six bucks in cab fare to get home.”

“How long before they stopped…you know?’’

“I was so distracted I guess I didn’t even notice.” John couldn’t take the suspense any longer. “Cap, have I been fired?”

Stanley was so astonished by the question it took a second or two to regain his ability to speak. “No, you haven’t been fired, yah twit. Were you expecting to be?”

“I dunno. Maybe. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I never disobeyed a Battalion Chief’s direct order before. I’ve never been summoned to headquarters before, either.”

“You took the initiative to circumvent an order that never should have applied to rescue efforts, in the first place. The only thing I can see that you did wrong was…you didn’t go to your Captain first.”

“I wanted to. Honest, Cap. But I didn’t wanna get you in trouble with the department brass.”

“Department brass be damned! They don’t concern me. My men are—and always will be—my main concern. Got it?!”

“Got it, Cap!”

“Good…good…Now, before you go starting any future insurrections, I want you to promise me that you will always come to your Captain first.”

“I promise, Cap!”

“Great! Now, what d’yah say we get outta here? The coffee stinks!”

They set their barely touched cups down on the conference table and began taking their leave.

“Man, I sure hope we don’t get another call with 10’s any time soon. I got a feeling Chief Bergmann isn’t gonna be as understanding as you are, Cap.”

“Relax. Chief Bergmann doesn’t work at 10’s anymore.”

“Oh yeah? What Battalion does he work outta?

“None. He works here now.”

“Here?”

The Captain nodded. “He was promoted.”

“Promoted? Promoted?” John dazedly repeated.

“Eh-yup.”

_______________________________________

They exited the building and were immediately engulfed by the summoned fireman’s support group.

“Captain,” Rob Turcott, who was apparently the group’s spokesman, solemnly began, “We took a vote. The decision was unanimous. Whatever disciplinary action the department has decided to take against John, should be applied to the rest of us, as well.”

Hank had to fight back a grin. “Fine. Then you can all go back to your respective stations and start cleaning latrines.”

The looks of defiance on the faces of John’s supporters were slowly replaced with ones of both disbelief and relief, followed finally by consternation.

“Thanks, again, guys!” John called out as his sullen supporters slowly began to disperse. Then, in an aside to his now broadly grinning boss, he said, “Know somethin’, Cap…you can be awfully cruel.”

“Eh-yup,” his cruel superior unabashedly admitted and went snickering gleefully off in the direction of his parked car.

“Promoted?” John numbly repeated—all the way over to his own parked car.

____________________________________

John popped into his partner’s hospital room. “He-ey, how yah doin’?” he cheerfully inquired and plopped two glass bottles down on his buddy’s nightstand. “I was gonna bring you a Juicy Burger and fries, but they still got you on a liquid diet.”

Roy completely ignored the gifted Gatorade. He was far more interested in the whole ‘summoned to headquarters’ thing. “What happened?!”

“Chief Bergmann was promoted. Can you believe it?”

“Figures. But I meant between you and the Chief.”

“Nothin’.”

“Nothin’?”

“I didn’t even get to see him. But Cap’ did and he says that I am not going to be fired.”

His partner was completely overjoyed. “Well, all-righty!” he exclaimed, borrowing a ‘Gageism’.

Johnny spotted his convalescing partner’s untouched lunch tray and the bowl of some sort of unsavory looking gruel and his grin vanished, but only momentarily. “Could be worse,” he teased.

His bed-ridden buddy looked extremely dubious.

Gage's grin broadened. "You could actually be able to taste that stuff."

DeSoto couldn't help but grin.

"Look, I'll be back in a bit. I'm gonna go see if I can find out when I can start bringin' you some real food." He started backing toward the door, bursting into song along the way. "This is my quest…To follow that star…" he reached the door and then kept right on singing, clear down the corridor and up to the Nurses' Station. "No matter how hopeless…No matter how far…"

The patient's grin broadened. 'Speaking of hopeless…'

Roy was certain Johnny would reach that 'star' long before he would. His partner was already on another planet.

'Bergmann was right,' he silently realized. 'They sure don't make firemen like they used to.'

Nowadays, they made 'em even better.

“And the world will be better for this…” —Joe Darion

Guest Dispatchers           Stories by Ross