E! Madlib #1 - Submitted Results

"Payback"

 

Audrey

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of big oaths under his breath as he leaned against a stuffed animal and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his sweet career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and ficus tree, not as a victim.  Cap faintly ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent fuzzy pink bunny slippers.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of short injury.  He quickly recalled picking up the tiger to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his elbow against his aching shin, the worried captain quietly paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a mouse within the mere blink of a nose?

Cap thought he was going to hop with relief when he heard the hilarious sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts hobbled directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest tree and scream a few choice dangling participles, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the smooth encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering bridge by striking what he hoped was his most psychotic stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief ruggedly shook Cap's bladder as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a sack over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley smacked the back of his knee as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of jock itch, and gently steered him toward a box of little Friskies cat food while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested slowly.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his greasy patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had scratched in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a yellow sense of paranoia that his cotton ball could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a banana along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's Achilles tendon so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph goats and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby bottle of Tabasco sauce while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of fractures.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a plaid voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his legs and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively fumbled.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the magnetic figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the donkeys on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his happiness as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to tap dance.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a go cart pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Oz and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, lakes and clackers were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris tickling in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a limousine going about 6 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of anti-freeze.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a Hostess Ding Dong with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Pow!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough popsicle sticks as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded into a dump truck.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's finger in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after howling his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his ears.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Oh my!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart knit you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, toe fungus or even an electric razor."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man scampered back over to him.  To his wide relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any kite-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured head and shoulder, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his liver.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of milk.  DeSoto struck his esophagus on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his lung and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a cart purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his keys all over the chief's shirt.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained lip, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a pancake to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured forearm.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the Scrabble tiles was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and belly button as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his boots, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit blue and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little sad about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a pretty wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his deltoid muscles widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and unicorn figurines every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with an orange smile.  "Payback's a real peanut, isn't it?"

 

Ross

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of blasé oaths under his breath as he leaned against a wiener dog and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his fluffy career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and cat box, not as a victim.  Cap forcefully ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent mushrooms.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of spacious injury.  He intermittently recalled picking up the avocado pit to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his arm pit against his aching pinky finger, the worried captain ruthlessly paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a ladybug within the mere blink of a gizzard?

Cap thought he was going to hurl with relief when he heard the nerdy sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts burped directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest surfboard and scream a few choice split infinitives, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the hokey encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering xylophone by striking what he hoped was his most starry-eyed stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief lovingly shook Cap's funny bone as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a Phillips screwdriver over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley massaged the back of his medulla oblongata as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of male pattern baldness, and gently steered him toward a train whistle while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested haphazardly.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his wishy-washy patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had scolded in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a nutty sense of paranoia that his microphone could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a bandana along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's thorax so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph watermelon seeds and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby dishtowel while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of foot fungus.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a scary voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his pierced ear lobes and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively spiked.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the worthless figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the fish stix on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his elation as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to carjack.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a paddy wagon pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Hoboken, New Jersey and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, silk sheets and germs were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris bolting in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a garbage truck going about six zillion miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of pomegranate juice.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a transistor radio with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  ZAPPO!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough kazoos as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded into a hearse.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's ingrown toenail in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after yodeling his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his butt cheeks.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Good grief, Charley Brown!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart raise you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, missing teeth or even a hootenanny."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man borrowed his way back over to him.  To his bewildered relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any Reynold's Wrap-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured left pectoral and right quadriceps, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his epiglottis.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of dishwashing detergent.  DeSoto struck his right thumb on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his left eyebrow and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a bottle of Elmer's glue purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his boll weevils all over the chief's bulletproof vest.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained abdomen, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a crochet hook to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured right nostril.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the hub caps was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and left ventricle as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his Easter bonnet, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit tantalizing and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little astonished about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a localized wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his eyelashes widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and butterfly nets every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a heavy smile.  "Payback's a real gold watch, isn't it?"

 

Liz T.

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of pear-shaped oaths under his breath as he leaned against a ice skating rink and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his hideous career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and pathology lab, not as a victim.  Cap expeditiously ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent Great Danes.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of dank injury.  He quickly recalled picking up the voodoo doll to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his big toe against his aching ear lobe, the worried captain patiently paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a snow board within the mere blink of a nostril?

Cap thought he was going to skate with relief when he heard the snot-filled sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts fell directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest newspaper and scream out a few choice pronouns, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the battered encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering newsstand by striking what he hoped was his most swollen stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief unfortunately shook Cap's ring finger as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a simian over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley caressed the back of his rosy cheek as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of hypoglycemia, and gently steered him toward a used casket while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested consequently.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his irritating patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had kicked in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake an obscene sense of paranoia that his elephant could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a doily along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's nose hair so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph speedboats and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby toboggan while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of the flu.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a fat voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his fingernails and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively jiggled.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the muffled figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the tutus on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his hysteria as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to fly.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a Big Wheel pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Amazonia and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, glasses and fists were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris swearing in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a tricycle going about 2,014 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of oil.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a line with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Boff!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough horses as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded into a golf cart.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's thigh in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after sighing his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his buns.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Gadzooks!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart jump you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, hangnail or even a comb."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man kissed his way back over to him.  To his vulgar relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any catalog-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured Achilles tendon and knuckle, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his rib.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of urine.  DeSoto struck his tonsil on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his tongue and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a trampoline purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his boots all over the chief's mittens.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained beating heart, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a well-worn quilt to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured fibula.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the monitors was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and belly button as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his necklace, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit stiff and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little loving about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a hardship wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his eyes widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and towns every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a stubborn smile.  "Payback's a real rake, isn't it?"

 

Jen B.

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of hyper oaths under his breath as he leaned against a sun and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his bright career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and sign, not as a victim.  Cap sweetly ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent shoes.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of tight injury.  He nicely recalled picking up the cup to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his thigh against his aching hand, the worried captain lovingly paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a puppy within the mere blink of a heel?

Cap thought he was going to skip with relief when he heard the sore sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts gulped directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest package and scream out a few choice adverbs, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the thin encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering man by striking what he hoped was his most tall stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief odoriferously shook Cap's lower lip as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a picture over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley kissed the back of his neck as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of dandruff, and gently steered him toward a porch while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested swiftly.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his short patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had swam in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a shiny sense of paranoia that his stone could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a floor along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's belly button so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph nuts and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby boot while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe sinus infection.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a blue voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his eyes and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively arrived.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the tiny figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the beds on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his happiness as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to dance.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a bicycle built for two pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Las Vegas and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, shoes and ribbons were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris tiptoeing in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a motorcycle going about 8 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of milk.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a bedroom with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Kaboom!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough sheets as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded into a bus.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's tongue in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after gargling his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his butt cheeks.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Oh, Yeah!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart crawl on you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, drowsiness or even a piano."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man rolled back over to him.  To his fluffy relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any towel-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured chin and eyebrow, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his upper lip.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of beer.  DeSoto struck his toe on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his dimple and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to some grass purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his horses all over the chief's jock strap.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained hair, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a hat to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured eyelash.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the worms was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and knuckle as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his nylons, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit sleek and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little laughter about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a soft wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his nipples widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and weeds every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a cold smile.  "Payback's a real propane accessory, isn't it?"

 

Ness

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of adorable oaths under his breath as he leaned against a can and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his outrageous career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and photograph, not as a victim.  Cap wildly ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent shiny, silver airplanes.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of tricky injury.  He carefully recalled picking up the cardboard box to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his finger against his aching toe, the worried captain swiftly paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a light within the mere blink of a nose?

Cap thought he was going to sit with relief when he heard the nearest sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts waved directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest tall tree and scream a few choice prepositional phrases, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the higher encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering boulder by striking what he hoped was his most tremendous stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief happily shook Cap's thigh as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a baseball bat over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley hugged the back of his forehead as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of high blood pressure, and gently steered him toward a car horn while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested loudly.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his dependable patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had drank in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a fragile sense of paranoia that his shoe could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a green glass bottle along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's wrist so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph weeds and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby cookie while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of cracked ribs.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a safe voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his knees and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively stood.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the strongish figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the badges on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his love as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to wink.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a bicycle pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Mt. Olympus and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, clouds and buckets were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris hiking in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a little red wagon going about 22 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of milk.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a knife with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Kapow!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough rooms as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded onto a bulldozer.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's shoulder in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after singing his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his hands.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Yeow!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart tiptoe on you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, bloody nose or even a blanket."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man sank back over to him.  To his meanest relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any floor-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured elbow and ear, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his neck.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of olive oil.  DeSoto struck his chest on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his chin and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a saucepan purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his glasses all over the chief's undershirt.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained ankle, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a newspaper to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured upper lip.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the screwdrivers was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and calf as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his belt, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit stiff and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little sad about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a breakable wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his teeth widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and scalpels every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a silly smile.  "Payback's a real smile, isn't it?"

 

Peggy B.

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of baby blue oaths under his breath as he leaned against a bluebonnet and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his caustic career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and Seabiscuit, not as a victim.  Cap expeditiously ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent acrylic paints.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of bright injury.  He swimmingly recalled picking up the peanut to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his heart against his aching arm, the worried captain achingly paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a harmonica within the mere blink of a knee?

Cap thought he was going to hurt with relief when he heard the pleasant sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts faced directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest romance and scream a few choice oxymorons, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the ruddy encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering rose by striking what he hoped was his most reedy stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief candidly shook Cap's heel as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting some water over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley smashed the back of his toes as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of pneumonia, and gently steered him toward an egg while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested brokenly.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his fried patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had traveled in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a clear sense of paranoia that his homeboy could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a patriot along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's thigh so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph roots and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby bear while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of death.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a smelly voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his chins and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively followed.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the burning figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the canes on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his anger as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to strangle.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a buggy pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of the Bermuda Triangle and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, homes and cars were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris flowering in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a jeep going about 24 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of soda.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a quarter with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Pow!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough dogs as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded into a wagon.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's chest in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after singing his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his shoulders.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "You twit!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart ground you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, heart failure or even some grass."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man went back over to him.  To his bright relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any fence-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured head and neck, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his arm.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of H2O.  DeSoto struck his hand on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his fingers and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a pain purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his highways all over the chief's boots.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained belly, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a sky to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured ankle.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the cows was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and red corpuscle as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his cowboy hat, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit cool and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little serene about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a colorful wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his eyes widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and friends every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a hurried smile.  "Payback's a real barn, isn't it?"

 

Ziggy

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of hot pink oaths under his breath as he leaned against a retired racehorse and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his supercalifragilistic career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and broken fan belt, not as a victim.  Cap hotly ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent ferrets.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of gross injury.  He lightly recalled picking up the Playboy bunny to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his patella against his aching brain stem, the worried captain adversely paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a crocheted afghan within the mere blink of a spinal column?

Cap thought he was going to puke with relief when he heard the bland sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts buried directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest cockroach and scream a few choice palindromes, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the piebald encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering fancy rat by striking what he hoped was his most totally certifiable stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief wetly shook Cap's collarbone as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a library book over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley made love to the back of his toenail as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of diabetes, and gently steered him toward a gerbil while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested joyfully.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his fleecy patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had farted in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a hot and sweet sense of paranoia that his American English Dictionary could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a werewolf along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's wisdom tooth so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph flying reindeer and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby light saber while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of appendicitis.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a annoying voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his flowing locks of hair and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively whomped.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the sweaty figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the Stargates on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his depression as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to flee.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a stagecoach pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Tatooine and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, tree frogs and gravestones were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris galloping in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a baby stroller going about 668 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of motor oil.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a loaf of banana nut bread with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Kapow!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough kiwis as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded onto a unicycle.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's whiskers in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after swearing his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his wrist bones.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Beaver Dam!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart cross-country ski on you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, strep throat or even a sesame-seed bun."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man borrowed his way back over to him.  To his sticky relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any tooth fairy-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured forehead and femur, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his red blood cell.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of saliva.  DeSoto struck his mandible on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his Achilles tendon and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a dog sled purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his rubber baby buggy bumpers all over the chief's long, woolen scarf.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained hip socket, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a basenji to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured pinky finger.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the space aliens was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and vena cava as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his fringed vest, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit devious and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little overwhelming joyous about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a fuzzy wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his navel widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and clichés every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a skinny as a pole smile.  "Payback's a real walnut, isn't it?"

 

Pattie

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of crunchy oaths under his breath as he leaned against a bus and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his toxic career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and town, not as a victim.  Cap eerily ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent mice.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of itchy injury.  He slowly recalled picking up the trampoline to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his nose against his aching knee, the worried captain happily paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a cat within the mere blink of a head?

Cap thought he was going to jump with relief when he heard the red sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts ran directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest bread and scream a few choice auxiliary verbs, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the gritty encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering candle by striking what he hoped was his most plush stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief slickly shook Cap's ear as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a turkey over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley pushed the back of his neck as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of asthma, and gently steered him toward a clock while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested callously.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his soft patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had eaten in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a stinky sense of paranoia that his screen could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a flower along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's pericardium so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph spies and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby fish while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of diabetes.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a hot voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his legs and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively called.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the scaly figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the boots on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his anger as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to drive.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a motorcycle pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Egypt and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, cats and cards were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris scratching in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a dump truck going about one thousand miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of gasoline.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a thread with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Biff!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough trees as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded onto a skateboard.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's butt in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after humming his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his toes.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Ouch!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart burn you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, appendicitis or even a chainsaw."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man puffed his way back over to him.  To his creepy relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any bear-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured mouth and belly button, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his cheek.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of orange juice.  DeSoto struck his rib on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his spleen and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a dragon purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his clouds all over the chief's denim jacket.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained finger, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a soda to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured elbow.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the brooms was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and hand as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his tube socks, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit slimy and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little joyful about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a sticky wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his eyes widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and rabbits every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a tall smile.  "Payback's a real fire hydrant, isn't it?"

 

Wanda CH

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of sincere oaths under his breath as he leaned against a moment and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his curious career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and question, not as a victim.  Cap swiftly ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent kittens.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of superstitious injury.  He doubtfully recalled picking up the tour bus to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his left arm against his aching left leg, the worried captain bravely paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a tennis ball within the mere blink of a groin area?

Cap thought he was going to lift with relief when he heard the confused sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts displayed his way directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest toy fire engine and scream a few choice interrogatives, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the talkative encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering 747 pilot by striking what he hoped was his most hard-working stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief sternly shook Cap's left ear lobe as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank? We just finished fighting a problem over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley diagnosed the back of his tongue as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of arthritis, and gently steered him toward a blue boat while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested speedily.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his insane patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had judged in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake an adventurous sense of paranoia that his red snapper could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom? You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a angry gorilla along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's pinky finger so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph glass doors and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby dress while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe sore throat.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a soft voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his toes and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively reinforced.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the old-fashioned figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the cows on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his anger as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to decrease.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when a steam engine pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of Kernersville, NC and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, dreams and ducks were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris responding in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, an 18-wheeler going about 22 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of prune juice.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a quart with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Holy Pluto!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough mountains as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded into a wagon.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's nostril in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after whispering his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his hands.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Say what?!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart sing to you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, sinus infection or even a teddy bear."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man rotated back over to him.  To his passionate relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any apple-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured ear and eye, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his hand.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of milk.  DeSoto struck his tooth on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his mouth and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a policeman purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his bats all over the chief's scarf.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained neck, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with a highway to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured leg hair.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the beds was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and arm pit hair as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his belt, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit shy and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little happy about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a clueless wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his teeth widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and bells every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a natural smile.  "Payback's a real planet, isn't it?"

 

Marty

Captain Hank Stanley muttered a series of aggressive oaths under his breath as he leaned against a tattered piece of paper and surveyed the accident scene before him.  He thought he had seen it all during his fierce career with the county, but that was usually from the perspective of a highly experienced firefighter and wrinkled prune, not as a victim.  Cap maliciously ran his fingers through his hair as he fought off another wave of nausea.  A traffic light malfunction at a busy intersection had resulted in the multi-vehicle collision that involved both the engine and the squad, not to mention several innocent Oriental rugs.  Considering the force of the impact, Cap knew it was highly likely that every one of his men had sustained some type of dumpy injury.  He ipsilaterally recalled picking up the cow patty to contact dispatch before he passed out.  Now he almost regretted regaining consciousness.  Holding his palm against his aching blood vessel, the worried captain stealthily paced back and forth beside the engine with the HT in hand while he waited for the cavalry to arrive, and wondered how he was going to explain this fiasco on the incident report.  How had the day gone completely to hell in a ragged teddy bear within the mere blink of a mole?

Cap thought he was going to wonder with relief when he heard the sterile sound of approaching sirens.  Help was literally just around the corner, and one of his colleagues could assume the responsibility of managing the accident scene in case he passed out again.  However, his consolation was short-lived as an all too familiar figure in turnouts leapt directly toward him.  He wanted to pound his fist against the nearest volunteer and scream a few choice homonyms, or promptly collapse onto the pavement so he would be spared from the persnickety encounter.  Preferably both.  Alas, it appeared that his fervent wish was about to go unfulfilled, and Cap tried to conceal his faltering third cousin twice removed by striking what he hoped was his most putrid stance.  He nervously cleared his throat as he extended his hand in greeting.  "Chief McConnike!  I, um..."

The stocky battalion chief softly shook Cap's elbow as several firefighters and paramedics began to assess the situation.  "What happened, Hank?  We just finished fighting a dump truck over at the new industrial complex when we heard about your multiple MVA over the radio."

Captain Stanley tackled the back of his surgical scar on his abdomen as he tried to gather his thoughts.  "Um...it's...uh...well...ah...y-y-you see..."

Chief McConnike misinterpreted the other man's stammering as a symptom of narcolepsy, and gently steered him toward a month while he motioned for one of the paramedics to join them.  "C'mon, Hank.  You need to sit down before you fall down."

"I'm okay," he protested avidly.

"Humor me," the chief insisted as he stepped aside to allow the paramedic access to his underage patient.  "Besides, you can bring me up to speed while Wheeler checks you out."

Cap warily regarded the blond paramedic.  It had been a long time since Tom Wheeler had painted in the media's limelight, but nonetheless, the injured fire captain couldn't shake a ranting sense of paranoia that his pantry could become fodder for the evening news.  "Um, Tom?  You didn't happen to bring a TV crew or a dilapidated jalopy along, did ya, pal?"

Tom grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Captain Stanley's tooth so he could check his pulse.  "No, sir.  It's too darned much trouble to autograph wives and do my job at the same time."

Relieved that he could safely put his fears to rest, Cap slumped against a nearby faith while Tom wrapped a BP cuff around his arm.  He shuddered to think how high his blood pressure must be under the circumstances.  Surely just being in his former captain's presence was more than sufficient to provoke a severe episode of anemia.  Cap wiped the perspiration from his brow as he confessed in a chilly voice, "Chief, about the accident...I'm not sure where to start."

Chief McConnike pushed his turnout coat open as he rested his hands on his fingers and shrugged.  "Hank, I've always believed that the beginning was a good a place as any."

Cap exhaled louder than he intended, and he reflexively choked.  In his humiliation, he avoided making eye contact with the octagonal figure hovering over him and fixed his gaze on the sheep on the opposite side of the street as he reluctantly began his explanation.  "Well, it all started with the lights."

The chief's face registered his hostility as he pushed his helmet back slightly on his head.  "Oh?"

"Yeah.  You see, from what Vince has been able to determine, the lights weren't properly synchronized, so everyone thought it was safe to clog.  The squad had just pulled out into the intersection when an ATV pulling a fully loaded flatbed trailer came barreling down the side street like a bat out of the Twilight Zone and slammed into the passenger door.  I swear, pork chops and clamps were flying everywhere!  There was absolutely no way Roy could have seen where he was going with all of that debris scribbling in the air.  Mike tried to swerve to keep from hitting the squad when it began to spin out of control.  But before he could finish turning the wheel, a fork lift going about 419 miles an hour rear-ended us and knocked us into a huge puddle of dishwashing soap.  The engine fishtailed for a couple of seconds when we skidded on the wet pavement, causing us to hit a request with the rear bumper before we crashed into the squad.  Thwack!"  As if for emphasis, Cap slammed his fist into his other hand with considerably more force that the task required.

The paramedic winced.  "Careful there, Cap.  You don't need to be racking up any new injuries."

Chief McConnike nodded in agreement.  "He's right, Hank.  You have enough cracked sidewalks as it is."

Cap let out an exasperated sigh as he watched both of his paramedics being loaded into a wheelbarrow.  "I suppose you have a point," he answered distractedly as his attention turned toward the members of the engine crew being packaged for transport.  "How are my men doing?"

The chief squeezed his former engineer's liver in a gesture of support and reassurance.  "I'll go check on them for you.  Okay?"

It seemed that Cap had barely closed his eyes after humming his acknowledgement when he felt a sharp pain to his ribs.  His eyelids snapped open as he hissed his displeasure.  "Gadzooks!"

Tom smiled apologetically.  "Sorry about that Captain Stanley, but you can't take a nap until the docs at Rampart guzzle you.  Chet said you were out cold for a few minutes before we got here, so we have to err on the side of caution and assume you have a concussion, diplopia or even mildew."

Cap anxiously searched McConnike's features for any clue as to the condition of his men as the older man sulked back over to him.  To his bright relief, the chief broke into an ear-to-ear grin.

"If there's a silver lining in any of this, no civilians were injured," the chief reported as he removed his helmet.  "Of course, I know that doesn't make you feel a whole lot better when your men are on the their way to the hospital.  Fortunately, none of them appear to have any undertaker-threatening injuries though.  Gage seems to have fared the worst since he sustained a direct hit from the impact.  He has a fractured occipital bone and gray hair, as well as a probable tear or puncture to his right ventricle.  He's a little shocky from the blood loss, but his vital signs have improved significantly since they started an IV of milk.  DeSoto struck his clavicle on the side window.  He has a few lacerations, some glass embedded in his jaw and possibly a mild case of whiplash.  The paramedics applied a c-collar and secured him to a private investigator purely as a precautionary measure."

"What about the rest of my men?" Cap demanded as he fought to keep the contents of his stomach firmly in place.  Between the heat, humidity and stress of the accident, it was all he could do to keep from tossing his boutiques all over the chief's class ring.

Chief McConnike glanced at the organized chaos in front of the engine.  "Stoker probably has a severely sprained wrinkled skin, maybe even some minor damage to the supporting structures.  It must have been at a really unusual angle when he was wrestling for control of the wheel just before you guys ran into the squad.  They've immobilized the injured anatomy with an envelope to keep it properly aligned.  Lopez has a fractured appendix.  He must have hit it pretty hard when he was thrown from the engine after you guys hit that slick spot in the road.  But other than a few bumps and bruises, he's in otherwise good shape.  Your man Kelly managed to escape completely unscathed.  The luck of the caulking guns was with him today, that's for sure!"

"It figures," Cap muttered as he shook his head.

The battalion chief motioned toward Captain Stanley.  "Wheeler, how is he doing?"

Tom cradled the biophone's receiver between his ear and mastoid as he prepared to contact Rampart.  "He has a nice goose egg right here," the paramedic replied as he pointed to a corresponding area on his own head.  It's a good thing he was wearing his tie tack, or it could have been a lot worse.  His pupils are a bit succinct and sluggish, so he probably has a concussion.  But I have to admit, I'm a little dreadful about the elevated BP, especially since he doesn't have any other obvious injuries that could account for such a high reading."

"Oh, I suppose the stress from the accident could be a contributing factor…among other things," Chief McConnike replied with a pristine wink.  He gave his former charge a friendly pat on the back as he prepared to leave.  "Looks like these guys have everything under control.  I'll stop by Rampart later this evening to see how you're doing."

Cap's jaw dropped opened and his ankles widened in horror.  "Uh, that's not necessary, Chief.  They'll probably send me home after they've run a few tests and given me some aspirin or something."

"Are you kidding?  You know Brackett's going to admit you for overnight observation and comrades every two hours at the very least!"

"You're probably right," Cap conceded as Tom started the IV in his arm.

Inexplicably, the battalion chief began to laugh.

Captain Stanley stared at him with suspicion.  "What's so damned funny?"

"I can't wait to see how you describe all of this in your incident report.  That ought to be a real hoot to read.  Maybe this creative writing challenge is some form of karmic justice for setting my hat on fire all those years ago," the chief answered with a temperate smile.  "Payback's a real winch, isn't it?"