Playing Paramedic

By The Twits

John Gage sat in his Land Rover in the Station 51 parking lot. Sheets of rain thrashed the metal roof, making it sound like thousands of ping pong balls had been unleashed from the sky. Johnny waited as long as possible for the rain to let up a bit. When the storm showed no signs of abating, and when John knew he ran the risk of being late for roll call, he shoved his keys in his jacket pocket and opened the door.

Johnny slammed the Land Rover's door behind him as he dashed for the station. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to his ears and hunched his shoulders, attempting to turtle himself into the cotton material. The turtle maneuver did little to protect the paramedic. His clothes were quickly saturated and he let out a, "Dammit!" when his running feet landed in the middle of a large puddle. Water soaked through the canvas of his tennis shoes making his socks just as wet as his jacket and blue jeans. Thunder rumbled, shaking the ground. A streak of lightening cracked overhead just as John reached the station's back door.

Rainwater blew into the dayroom with the paramedic. The members of the C-shift were gathered in the kitchen, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs of coffee. Johnny didn't even have to ask if it had been a long night. One look at the faces of the six men waiting to go off duty told him they were all anxious to get home to a hot shower and warm meal.

Greetings that ranged from, "Hi, Johnny!" to "Look what the cat dragged in," to "Hey, Gage, is it raining out?" drifted over the paramedic as he headed toward the engine bay. He greeted each man in return, ending with a sarcastic, "No, Houston, it's not raining out. The department just put a swimming pool in our back lot so I thought I'd take a dip on my way in."

"Hey, Gage, did I just hear you admit you're a dip?"

Johnny gave Chet Kelly's arm a playful punch as he passed him, and tossed his standard, "Shut up, Kelly," to the man.

John entered the locker room just as Marco and Mike were exiting. He said hi to his shift mates, then headed for his own locker. Roy was pinning his badge and nameplate on his uniform as Johnny began stripping off his wet clothes.

"Man, is it ever gonna stop raining?"

"Joanne hopes so."

Johnny looked at his partner while putting his wet clothes on a hanger and walking them over to a row of hooks mounted on the opposite wall. The hooks came in handy on days like this, when a guy had wet clothes he needed to let dry before storing them in his locker.

"Whatta ya' mean Joanne hopes so?"

"The kids drove her nuts over the weekend. With all this rain we've been having they couldn't go outside. We finally loaded them in the car yesterday and went to that new mall that was built over on Sunset Avenue. Didn't buy anything but ice cream cones in Bressler's 31 Flavors, but at least they got to work off some of their energy by walking around for a while. Joanne was so tired of their bickering by lunch time yesterday she suggested that we dump them off at your place and make a run for it."

Johnny laughed. "Evil woman, that wife of yours."

"Sometimes," Roy agreed. "But I'd say right about now she's in a good mood again."

"Why?"

Roy glanced at his watch to see that it was ten minutes to eight. "Because she's just dropped the kids off at school and has about seven quiet hours ahead of her."

Johnny nodded. "That'll help, I'm sure." He crossed back to his locker and slipped on his uniform shirt. "I can't blame the kids for being antsy, though. If there's one thing I hate about this time of year it's all the stupid rain we get."

"I hear ya'. I changed into a dry uniform three times last shift."

"Me, too."

"Guess there's been a couple bad mud slides about fifteen miles south of here," Roy commented while Johnny made quick work of getting into his uniform pants. "Houston was telling me 65's, 99's and 58's really had a time evacuating people last night."

Johnny arched an eyebrow as he put on dry socks, then sat down on the bench and pulled his boots on. "Oh, yeah? What happened?"

"The usual I guess. Aside from dealing with the mud and the rain, there was the few hold outs who didn't want to leave their houses.""

I don't know why people do that. I mean, I understand it's devastating to face the destruction of your house, but it's not like they can save the darn thing by staying inside it. It only makes our job harder . . . and more dangerous."

"That's for sure."

Both firefighters had witnessed houses lost to mud slides on several occasions throughout their careers. An entire hillside of churning mud was just as dangerous and deadly as a Kansas tornado. Thousands of pounds of mud tore houses apart as though they'd been built with nothing more than match sticks. People . . . well, it tore them apart, too, if they were foolish enough to stay in their homes under some misguided notion that their presence would prevent Mother Nature from exercising her will.

Roy waited until his partner had finished tying his bootlaces, then the two men exited the room together. Roy took a mental inventory of how many clean uniforms were in his locker as rain beat against the closed garage door of the station. He hoped he didn't have to change his clothes this shift as often as he'd had to last shift.

Before Roy could ponder that possibility further, Hank Stanley called his men to attention.

After roll call and chores were done, the men assembled in the dayroom. The previous crew had all left by now, cleaning up after themselves before heading out.

Marco, Roy and Mike sat at the table, while Johnny leaned against the counter and Chet sat on the couch by Henry. Coffee was brewing and the everyone was waiting for their first cup of the morning.

"Man, did you hear what Cap said about all the calls that came in while C shift was here?"

"Gage, we were at roll call, too, ya know," Chet said, rolling his eyes.

Johnny shot Chet a glare. "Very funny. Well, I hope we don't get THAT many calls with this rain. It was bad enough just getting from the truck to the building. Imagine spending most of the shift out in it."

"My aunt Rosita lives in a house at the bottom of a hill," Marco began, " and we spent all day yesterday putting sandbags around her yard to keep the mud from sliding in. I was so glad when we were done. I hope it holds today."

"You know, you would think we'd get used to this every year," Roy added thoughtfully. "I mean we see it enough. We know it's inevitable that someone is gonna either have a mudslide in their house or under the foundation of their house. I'd never live in one of those houses on a hill with nothing but support beams under it. Not after the things we've seen happen to them."

"Yeah," Johnny snorted. "May as well have a house on wheels. It'd be more stable over all."

Just as Mike opened his mouth to comment, the tones sounded.

Station 51, unknown type rescue, 807 David Lane, eight zero seven David Lane, time out 9:45.

"Well, so much for the coffee," Johnny groused, turning off the stove and heading for the door.

"Yeah, and so much for me getting a word in," Mike mumbled running out to the engine.



807 David was a modest bungalow perched halfway down the side of a steep hill. Thirty minutes earlier, however, it had been at the top of the hill. And therein lay the problem. Except for an ominous crack up the south wall, the little yellow house was surprisingly intact. It appeared to have simply washed off its foundation and slid fifty yards down the bank. But it tilted drunkenly on the muddy slope and it was only a matter of time before it slipped further down.

"Neighbors say there's an elderly woman inside," the CHP officer on the scene informed them.

"Of course there is," Johnny sighed as he began buckling himself into a safety harness.



Johnny attached the last of the safety lines to the stokes and gave it a hard tug. "Good to go, Cap!" he shouted.

"Oh, please, can't you find my cat?" the old woman clutched at Johnny's hand and wept as the stokes began it's slow ascent up the muddy hillside. "I know she's under the bed. That's where she hides when she's afraid."

"I'm sorry, ma'am but we need to get you out of here and it's just not safe to go back into the house. But, hey, animals are smart. I bet she'll find her own way out."

"She's old," the woman sobbed, "and she doesn't see well. Oh, please. . . please . . . it's my fault for not leaving when the police told me to. . . ."

Gage glanced helplessly at his partner who gave him a fierce look and shook his head no.

"Five minutes?" Johnny pleaded sotto voice. "I did see the cat run under the bed."

"Cap will have your hide," Roy warned.

"Won't be the first time."

They reached the summit and passed the stokes into Chet and Marco's waiting hands. As Roy struggled up the slick incline after them, Johnny turned and started back down.

"Gage, where the hell are you going?" Captain Stanley shouted.

"There's another victim," Gage called over his shoulder.

"Another . . . " Hank glanced at Roy in confusion. "DeSoto, what's he talking about?"

"The cat . . . "

"THE CAT!!" Cap's roar of outrage drowned out the remainder of Roy's words. "John Gage you get your ass back up here right now!"

But it was too late. The slender, mud covered form slipped through the front door of the bungalow and disappeared from view.

Stanley was white faced with fury. "Kelly, you're with me," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Let's go down there and get . . . " the rest of the sentence died on his lips as the house groaned and slipped another fifteen feet down the slope. When it came to rest, the crack in the south wall, which was now the west wall, had grown larger and the roofline was beginning to sag.

The two men scrambled into their safety harnesses and made their way down the treacherous slope.



"How's she doing?"

Roy deflated the BP cuff and laced the stethoscope around his neck. "She's doing okay, Mike. Broken hip and some cuts and bruises but she's gonna be fine. Any sign of 'em?"

Stoker shook his head.

"How long they been in there?"

"Five minutes," Marco supplied.

"Seems longer."

"Yeah."

As if on cue, Chet Kelly appeared in the doorway with a bedraggled yellow cat in his arms. He glanced up at his worried coworkers on the hilltop and flashed them a thumbs up.

The three men breathed a collective sigh of relief. Johnny was okay . . . until Cap got him back to the station, that is. Marco went to help Mike man the safety lines and Roy turned back to his frightened patient.

Chet tucked the cat into the front of his turnout coat and was reaching for the safety line when it happened. A huge chunk of waterlogged earth broke loose and hurtled down the hill. Chet disappeared, and the bungalow was carried down the steep embankment, becoming completely engulfed in mud when it hit bottom.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Mike was on the radio calling for assistance. "County, this is Engine 51. We have a Code I times three at our location. I repeat we have a Code I times three. We need an additional engine company and paramedic unit and two more ambulances." He tossed the radio aside without waiting for an answer and reached for a safety harness. He paused when he noticed Lopez and DeSoto doing the same.

"Roy, what are you doing?"

DeSoto glanced up sharply. "What do you mean? I'm going down. . . ."

"We can't all go down there. Someone has to stay topside. And you have a patient to attend to."

"Mike, she's fine. She's stable." Roy continued buckling the harness into place. "We have injured men down there and I. . . ."

"No, Roy," Mike lay a restraining hand on the paramedic's arm. "We can't get to Cap and Johnny until help arrives. Marco and I are going to look for Chet in the meantime and you're going to stay here with your patient."

Roy shook Stoker's hand off. "You have no right. . . ," he began furiously.

"I have every right." Stoker cut him off, his voice soft as always but with a thread of steel running through it. "With Cap missing, I'm in charge of this scene until someone with more authority shows up. And I'm ordering you to take care of your patient."

"Damn it, Mike. . . ."

"Roy, you know I'm right."

And deep down, Roy did know. He nodded stiffly, tugged off the safety harness and returned to his patient's side.

"Will they be all right?" the elderly woman asked worriedly.

"I hope so," Roy turned to watch as Lopez and Stoker made their way cautiously down the hillside. "I sure hope so."



It all had happened so fast; and with no warning. Hank had been shoving his recalcitrant paramedic through the bedroom door, when suddenly all hell had broken loose.

He hadn't even felt them falling. His first indication that something was wrong was when Gage fell backward on top of him. What had been the floor became the wall, and they were sliding down it, rolling around the old woman's bedroom like rocks in a tumbler.

When the movement ended, Stanley found himself folded awkwardly around something; a piece of furniture, he thought, but he wasn't sure. He had no idea which way was up. The building was emitting a symphony of ominous creaks and groans, and Hank knew they had to get out, and fast.

He tried to push himself up, and for the first time realized there was something on top of his back. It was soft, and for a moment he wondered if it was Gage. But he felt behind himself, and found that it was the mattress off the woman's double bed. He managed to push it off, the effort making him aware of the many aches and pains throughout his body. But he got free, and stood, scrabbling for purchase among the woman's possessions, which were piled against what had been the east wall of the room. The house was on its side.

"John?" he asked tentatively while taking a mental inventory of his body. His left side hurt like hell, his left knee was sore, and he knew he was going to be covered in bumps and bruises. But it didn't look like anything was broken.

Silence met his voice, so he asked again. "Gage? Where are ya?"

Hank looked around, and didn't see his man. He knew what had happened; knew that another mudslide had knocked the house down to the bottom of this hill. The east-facing windows were now flat on the ground, and the ones facing north had to be up against the hillside--they were broken, but the mud was oozing in at a fairly slow pace. It was pure luck that he was still alive. If the house had settled in any other orientation, they'd have been buried in a sea of mud for sure.

A groan from somewhere behind and beneath him caught the captain's attention.

"Johnny? Talk to me, pal, help me find you."

"Cap?" John's voice was muffled and faint.

"It's me, John. Where are you? Keep talking so I can find you. You hurt?"

"I'm. . . ." Gage paused. "I don't know where I am, Cap. I'm pinned under something."

Hank followed the voice, deciding that his paramedic was in the far corner, where the woman's enormous armoire had landed. Shit.

"Can you move at all, John? Are you hurt?"

"Can't move much, Cap. And everything hurts. Not sure how bad, though. How 'bout you?"

Stanley was pulling away debris, making his way toward the voice. "I'm okay, John. A little banged up, that's all."

"Yeah," he heard Johnny breathe out. "Me too."

Hank pushed aside an overstuffed armchair, and finally caught sight of Gage--he was flat on his back and looking up at his captain; about six feet below Stanley's perch on the top of the mountain that had been the woman's belongings. Johnny's torso and arms were covered in books and a bookcase, and the armoire looked to be on top of his feet. He reached down and started to pull the books away, grimacing when a sharp pain shot through his right shoulder.

"What?" the paramedic asked as he watched his captain's actions.

"It's okay, John," Hank promised. "Just a little stiff. Why'd she have to have so many books?" he asked as he continued to move them out of the way.

"You take it easy," Gage admonished.

Cap actually smiled and let out a breath of laughter. "Yes, sir," he said.

He finally cleared everything off his man except the heavy piece of furniture. Johnny looked like he was developing one helluva black eye, and he was bleeding from somewhere. Hank could see blood on the right side of his turnout.

"You're bleeding somewhere, pal," he told John. "You know where?"

Johnny moved his right arm and grimaced. He glanced at the inner part of it before settling it back against his side protectively. "It's my arm, Cap," he said. "Doesn't look too bad."

The captain nodded, not quite believing his man. "How about your neck and back? They okay? Can you move?"

"Playing paramedic on me, Cap?" Johnny asked with a slight smile.

"All these years, you don't think I picked up a thing or two?"

"Guess so," the paramedic agreed. "I think I'm okay, though."

"Are you pinned under that thing?" Hank asked, gesturing toward the armoire. "Or can I help you out of there?"

Gage tried to shift his feet and cried out in pain. His breathing became rapid and shallow as he rode the wave out. After a minute, he tried to speak. "I can only move them a little bit, Cap," he said. "And my left ankle's killing me. I think it's broken."

Captain Stanley studied the furniture, trying to figure out how best to help John. From his position above the man, it made it very difficult. He had no leverage whatsoever. But he had to get Johnny out.

"Okay, If I come down there and stand next to you, do you think you can pull yourself out if I lift that thing up a little?"

Johnny looked at the heavy wooden object dubiously. "Think you can?" he asked.

"Only one way to find out."

Stanley carefully lowered himself until he was standing over and straddling the trapped man. He reached behind John and cleared an area so the paramedic would have somewhere to go when he pulled himself out. John pulled himself up on his elbows, biting back the pain in his arm. He knew what he had to do, and he wanted to get it done on the first try.

Hank finished clearing the space, and turned around to face the armoire. He looked up at the other stuff in a pile all around them, and decided that he could move the piece a bit without upsetting the precarious balance.

"Ready when you are, John," he said, bending down at the knees and firmly gripping the bottom corner of the cabinet.

Johnny arranged himself so he had the best leverage possible. He planned to pull his right leg out first, and use it to slide his body backward.

"Ready Cap."

Hank Stanley started to lift, and willed himself to ignore the protesting pain in his body, especially his knee. He felt the armoire start to move upward, and then felt the movement of his paramedic beneath him. But he kept lifting until he was sure the man was free.

"Agggghhhhh!" John screamed in pain as he scrambled backward. His legs came free, and he fell onto his back, struggling to deal with the excruciating pain. "I'm out, I'm out," he managed to cry out.

Cap dropped the cabinet with a thud. But before he could stand, something hit him in the back. It didn't hurt; it wasn't heavy. He pushed it up and stood to find that the door to the armoire had fallen open, and its contents, consisting of old bedding that reeked of mothballs, had fallen out and all over Johnny.

Hank tossed the stuff aside to get to John; when he found him, his paramedic was pale and sweating and panting with pain, and the captain wasn't even sure he was conscious.

"John?"

Roy watched them as they reached Chet's last known location. He said a silent prayer for the missing crewmen. The two men stopped where the house once stood. Mike searched the hillside for signs of the lost man.

"That was the last place I saw him, before the hillside gave way," Marco said and pointed toward what remained of the front porch.

They saw no sign of him or the cat and continued toward where the little bungalow now rested. The two called out in the hope that he was nearby and could hear them.

"Chet? Chet, can you hear me?" shouted an anxious Stoker.

"Chet! Hey, amigo! Can you hear us? Where are you?" called out Lopez.

They received no answer as they continued their descent. Thirty feet further down the slope Marco stopped Stoker with a shout.

"Look! I think I see a boot over there. It has to be him!"

Stoker said, "C'mon. Let's find out."

They hurried toward what they hoped was their missing man. It was rough going in the mud. Every step forward was met with at least one backward. By the time they reached their destination both firefighters were covered in mud.

Marco dropped down and started to dig around the boot.

"Mike! It's him. C'mon give me a hand, hurry!"

Stoker started digging. They soon had unearthed the mud-covered figure. Chet was lying face down with his helmet protecting his face. His arms were around his chest.

"Chet! Can you hear me? Chet?!" shouted Marco.

Slowly the man moved a little. He sucked in a deep breath and let out a loud groan.

Meanwhile, Stoker called Roy on the HT to notify him that Chet had been found and that they needed a stokes sent down. Roy gathered the stokes and a cervical collar and with the help of Engine company 36, who had arrived on the scene, he sent those down to the men below before returning to his victim. Both Mike and Marco had assisted the two paramedics enough to know how to apply a soft collar.

"Chet? We're gonna get you out of here okay. Try not to move. Just let us do all the work," said Stoker as he and Marco prepared Chet for the journey up the hill. Chet was stunned and kept trying to put his hands to his chest.

"Easy pal. We'll have you topside in no time and Roy can have a look at you." Chet moaned in response and they started toward the top.

Tom Wheeler from squad 36 walked over to where DeSoto was on the biophone to Rampart. Roy glanced up at the paramedic as he began to write down instructions from Brackett.

"Hey, Roy. I heard Gage and Captain Stanley are the code I's that were called in."

"Yeah. They are. Went down with a house in a mudslide."

Wheeler squatted down in front of Roy. "You want me to take over here? I can start the IV and all so you can be here for your crew."

Roy was surprised; Wheeler could be a jerk at times. This was a side Roy wasn't used to seeing. He wasn't used to turning over patients, but under the circumstances, he wanted to. The woman would be in reliable hands, he reminded himself.

"Yeah. Here's the information," Roy pointed to the tablet he had written on. "I'll stay on the biophone here with you till Mike and Marco get Chet up here."

"Okay."

"Thanks, Wheeler."

"Hey. They're your guys."

Roy was ready and waiting when they set the stokes down.

"Hey Chet. Good to see you again. How're you feeling?" he asked. Chet groaned again and mumbled something.

"What was that Chet?" Roy asked again.

Finally the word escaped his lips, "Cat!"

"Cat? Oh, the cat! I don't know where it is." replied Roy.

"Here!" Chet responded, finally getting his hands to his chest.

They finally noticed a slight movement under his turnout coat. Once they removed the shaken cat from Chet's chest Roy was able to see the claw marks. "She sure got you good Chet," he said.

"I'm gonna kill Gage for this," Chet replied testily. He did not know that the fate of his co-workers was still uncertain as the little house once again shifted toward the bottom of the ravine.



Roy lightly dabbed at the angry red scratches on Chet's chest. They weren't deep but the injured man was playing it for all it was worth.

"Ouch Roy, stop that!" Chet whined through clenched teeth. "Boy I'll tell ya the phantom is gonna visit Gage for this one."

"Chet it's really not that bad. In a couple days you won't know anything has happened." Roy tried to reason with the fireman.

"Well Roy it's not the extent of the injury that matters to the phantom, it's the circumstances."

Roy opened his mouth to respond but his words were drowned out by the sound of creaking metal and wood. Both men looked in the direction of the sound,
comprehension slowly setting in. The mangled structure had slid further down the hill.

Chet looked at Roy, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. "Roy, where is Johnny? He made it out didn't he? He had to. He was right behind me!" He started to sit up but Roy reached out and placed a restraining hand on his chest.

"Easy Chet. You gotta take it easy. Gettin' upset is not gonna help you or Johnny."

"Roy let me go! I'm fine and the crew is gonna need all the manpower they can get to help with the search." Chet's voice was eerily quiet as he spoke but his eyes burned with a determination that surprised the senior paramedic.



"John!"

"I'm okay, Cap," Johnny managed between gasps, his eyes shut tight. "Jus'. . . just give me a minute."

Hank Stanley squatted down beside the injured paramedic, wincing at the pain it caused in his knee and left side.

"Look, John, I know you're not okay. Can you just tell me where the worst of the pain is?"

Johnny moaned, opening his eyes. "Can we get . . . get out of here?"

Hank shook his head. "I think the whole house is buried in mud. They'll have to dig us out of here."

"Oh man. I . . . I don't even have . . . any supplies."

Johnny gasped as he moved his ankle slightly.

Captain Stanley surveyed their surroundings in the room as more ominous creaks could be heard. The mud continued to seep in the windows. It was coming in at a slow pace, but Hank knew that besides their injuries, the mud was a real threat to them until they could get out.

The house shifted and began to slide farther down the hill. This time the men were spared the battering they received when the house first went down, but the mud oozed up more through the windows that were on the floor as it slid along.

Once the house settled again, Hank Stanley let out the breath he'd been holding.

"John, you think it's safe for me to move you? I'm afraid if the house shifts much more, this cabinet thing may come down on you."

"Yeah . . . jus' . . . just help me . . . over."

The Captain slowly stood up, masking the pain he felt with the movement. He could see Johnny eyeing him carefully.

"What?"

"Nothin'. You'd tell me if you're . . . if you were hurt, right?"

Walking around to help Johnny, Hank sidestepped the question.

Roy stared as Wheeler loaded the elderly woman in the ambulance and shut the doors behind his partner. Her cat was being taken to a local vet for observation by two police officers on the scene.

As he watched the vehicles pull away, Roy sat Chet down on the bumper of the squad.

"You were just dug out of a mudslide. You need to be checked out."

"Roy, I was in an air pocket. I could breathe. I'm okay," Chet carried on, his arms waving around as he spoke. "Where's Cap? I want to discuss this with him."

Roy didn't reply. Instead he just wrapped the BP cuff around Chet's arm.

"Roy, where's Cap? He *did* make it up okay, didn't he?" Chet asked, not wanting to believe where this was heading.

"He's with Johnny," Roy sighed. "They both went down inside the house."

For the first time since he had been pulled out of the mud, Chet was speechless. His mouth hung open in disbelief.



Johnny eyed the towering pile of furniture with trepidation. When the house careened down the hillside, most of the massive bedroom suite had ended up in the corner where he lay, leaving the rest of the room relatively clear. Since the door that led to the hallway was now part of the ceiling, it was impossible for he and Cap to get out of the bedroom on their own. Their safest course of action was to put as much distance between themselves and teetering pile of debris as possible and wait for rescue.

The question was HOW were they supposed to do that? Gage knew there was no way he could climb over the mountain of wreckage. The pain in his ankle was
breathtaking and it was all he could do to stay conscious. And despite his repeated claims that he was 'fine,' the captain was clearly in a great deal of pain himself. Johnny seriously doubted that Stanley would be able to carry him over the obstacle but the older man seemed determined to try.

"Cap, I don't think I can do this. You're gonna have to climb out and leave me here."

"Not an option," was Stanley's firm reply. "We go together or we don't go at all. And the first thing we need to do is get you on up." Hank crouched behind Johnny and grabbed the injured man under the arms. "You ready?"

"No, but let's try it anyway."

Hank pushed himself to his feet, pulling Johnny with him. He stifled a groan as the other man's weight, slight as it was, strained his aching ribs. "Okay," he said breathlessly, "see if you can bear any weight on that ankle."

Gage gritted his teeth and tried to place the sole of his left boot gently on the flowered wallpaper that now served as the floor. His boot heel brushed lightly against the surface and it was all he could do not to scream. The pain was indescribable. If not for Cap's firm grip on his arms, Johnny would have collapsed in a heap. "Oh God," he gasped, "I can't, I . . . I'm gonna. . . ." The already dim room grayed before his eyes and he passed out.



"John?" Hank shook the paramedic gently. "John?"

Johnny opened his eyes slowly. He was flat on his back again, gazing up into the worried eyes of his captain.

"Still with me, pal?"

Gage nodded. "Y-yeah. Barely."

"I'm gonna try and get a look at your ankle, okay?

Another nod, and a strained, "Okay."

Hank dug in his pockets for his Swiss army knife, crouched beside the injured man and carefully slit his muddy pant leg to the knee. He bit back a gasp as the fabric parted and the extent of Gage's injury was revealed. His left ankle was badly deformed, the foot twisted inward at nearly a 30-degree angle. The bruised tissue was swelling rapidly, bulging out over the top of his boot.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah, pal. It's bad."

"Help me sit up."

Hank slid an arm around the paramedic's shoulders and gently helped him into a seated position. He grabbed a couple of the quilts that had fallen out of the armoire and stuffed them behind Johnny's back. "Here, lean on these."

"Thanks." Gage was pale and shaking but he managed a strained smile. "Okay, let's see what . . ," his voice trailed off as he got a good look at his left ankle. "Shit," he breathed after a long moment. "Oh, shit."

"That about covers it," Hank laughed mirthlessly.

Johnny leaned forward and ran his hands carefully over the deformed joint, hissing in agony despite the feather-light touch. "I don't think it's broken," he said finally, sagging back against the quilts, white faced and sweating. "I think it's dislocated."

"How can I help?"

"You got a knife, right?"

Hank produced a Swiss army knife again. "Yeah, but what good will that do?"

"I need you to cut that boot off for me."

"What?!" Hank was horrified. The pain would be unimaginable. "I can't!"

"You have to, Cap. It's gonna keep swelling and the boot's gonna keep getting tighter. It could cut off the circulation to my foot."

"John, I don't know if I can." Hank shuddered at the thought. Joking about playing paramedic was one thing. This was something else entirely. What if he did something wrong? What if, in trying to help, he made the situation worse?

"You HAVE to," Gage insisted. "It's got to be done, Cap, and I can't do it myself."

Hank blew out a frustrated breath. "Okay, okay. I'll try."

Johnny closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the pile of quilts. "You'll do fine," he said quietly. "And Cap ..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm probably gonna scream but don't let that stop you, okay?"

Stanley swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. "Uh ... yeah, okay, pal." He slipped the knife blade under the edge of Gage's boot and began the slow torturous process of sawing through the thick leather.

John looked away as his captain went to work. He knew that his boss didn't want to cause him more pain even though they both understood it was inevitable. Then he closed his eyes to spare his friend the added stress of being under close observation as he continued the painful process. Finally, the knife was through.

"John, I'm sorry. I know this is gonna be rough on you."

"It's alright Cap. I told you it's gotta be done. Just do it fast, okay?"

Hank did as he was instructed. He wasn't prepared for the agonized scream that came from his young paramedic. He watched helplessly as the intense pain claimed Johnny and he once more slipped into oblivion.

"I'm sorry pal," he said softly. "Get some rest while you can. I hope they get us out of here soon."

He sat down slowly, took as deep a breath as his aching ribs would allow, and watched the mud continue to ooze in the windows at a slow steady pace. Then placing his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and waited.

The men of 51's were anxious to get started on the rescue effort. The captain of 36's had taken charge of the scene and acknowledged the seriousness of the situation. They knew they didn't have much time left before the little house would finish its slide.

"Okay men. Does anyone have an idea as to where in the house they were when it started to slide?" asked Captain Stone.

"I was out on the porch and they left the bedroom after me. I guess they would have been in the living room," replied Chet.

"It's a fairly small house Cap. A living room, kitchen, and bathroom. I believe there was only one bedroom. It was behind the living room," added Roy. "Besides, the way it turned and rolled, they could be anywhere in there."

"I don't need to tell you that time is not on our side. We need to get down there and get them out fast. We also need to be prepared for the fact that they may be seriously injured or worse. I don't think I need to spell it out. Currently the house is caught on a rocky ledge, but the rate at which the mud is sliding has increased. Stoker, I want your crew up top manning the lines."

"Captain Stone," said Stoker.

Stone held up his hand and said, "I know you want to go down and get them. You are all too close to the situation. I really feel it's best if you all work this end."

"No disrespect sir, but would you be content to work the lines if it were your friends down there?" asked a frustrated Mike Stoker.

"No. I wouldn't. I know how you feel, but..."

"C'mon Cap! Please . . ," pleaded a worried Chet Kelly.

Station 110 arrived at that moment to provide additional manpower.

Captain Stone smiled and wearily shook his head. "Alright. I want you all to be extremely cautious approaching the house. Any sign of danger and you abandon the attempt. Am I understood?" He looked each man in the eyes and awaited their acknowledgement.

"Good. Let's go."

A slight movement under John's eyelids was followed by a low moan. Slowly the young paramedic opened his dark eyes to the surroundings. As awareness returned to him a sigh of frustration escaped his lips. They were still trapped.

"Arghhh. . . . Oh that hurts." John hissed through clenched teeth as a stab of pain coursed through his ankle.

Raising his head John scanned the small room. Cap was sitting on the floor near his feet, his eyes closed. Johnny dropped his eyes to the source of the pain.

His ankle was propped up and a large fluffy feather pillow gently cradled it. John smiled slightly and wondered where in the world Cap found a pillow in all this mess.

Another wave of pain hit him and John's eyes shut against it as he groaned loudly.

The sound woke Cap and he focused his attention on the wounded paramedic.

"Hey John, welcome back" Cap said as he wiped his eyes. "How ya doin?"

"Hangin' in there Cap. Uh, how long was I out?"

Cap raised his wrist and looked at his watch. "Well, looks like it's been about an hour. How are you feeling? How's the ankle?"

"It hurts pretty bad every now and again but not all the time. I'm kinda worried that the dislocation will cut the circulation to my foot though."

Cap looked at John, his lips set in a grim line. "What will need to be done if that happens?"

"You're gonna have to reduce the dislocation because I can't do it myself."

"Hey look Johnny, taking your boot off is one thing but I'm not trained to do something like that. What if I don't do it right? You could be permanently disabled."

"Cap if it comes to that, and I'm not saying that it will, I'll tell you what to do. I'm afraid the alternative is I will lose my foot. So either way it could be bad but at least if we try I have a chance."

John waited for Cap's response as the paramedic watched his superior battle the fear that was evident in his face. Cap raised his eyes; his gaze locked with John's.

"What was that joke you made about me playing paramedic? I think it has a whole new meaning right now."



Captain Stone had decided to send a minimum of men down until he could be sure of the ground's stability. Chet and Mike were requested to stay up and man the lines rather than go down the slope again. As much as it bothered him not to go after their own men, Chet had to admit that being up where he couldn't be buried in another mudslide sounded better and better.

Three ropes were tied off to the bumper of Engine 36. Roy and Marco began their descent down the muddy hill. Wheeler from Station 36 followed.

Almost immediately Roy felt his feet go out from underneath him as he slipped in the slimy mud, landing on his stomach. Marco stopped his descent, and went over to help the paramedic get back onto his feet. The front of Roy's turnout coat and pants were covered in mud.

"You okay, Roy?"

"Yeah, yeah," Roy answered, disgusted. "I wish this ground wasn't so slippery."

The three firefighters were halfway between the upper road and the house when the rain began again.

"Oh great," Wheeler mumbled. "Guys, this hill may come down on us with more rain!"

Chet stood up above on the edge of the road. He watched the men below intently as they slowly made their way down the incline. Suddenly he could feel raindrops hitting him. In a matter of seconds, it was pouring rain. Damn, not again.

His attention diverted, Chet didn't notice the ground crumble underneath his feet. Dropping down on his bottom, Chet slid down four feet before grabbing onto the rope he had been manning and stopping his slide.



The HT in Marco's turnout coat squawked.

"HT 51, Engine 36," Captain Stone's voice came over the radio.

Marco pulled out the HT, pressing the mic button. "Go ahead 36."

"This hillside is getting more unstable with this rain. We've already had one man go down. He's okay, but I'm calling you three back till this rain lets up."

Marco and Roy exchanged worried glances, then looked at the house down below.

"HT 51, did you copy? You men get back up here now. That's an order."

"10-4, Captain Stone. We copy," Marco solemnly replied.

Roy stared at the house as the rain soaked the mud on and around it. He couldn't believe this. They had to get Johnny and Cap out of there.

Wheeler tapped Roy on the shoulder. "Let's go up. We'll find a way to get them, Roy."

The three men began their climb back up the hill, their feet slipping constantly. Finally reaching the top, they were pulled to safety.

Captain Stone walked over to where the crew of Station 51 stood looking down the muddy slope at the part of the damaged house that was visible.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't want to risk losing all of you in a mudslide. We'll try to figure out another way to get to Hank and John. Or as I said before, once the rain lets up we can give this another try."

"Captain, what if they don't have that much time?" Roy asked.

"We'll have to hope they do."



Hank Stanley shifted restlessly in a vain attempt to get comfortable. His knee was throbbing; it hurt to take a deep breath and the mud that coated him was leeching all the warmth out of his body and he was freezing. And if he was this miserable, how must Gage be feeling?

Hank rubbed his aching knee absentmindedly as he studied the younger man. It didn't take a paramedic to see that the cold and constant pain, were taking their toll. Johnny was lethargic and clearly in a tremendous amount of pain. His dislocated ankle continued to swell and was now more than twice its normal size. Large dark bruises had begun to develop and the skin had a stretched, shiny appearance. Beneath the dark smears of mud on his face, Gage was deathly pale and his lips were compressed in a tight line.

"How you doing, pal?"

"I've been better." Johnny didn't even bother to open his eyes.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"How long's it been since you checked my foot for a pulse?"

"Ten, fifteen minutes."

"Check it again, would ya? My toes are getting numb."

"Yeah, okay."

After performing half a dozen such pulse checks, Hank knew exactly where to find the veins that ran along the top of Johnny's foot. And he was grateful for that fact when he saw just how swollen the foot had gotten. The veins, once prominent, were now completely obscured by the massive swelling. "I can feel it," he said after checking and then double-checking, "but it seems weaker than it was before."

"How much weaker?"

"A lot," Stanley admitted reluctantly.

"I was afraid of that." Gage finally opened his eyes and extended a hand toward his captain. "Help me sit up. I wanna check it myself."

Hank pulled the other man up and supported him with an arm around his shoulders. "Well? What do you think?" he asked as he watched Johnny cautiously palpate the top of his bloated foot.

"I think it's time for you to play paramedic again, Cap. I think you're gonna have to try and reduce this."

Hank could literally feel the blood draining out of his face. He remembered how much pain he'd caused the other man just by cutting off his boot. The thought of taking hold of that horribly swollen, deformed ankle and pulling on it made him sick to his stomach. Helping the paramedics take vitals was one thing; this was something else entirely. The joke about playing paramedic didn't seem so funny anymore. "I . . . I . . . Johnny, I can't. . . ."

"You have to."

"I can't! I'm not trained . . . I don't know. . . ."

"Cap, you HAVE to," Gage insisted. "The swelling is pushing the displaced bone against the blood vessels and cutting off my blood supply. Pretty soon it's gonna be cut off altogether. Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to be laying in Rampart stoned out of my gourd on morphine while they fix this but that's not gonna happen; at least not in time to save my foot.You have to do this."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Hank terrified, Johnny just as frightened but doing his best to appear calm and confident. "Okay," Stanley said finally, "okay, I'll try. Just tell me what to do."



It took some doing, but finally things were arranged to Johnny's satisfaction. He was flat on his back -- "Not so far to fall when I pass out," he'd said with a grim smile -- with his injured leg propped on a pile of books and other debris so that his knee was bent at a ninety-degree angle.

"I've never done this either," he admitted. "It's not something we usually do in the field. But I saw it done once during my training and I remember the doc saying it was easier with the knee bent. Something about relaxing the calf muscles. This isn't exactly the position they had that patient in but it's the best we can do under the circumstances."

"So now what?"

"Now you pull."

"Just like that, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Grab my foot with both hands and pull it toward you. Don't yank on it, just a hard, slow steady pull, okay? You should be able to feel it when the bone starts sliding into place."

"And how will I know when to stop pulling?" Hank wiped his muddy hands on his thighs nervously.

"You'll know." Johnny flashed him another grim smile. "Trust me, Cap, you'll know. Now I'm gonna hold onto my leg at the knee as long as I can to try and provide some traction for you but I don't think I'm gonna last long. But you keep pulling. Even if I let go, even if I scream or faint or puke or whatever, you don't stop. No matter what, keep pulling."

Hank nodded, his mouth so dry he couldn't speak.

"Okay, let's do it. Whenever you're ready."

Stanley swallowed hard, uttered a silent prayer and took hold of the other man's foot. He raised his eyes to Johnny silently asking if he was ready.

Gage grabbed his leg at the knee and nodded. "Do it."

Hank pulled hard, slow and steady and Johnny shrieked in agony. Hank flinched and almost let go but he remembered the paramedic's stern instructions. "No matter what, keep pulling." And so he pulled--while Johnny screamed and sobbed and begged him to stop. Hank nearly wept with relief when Gage mercifully lost consciousness. The injured man's body went limp and within seconds the captain felt the bones begin to slide and the ankle slipped back into place with a sickeningly loud pop. Stanley grabbed the feather pillow he'd propped Johnny's foot on earlier and slipped it back under the swollen extremity. Then he crawled as far away from the injured man as he could get and quietly vomited in the corner.

It was nearly thirty minutes before Gage regained consciousness. The first thing he did was push himself up on wobbly arms and gaze down at his ankle. "You did it," he breathed in awe.

Hank was at his side in an instant. "John, are you all right?"

"I think so. Looks at lot better. Sure as hell feels better. Did you check the pulse?"

"Yeah and it was good and strong."

"Great! Thanks, Cap."

"Thanks?" Stanley was appalled. He'd practically tortured Johnny and now he was saying thank you.

"Yeah, Cap. Thanks. I know how hard that must've been for you but you probably saved my foot. I owe you big time."

"Just don't ever ask me to do anything like that again and we'll call it even, okay?"

"It's a deal." Johnny sank back in his nest of quilts and closed his eyes with a weary sigh. "So, how long was I out this time?"

"Not long. Maybe half an hour."

"Half an hour? Geez, how long have we been in here? Going on three hours now?"

"About that."

"Well, I don't know about you but I'm ready for a bath and a hot meal with a morphine chaser and a nice warm hospital bed. How much longer do you think it's gonna be until they get us out of here? "

"Hard to say. The ground's unstable so it'll be slow going. But I'm sure they're working on it. Mike's probably called in reinforcements by now and I bet they're. . . ."

Hank broke off with a gasp as the house groaned and shifted again. Thick black mud bubbled up through the broken windows beneath them and the tower of furniture at his back began to shift. He lurched to his feet and threw a shoulder against a dresser, struggling to keep it from crashing down on them. His feet, ankle deep in mud, slipped and slid beneath him and he nearly went down. Ignoring the sharp tearing sensation in his chest, he gave a mighty heave and managed to push the heavy piece of furniture away from them. It slid off its precarious perch and landed with a wet thud on the other side of the pile.

The captain sat down with a thump, wrapping his arms around his aching ribs and gasping for air. He was dimly aware of Johnny calling out to him, asking if he was all right but he couldn't spare the breath to answer.

The sound of timbers breaking above them echoed like rifle fire. Both men's heads snapped up and they watched in horror as the wall split apart in one of the upper corners and mud began pouring down on them like a waterfall.

Ignoring his own pain, Cap threw himself on top of his paramedic, using his body to shield the man from the torrent of mud. It was instinct, really, for he was sure this was where the two men were going to die, buried alive in a tomb of mud.

But after only a couple of excruciating minutes, the deluge stopped. The two men were completely covered, and John, lying flat on his back, was actually submerged. Cap got up onto his knees and, pulling Gage by the collar of his turnout coat, yanked him sputtering above the mud level.

"Geez, what was that?" Johnny finally managed to get out.

Hank was taking short, gasping breaths as he studied the wall above them. "I think the weight of the mud on the interior wall there made it let go." He pushed himself off of his position over Gage and sat heavily in the foot-deep mud. "But it looks like the exterior walls are holding. That musta been just what had come in through the door and windows."

By now Johnny had painfully pushed himself into a seated position, too. "We don't have much time, do we?" he asked.

Cap shook his head. "No, I don't think we do," he agreed. "But in the mean time we need to get on higher ground, so to speak. Can you get up?"

"Can *you*?" Gage countered.

"What?"

"When were you going to tell me you are having trouble breathing?"

"I'm not, John. I'm okay," Stanley argued feebly. "It's just my ribs."

"Come here," Johnny ordered.

"Now who's gonna play paramedic?" Hank asked in an effort to lighten the moment.

"I'm not playing, Cap. Come here."

Knowing he wouldn't win, the captain scooted over until he was sitting next to his man. John unbuttoned the older man's turnout coat, and reached inside to feel his ribs. "Tell me when this hurts," he commanded.

It didn't take long. Almost immediately Hank gasped in pain. Johnny gave the man an apologetic look, but kept going, checking each and every rib.

"Sorry 'bout that, Cap," John apologized. "But you're not doing anything but sitting here and waiting for help, you understand?"

"John, don't be ridiculous. You can't walk, I'm the only one who can do anything."

The paramedic shook his head emphatically. "No, listen to me. You have at least four broken ribs, maybe more. If you keep moving around, lifting things, lifting *me*, one of those ribs is gonna puncture a lung, and I'm not gonna be able to do a thing to help you. You understand?"

Hank looked at his friend, stunned. Truth was, it *was* extremely painful to breathe, and it had been getting harder. And he trusted John's medical expertise without question.

"Yeah, John, okay. I hear ya." He sat back wearily against a bookcase. "So now what do we do?" he mused aloud.

"Well," Johnny said with a sigh. "I guess we wait."



"Cap? I think it's letting up!" It was the fourth time in an hour that Chet had tried to convince Captain Stone that the rain was subsiding enough for them to make another attempt to rescue the trapped men. Except this time, the firefighter was right.

"Okay Kelly, I think you're right." The captain stood and addressed the men who had gathered around.

"We're gonna get this done in one shot, men," he ordered. "I don't think we'll have time for more than one. It's a miracle that house is still down there."

Stone looked at the crew of station 51, and saw them, to a man, shifting their weight from one foot to another, anxious to get going. He didn't know what to do with them. He knew how they felt, knew that they wanted to be the men to go down the hill. But he knew how reluctantly they'd obeyed his order to abandon the rescue effort last time. Would their personal involvement make them ineffective rescuers? He decided to compromise once again. He named four other men to go over the side, then looked at 51's.

"DeSoto, Lopez, you're going too. Stoker and Kelly, man their lines." The stoic engineer took his assignment without complaint. The same could not be said for Chet.

"But CAP!" he started to argue.

"Look, Kelly, you've already been buried once, and gone over the edge once. You should be at the hospital. You're lucky I'm letting you stay here at all. Kapish?"

Chet studied the man's face for a moment, and knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. "Kapish, Cap," he agreed reluctantly.

"Okay, let's get moving."

The six men assigned to the search and rescue detail all donned their life belts and lines, and prepared to make their way down to the mud-swept cottage, each apprehensive about what they might find down below.

"There, how's that?" Cap asked after tightening the last tie on the makeshift splint to John's ankle.

"Won't win points for style, but I think it'll work."

"Well, we work with what we have," Hank said with a weary grin.

John studied the handiwork, consisting of half a dozen soggy issues of "Ladies' Home Journal" wrapped around the back of his ankle and tied with strips of bedding.

"You'd have made a good paramedic," Gage told his superior. He was serious, and the older man knew it.

"Well, thank you John. That's nice to hear." The two men settled back as best they could. After a moment, Johnny spoke.

"You know, Cap, there's something I've always wanted to ask you."

"What's that?"

"How come you never call me 'Johnny'? Everyone does, always has. But you almost never do. You always call me 'John.' Why is that?"

"I do?" Stanley asked incredulously. "I wasn't even aware I was doing it."

"You do." "

"Why? Does it bother you, John?" Hank smiled suddenly when he realized he'd done it again.

"No, Cap, no. I was just wondering why, that's all."

"Huh," the captain said, thinking about the question. "I suppose, maybe," he started, "it's because to me 'Johnny' is a kid's name. And when you have a man's job, you should be afforded a man's name?" He shrugged.

John tried not to show his pleasure at his superior's response, though he did shift his gaze so as not to be looking the captain in the eye.

"I don't really know," Hank finally admitted. "Or maybe it's just because you don't introduce yourself to people as 'Johnny.'"

"I don't?"

Cap smiled. "No, John, you don't. Except to kids. You always tell kids your name is Johnny. Kids and little old ladies."

Gage let out a laugh. "Well, there ya go, Cap. I didn't even know I did that."

"You do."

John reached up to wipe off some mud that had dripped onto his face from above, but only served to add more, covered in the stuff as they were. Cap reached up above his head, and snagged a relatively clean pillowcase. "Here," he said, tossing it to the younger man.

"Thanks," John said as he wiped his face off. He winced when he hit the bruised side.

"You've got a helluva shiner going there," Hank told him.

"Great. Just great." Johnny leaned back again, the slight exertion having taken a toll.

"Look, Cap," he said once he was again somewhat settled. "I'm sorry about all this."

Hank shook his head. "There's nothing to be done about it now," he said. "We'll deal with it once we're out of here."

John nodded, not wanting to think about the consequences of his stupidity. Right now it was enough to hope that they'd make it to the point where he'd have to face them.

"But really, Gage," he heard his captain say. "A cat?"



With the rain still adding moisture to the already slick hill, the trek down by the six fire fighters was not easy. The men fought to keep their footing as they held on to the ropes, slowly taking steps backwards toward the mud-covered house below.

Roy sighed with relief as he was one of the first ones to get to the little house.

"Johnny! Cap!" Roy called out desperately. "Hey! Can you guys hear me?"

Although Roy didn't really expect to hear a reply, there was that slight hope. Marco came down alongside him. "Well, we're here. And I don't care if it starts raining harder again or not. I'm not going back up that hill without Johnny and Cap."

"I couldn't agree with ya more, Marco," Roy assured. "We'll get 'em."

Three of the other fire fighters reached the area where Roy and Marco stood by the house. The last one followed right behind.

"Okay, we'd better try to figure out what part of the house is what," Dan Nichols said, trying to lead the rescue efforts.

Roy looked over at the fireman from Station 110. "Chet said Johnny and Cap were in the living room area when the house went down. But after that ride down the hill and the house has shifted some . . . who knows where they are now. Or what part of the house is where. It's so covered in mud."

An ominous creak within the mud-caked house caught everyone's attention.

"Where ever they are, we'd better hurry," Wheeler remarked. "This house is gonna break apart with much added weight and if the mud completely destroys it, well. . . ." He trailed off seeing the pained looks on Roy and Marco's faces.

Captain Stanley listened to the creaky noises growing fear. He was about to make a comment about the noise, when he got a good look at Johnny's right arm. His own pain forgotten again, he was over to Johnny in an instant.

Johnny groggily opened his eyes at the feeling of someone beside him. "I thought I told you to sit still, Cap."

"Never mind me. Look at your arm! How could I have forgotten about it?"

"Wha. . . .?" Johnny stopped when he got a glimpse of the mud and blood running together on his right arm. "Uh, Cap?"

"Yeah, pal?"

"I think I'm in kind of a jam here."

"You don't say," Cap sarcastically shot back. He was aware of the dangers of infection from mud getting into an open wound. The captain tried not to sound angry, but why hadn't John reminded him about the injury? And why the heck hadn't he noticed how bad it had gotten, either? "Look, I gotta find something to clean that up, but everything around here is covered in mud now."

"Don' worry, Cap," Johnny mumbled. "Jus' don't move around too much. I'll be okay once they get us out of here."

Once again the house creaked around them.

Captain Stanley sat still while he tried to spot a clean piece of material anywhere. He slammed his fist into the mud in frustration. He and Johnny were both not only injured, but the mud they were sitting in was cold and very wet. He also now had an excruciating pain in his already bad knee after scrambling over to Johnny through the mud. Captain Stanley looked over at the paramedic. Johnny's eyes were closed again.



Roy and the others slowly made their way around the outside of the house, looking for a way in.

Roy once again called out to his missing colleagues. "Johnny! Cap!"

Cap's muffled voice saying "In here" could be heard outside. Roy grinned at the others standing beside him.

"They're alive!"

"Or at least Cap is," Marco added solemnly.

Roy's grin faded. Johnny had to be alive in there with Cap. He had to be. He shook off the morose thought. "Hang on Cap! We're here to get you out," he shouted.

Marco keyed the HT, "They're alive!" he reported. Relief flashed across the faces of the weary firefighters.

"I don't need to remind you that speed is essential men. But exercise caution," Captain Stone warned.



Johnny slowly opened his eyes, wishing he had something to wipe the mud from them. He again tried to push himself up, but his arm gave out and he flopped back into the cold, wet ooze.

"John? You okay pal?" asked a concerned Captain Stanley.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, right. Now, how are you really?"

"Besides cold and wet? My arm is really hurting."

Hank knew it must be bad or John would have denied the pain. His worry and anxiety were growing with each passing moment. "Maybe I should take a look at it."

"Won't make much difference. We don't have anything to use for bandages. I'll be okay."

"I don't believe you but you're right. Besides it's cold and our coats are the only things we have to keep part of us somewhat dry. I heard someone shouting outside. Hopefully that means we'll be out of here real soon."

"That's good. I'm tired of being wet and muddy."

Hank laughed, "Me too John, me too." He groaned as his battered ribs reminded him he should not be laughing.

"Cap?" asked the worried paramedic.

"I'm okay pal. Only hurts when I laugh."

"Then don't!" he admonished.

The surrounding structure creaked and moaned again and more mud rained down upon them. This time the deluge caused the pile of furniture above and beside them to come crashing down. Hank was able to duck and cover but not in time to help Johnny. Gage took the full force of the falling items. He tried to protect himself from the avalanche with upraised arms. It didn't work. His right arm was not only bleeding, but he feared it might be broken now. He swallowed some mud as the weight pushed him under the muck. The coughing and choking only added to the newfound pain in his ribcage as he tried to move the items that held him down. Cap was unable to help because he, too, was trapped under the household debris. The mud continued to pour over the helpless men and the ominous creaking grew even louder. There was a sudden shift of the house and Cap feared this was the end of the line.



Marco, Roy and Wheeler attempted to enter the damaged bungalow. They were just descending through the front door that was now where the roof should have been. The house shuddered and started to slide.

"Get back up here now!" They could hear Captain Stone's voice on the HT The men exchanged determined glances.

"I'm not leaving my captain or my partner here. You can go back up if you want to, but I'm not leaving," said Roy. He looked at each man defiantly. "I'm staying too," said Marco. "Count me in," said Tom Wheeler.

Dan Nichols hesitated. His boss had called them out, but he felt for the men of 51's. They were so close, yet so far. He picked up the HT "Cap, this is Nichols. We're already committed with three men inside. I'll hurry them along as best I can. I'm not a religious man, but I think it might be time to say a prayer."

There was a long silence. "Already done. Get them out of there and away from that house as soon as possible." Stone's tone of voice left no room for further discussion. Dan knew his captain was pissed. He also knew how he would feel if it were his friends in the bungalow. He swore softly under his breath and shouted, "DeSoto! Lopez! Wheeler! Cap says to hurry. If this thing lets go you're all goners. Find them and forget protocol. Just grab them and get them out."



Cap listened. He wanted to hear the sound of his dark haired paramedic cursing at the mud and the cold. But silence was all there was. After assessing his situation Cap realized that his foot was trapped under something. Nothing new seemed to hurt, though; he was just stuck. His frustration came out in a single loud sigh. Then heard the soft moan from across the room.

John opened his eyes and was startled at what he saw.

He was looking up at himself. It took a few seconds for his brain to process that what ever was sitting on his right side had a mirror and he was seeing his reflection. The pain messages came in full force and low moan escaped his lips.

"Johnny? Can you hear me? Answer me so I know you're okay."

Johnny turned his head toward the voice.

"Y. . .ye . . .y . . .uh. . . ." Johnny sputtered, but the words didn't come. He noticed the earthen taste in the back of his mouth and sighed, realizing he musta sucked in some mud. He coughed, hoping that would help clear his throat.

"Cap." Johnny rasped. "I'm still here." His chest burned as he spoke. "Got something big sitting on top of me though. I think it's that old vanity that was in the corner."

"Are you hurt anywhere that you weren't before?" Cap's voice was tense with concern.

"Yeah. I think my arm that was cut might be broken, but I'm not sure since it's buried under this thing. My ribs feel like they took a pretty good shot. And I'm sure I sucked in some mud."

"John, I'm gonna work my ankle free so I can get over to ya."

"Cap is your ankle hurt? Don't try and move or walk on it if it is. I'm doin' alright."

Cap smiled. John's concern for him brought to mind just how special this young man was.

"No, Gage, the ankle is fine. The mud provided plenty of cushion. It's just hung up on something."

"Okay, Cap, but you be careful. I don't want to be trying to put a splint on you with all this mud."

Cap struggled to free his foot for several minutes without success. Finally, after shoving it in just a little deeper, the appendage was released by the furniture. With a grunt he pulled his foot loose. He ran his hand over the joint, and though it was stiff, it didn't appear to be broken. Crab walking backwards, he came to the edge of the large dresser. Peeking around he could just make out the top of Gage's head.

"Hey Johnny. How ya doin' so far?"

"Well Cap, all things being equal, I think I would rather be working a shift with Brice right now."

The three firemen were unable to find a floor to stand on since the house had rolled onto its side. They hung from their safety lines as they were slowly lowered further into the unstable structure.

"Slack! We need more slack! The wall is still about ten feet down," Roy shouted to Nichols.

"Okay, but we need to hurry. It's starting to rain again. There are some really dark storm clouds up there," Dan replied.

As the slack was paid out, they slipped on the mud that was oozing down the floor--which was now a wall. Progress was slow.

"Cap? Johnny?" Roy called out. He thought he heard something and asked the others to be quiet. "Cap? If that's you, speak up. I can hardly hear you."

"Roy?" he heard faintly. "Is that you?"

"Yeah Cap, it's me. Marco and Tom Wheeler are with me. We'll have you outta here real soon." Roy hesitated before continuing, "Is Johnny with you? Are either of you injured?"

"He's here with me pal, and we're both hurt. Your partner's not doing so good. I think you'll need a stokes for him."

"What kind of injuries are we looking at Cap?"

"Well, John's got a possible broken arm and a dislocated ankle. Some furniture landed on his chest and I think he has a concussion," answered Hank.

"And you?" asked Roy, his voice etched with concern.

"Aside from possible broken ribs, my right shoulder and left knee hurt like crazy."

Roy picked up the HT and called Dan Nichols. "Think we can get a stokes down here? Cap says Johnny's in bad shape."

"I'd like to Roy, but I don't think we have time," his voice crackled over the HT.



A sudden rush of mud poured in on Hank and Johnny. Hank growled in frustration while he tried to move the vanity off of his trapped paramedic. Mud seeped down the back of his neck and dripped off his forehead. Johnny got a face full of the cold, wet slime and choked some more. Hank lost his grip on the furniture when his shoulder gave out, and it returned to it's resting place on Johnny. The young man complained loudly.

"I'm sorry John. I don't think I can lift this alone. Roy, Marco, and Tom are on their way down. Hopefully they'll have us out of here soon."

"Don't take this wrong, Cap," Gage gasped. "But I can't wait to get out of here." He choked again and a moan escaped his lips when he tried to shift beneath the weight of the heavy, awkward object.

"No offense taken pal. Just try to relax," he tried to reassure the injured man.

"Roy!" he called out. "Hurry! John's trapped and I can't get him free." His throat was dry and he started coughing which only made his ribs ache more.

The rescue team finally made it to the bedroom doorway. Roy peered down inside and shined his flashlight around. "Cap? Where are you?"

"Down here," he coughed again.

Roy quickly redirected his light and was shocked by the haggard appearance of his commanding officer. "You okay?"

"Been better. Think you can get us out of here?"

"I'm not leaving without you," replied Roy.

"Me either," answered Marco as his face appeared in the opening.

"John?" When Hank got no reply he reached over to Gage. "John? You still with me?"

"Cap? We'll be getting you out first," shouted Roy.

"Gage needs help more than me. Take him first!"

"Can't Cap. You're going first. We'll need a bit more room to get Johnny free. I'm sending a belt and rope down to you. As soon as you're ready, let me know," instructed Roy.

Hank leaned worriedly over his paramedic. "John, you take it easy, okay? They'll have you free and out of here in no time. I'll be waiting for you outside. I'd trade places with you if I could." He didn't want to leave his man behind. Sliding back, he grabbed the belt. Once he had it on, he signaled Roy. He groaned in pain as the pulling motion made his ribs protest.

Several hands reached for him when he cleared the doorway. Marco, overwhelmed by emotion, grabbed the captain in a bear hug. It hurt, but he felt some relief at being halfway out of this mess. However, his thoughts were still with Gage.

"I'm glad to see you too, Marco. Get Johnny," he said and groaned again as the rope attached to his belt was again slowly pulled towards freedom. Tom Wheeler helped guide the older man so he made it safely to the main entrance.

Roy looked intently at Marco, "Ready?"

"More than," Lopez replied. "Let's go." He said another prayer as they lowered themselves into the bedroom.

"Johnny? Where are you?" Marco asked.

A muffled cry from below alerted them to his location. No sooner had they reached the up-ended furniture pinning him down, than another loud creaking sound was followed by more mud. Johnny was spared another mouthful of the slime by the stubborn piece of furniture on top of him. Roy and Marco shook off the onslaught and proceeded to try and lift the vanity. It was hard to hold onto.

"Roy, one of us is going to have to pull him out while the other lifts this thing. Do you want me to lift?" asked Marco.

"No. You better pull him out. I can get better leverage from here. You'll have more room to maneuver if I stay over here." To his partner he said, "Johnny, we'll have you free in no time. How're you holding up?"

"Not so good Pally," he coughed again. "Just get me . . . out of here."

Roy's HT startled all of them. "How's it going down there DeSoto?" asked Captain Stone.

"Cap's on his way up and we're ready to extricate Johnny now." Another ominous creak filled the small house followed by more mud.

"Johnny! Marco! Look out!" shouted Roy.

Mud splashed off of Lopez's helmet in all directions. John was still relatively safe where he was trapped.

"Thanks Roy," replied the still dripping fireman.

All Johnny could manage was "Roy. Hurry, please."

Roy grabbed onto the vanity. He managed to move it a few inches. "How's that?"

"Can you lift it some more? We need a few more inches," shouted Marco.

"I'll try. This thing is heavier than it looks. Slippery too." Roy readjusted his grip and pulled hard. He managed to lift it enough for Marco to pull Johnny out from under it. The creaking and groaning of the house was momentarily drowned out by John's cry of pain.

"I'm so sorry Johnny. I'm really sorry," lamented Marco.

"Not...your fault..Marco. Oh man...it hurts!"

"Johnny?" The only response Roy got was another cry of pain. "Marco? What's going on?"

"He's in a lot of pain Roy. I think he's going to go out on us. Throw me the belt and I'll get it on him," answered Lopez.

"Roy. How's it coming?" asked Nichols. "It's raining harder. We have to move, now!"

"Marco's getting the harness on Johnny now. I hate to move him without the necessary precautions but we just don't have the time. Be ready to haul us out of here when I give the word. How's Cap?"

"They almost have him topside. He's in a great deal of pain, but what else can we do?"

"I understand. So do Cap and Johnny," Roy replied. "Marco? Ready?"

"Let's get out of here!" he replied. He tried to support Johnny as much as he could while they took up the extra slack. Roy was almost to the doorway before Marco and Johnny's lines started to move.

Tom Wheeler helped Roy through the door and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Roy. Head on up. I'll help Marco," he stated.

"No! I want to stay."

"Roy, Johnny needs your skills as a paramedic more than he needs you here right now. Go on. We've got him," Tom insisted.

He hated to admit it, but Tom was right. He grudgingly let them pull him the rest of the way up. The rain was coming down hard, but it felt good after being in the mud-filled house. He anxiously waited while they worked on retrieving the three remaining firefighters. A glance up the hill told him Cap had made it safely to the top, and soon he, too, was topside.

Dark gray storm clouds filled the sky and he heard the distant rumble of thunder. "Hurry up. C'mon. Hurry!" he mumbled under his breath as he nervously waited outside.

Marco held onto Johnny as they started their ascent. A low moan escaped as the belt pulled up against his battered rib cage. Though barely conscious, panic and fear swept through the paramedic when the house shifted around them. Marco, eyes wide with fear, shouted, "Get us out of here!"

Roy itched to get back down to the house and help bring his friends out. Captain Stone and Chet Kelly held him back. He pulled away angrily and stalked off towards the squad. Chet followed and found him sitting inside.

"Roy, you alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah. I just wish they were up here already. It's hard to just stand here and do nothing but watch."

"Tell me about it," Kelly agreed. "But they'll be okay. Why don't you go check on Cap? He's pretty worried, too."

"Thanks Chet."

"I'll let you know when Marco and Johnny are free."

Roy nodded and got out of the squad. He had forgotten how worried Chet must be. He and Marco were partners and very close friends.



After what seemed like an eternity, John and Marco were finally to the 'front door'. Tom pushed Lopez on ahead. "Go on. I've got him. You go ahead and get out."

Marco hesitated but Wheeler held his ground. "Go!" Marco relented and soon found himself leaving the little house.

"Johnny, we're next. You still with us?" Tom asked.

Gage's eyes were closed tight against all the pain assaulting his senses. Another moan escaped as Tom moved Johnny in front of him. "Sorry buddy. It'll all be over soon."

"You...go...first," he murmured weakly.

"What? No way! YOU go first. I don't want that partner of yours mad at me!" he chuckled.

Johnny tried to laugh and ended up coughing.

"Ready?"

"No, but let's get the hell out of here."

Wheeler pushed up on Gage as the men above pulled on his line. The pain was unbearable and he passed out. In minutes he was pulled clear of the doorway and Wheeler quickly followed.

The moment they were all free, the little house let loose and plummeted the rest of the way into the ravine.



Hank flinched as the little yellow house finally gave up its long battle and succumbed to the force of the mudflow. The roof peeled away and the walls splintered into a thousand pieces. "That was too damn close," he thought to himself from his place on the tarp that had been spread on the ground. Hank glanced down at Lopez and Wheeler who were struggling up the treacherous slope alongside the stokes carrying John Gage. The captain watched their slow progress for a moment before reluctantly allowing 36's senior paramedic Pete Radneker, who'd returned from delivering their original victim to the hospital, to push him back down on the tarp.

Roy grabbed a bottle of saline and a thick pile of gauze pads and knelt beside him. "Hey, Cap, how ya doing?" he asked softly as he opened Stanley's turnout coat and shirt and began sponging the muck off his chest. "Just gonna clean you up here a little so we can put you on a heart monitor."

Hank shivered under the onslaught of the cold water and tried to concentrate on the questions DeSoto and Radneker were asking him, but all he could think about was Gage. He pushed himself up on his elbows and peered down the slope to try and check on the other man's progress. They were nearing the crest of the hill and Hank winced as Marco lost his footing and nearly fell, causing the stokes to lurch wildly for a second. "Be careful," he called out, struggling to rise and go to his injured paramedic's side.

"Hold on there," Radneker protested, gently pushing him back down. "Lie still, Captain and let us check you out."

"I'm okay," he protested, "go take care of John."

"We will," Roy reassured him. "But right now we need to concentrate on you."

"I'm fine," Hank insisted, brushing Roy's hands away and trying to sit up again. "I sprained my knee; I cracked a couple of ribs. It's no big deal. Give me some aspirin and tape my ribs and I'll be fine. But John. . . ."

"Is in good hands," DeSoto said firmly, attaching the monitor leads to Hank's chest and flipping on the datascope. "And you know I can't give you any meds--not even aspirin--without a doctor's order. As for taping your ribs, well, Dr. Brackett would have my hide. You're already having some respiratory distress, the last thing you need is a rib belt making it even harder to breathe. Now, just lie back and be still and let us check you out."

Hank grudgingly complied but most of his attention was concentrated on the stokes' slow ascent of the treacherous slope. Lopez and Wheeler finally reached the top of the hill and carried their burden over to the tarp, laying Johnny just a few feet away from the captain. As DeSoto and Radneker worked on him Hank was only vaguely aware of what the paramedics were doing. He flinched a bit when a needle pierced the skin at the crook of his left elbow. He was vaguely aware that Roy spent an unusual amount of time listening to his chest before passing the stethoscope to Pete who listened even longer and then dived for the biophone and began speaking rapidly. None of it really concerned him though. He was a captain, one of his men was injured, and seeing to John's welfare came first. His own injuries were secondary. And so Hank focused most of his attention on Gage, mentally reviewing his condition and comparing it to how he'd looked before their
rescue from the house. If anything, John looked worse. He appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness. His breathing was labored and beneath the coating of mud he was deathly pale.

Hank was startled from his scrutiny of the injured paramedic when several pairs of hands took hold of him and gently lifted him onto an ambulance stretcher.

"Hey!" he protested. "Hold on a minute! What's going on?"

"We need to get you to the hospital right way," Pete told him as he tucked a blanket carefully around the captain's chest and shoulders.

"No. You send John first. He's hurt worse than I am."

Roy leaned over and began tugging the safety straps into place, securing Hank to the stretcher. "You need to go now, Cap," he said firmly. "You've got diminished breath sounds on your left side and we need to get you to Rampart as soon as possible."

"Diminished breath sounds? So what? I told you I probably cracked some ribs. It hurts to take a deep breath. Of course my breath sounds are diminished."

"Cap, you don't understand." Roy's voice took on the soft, soothing cadence that always seemed to work wonders on reluctant patients. Normally Hank admired it but at that moment it just annoyed him.

"No, Roy. YOU don't understand. I'm in charge of this station. I'm responsible for you men. There's no way I'm leaving before John does."

"Captain Stanley," Pete Radneker leaned into his field of view. "What we're trying to tell you is that we think one of your broken ribs punctured your lung and caused it to partially collapse. That's why it's hard for you to breathe. That's why we hear diminished breath sounds when we listen to your lungs. It's serious, Sir. It's not something you can mess around with. We need to take you to the hospital right now."

Hank looked to Roy for confirmation. DeSoto nodded. "Okay," he sighed reluctantly. "But I want you to call another ambulance for John."

"It's already on its way," Pete reassured him as he beckoned the ambulance attendants forward again.

At just that instant, Johnny cried out in pain. Hank's head whipped around and he saw that Tom Wheeler was removing the strips of fabric that held the makeshift splint on Gage's ankle. The slight jostling motion had been enough to rouse the injured man. His eyes fluttered open briefly and he moaned again.

"Careful," Hank hissed irritably. "His ankle was dislocated."

"Dislocated?" Wheeler glanced over in surprise. "Are you sure, Captain? It's really swollen but. . . ."

"It was dislocated," Hank repeated firmly. Roy had placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and the captain brushed it away in annoyance. "His foot was bent inward about thirty degrees. I think John described it as a medial dislocation. He was in a lot of pain and the swelling was cutting off his circulation so I had to put the ankle back into place."

"No disrespect, Cap but I kinda doubt. . . ."

"I'm telling you, it was dislocated! And what's more. . . ." Hank launched into a lengthy description of Johnny's injuries and how he'd attempted to treat them, breathlessly concluding with ". . . and I'm afraid he might have . . . what's the word? . . . aspirated? . . . a lot of mud when that last piece of furniture fell on him. It took me almost a minute to get his head above water and his breathing sounds a lot more congested than it did before we were rescued."

Tom Wheeler was staring at him, eyes wide with amazement. "You actually reduced his ankle dislocation? Without meds? Without anyone to pull traction? In there?!" He gestured toward the shattered remains of the house.

"I didn't have much choice," Hank replied with a shrug. "There wasn't anyone else there to do it and John needed my help."

"Playin' parame'ic."

The voice was so soft and the words so slurred that Hank almost missed the comment. But then it registered and he smiled. "Hey, John."

"Hey." Gage smiled weakly beneath the oxygen mask that covered the lower half of his face. "We got out?"

"Yeah, pal. We got out."

"Nice warm hos'ital bed an' dinner with a morphine chaser," Johnny mumbled and his eyes drifted closed again.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Roy observed. "For both of you." He grabbed the oxygen mask Hank had pushed aside earlier and settled it back into place. "Leave that on, Cap. It's important. Now, Tom's gonna get Johnny stabilized a little better and bring him in to Rampart in a few minutes. But you're going right now. No arguments."

Hank nodded wearily. Gage was safe. He was in good hands just as Roy had said. And the adrenaline rush that had kept him going all these hours was finally wearing off. The captain was suddenly very much aware just how tired and cold he was . . . of how much his body ached, how hard it was getting to breathe. "Yeah, okay," he sighed. "Let's go. But you stay here Roy. Let Pete ride in with me. Stay here and take care of Johnny, okay?"

He saw DeSoto and Radneker exchange glances over his head. "Okay Cap." Roy gave Hank's arm a quick squeeze and went to care for his injured partner.



"What do you need?" Roy asked Wheeler upon arriving, finally, at his injured partner's side.

"Nuthin', Roy," came the response. "We've got it pretty much under control."

"He looks shocky."

Wheeler let out a breath of laughter. "Wouldn't you be?" he asked before turning serious. "He is, a little. But the IV's helping. We're good to go as soon as the ambulance gets here." As he spoke, the paramedic secured the last piece of tape tightly around the splint surrounding his victim's injured ankle. John moaned.

"Johnny?" Roy asked upon hearing the noise from his partner. "Can you hear me?"

"Mmmmmm," Gage mumbled without opening his eyes. "Cold," he whispered.

Roy looked up at his fellow paramedic, and when it was apparent that Tom hadn't heard Johnny, he jumped to his feet and ran to his squad. He was pulling two blankets from the vehicle when Marco came up beside him.

"How are they?" he asked.

"Ummm," Roy hedged, unsure what to say. "Hard to tell, really. Cap might've hurt his lungs. Looks like Johnny might be going in to shock."

"But," Lopez started hesitantly, "they're gonna be okay, aren't they?"

Roy paused for a second before securing the latch on the squad's compartment door. "I hope so," he said before heading off with the blankets. "I hope so."



"Pete," Captain Stanley breathed out to the paramedic in charge of his care. "How was John?"

Radneker smiled. "He'll be fine, Cap. Don't worry about him now. You just worry about yourself."

"He. . . ." Hank had to stop and breathe for a moment before he could continue. "He on the way . . . to . . . the hospital?"

The paramedic's brow furrowed with concern. "I'm sure he's right behind us." He clipped his stethoscope into his ears before he continued. "Is it getting harder to breathe, Cap?"

"Yeah, kinda," the older man admitted. "Really hurts."

Pete placed the drum on his patient's chest. "Take a deep breath for me, Cap," he ordered.

Hank tried, but found it utterly impossible, and downright excruciating. "I . . . ." He tried again, and failed again. "I can't," he managed to get out in a rush.

Radneker pulled the stethoscope from his ears and picked up the biophone handset. "Rampart, this is Squad 36," he started. When he apparently got a response he continued. "Victim is complaining of increased difficulty breathing. Breath sounds on the left are further diminished." Again he listened, then looked at his watch. "ETA is approximately 4 minutes, Rampart." And then, after a second, "10-4." He dropped the phone.

"Cap," he said to his patient. "I'm gonna sit you up and increase your oxygen here, that should help a little bit. You just hang in there. We're almost at the hospital."

"Can't," Stanley started, suddenly frightened by his shortness of breath. "Can't breathe."

"I know Cap," the paramedic said. "We're almost there."



"Better?" Roy asked John as he fitted the blanket tightly around the injured man's body. Gage didn't respond at first, so Roy spoke again, more loudly. "Johnny?"

"Mmmm," the suddenly roused man acknowledged. "Yeah, Roy, thanks."

"It's okay." He looked at Wheeler. "Where the hell is that ambulance?" he asked, making no effort to hide his irritation and frustration. "Why weren't two dispatched to the scene from the get-go?"

"Calm down, Roy," Tom admonished. "I'm sure in this weather they're all busy. We just checked. ETA is two minutes." Just as he finished speaking, the sound of the ambulance's siren could be heard coming up the hill. "What did I tell you?" the paramedic teased.

Roy ignored him, and turned his attention back to his friend. "Hang on, Johnny, the ambulance is almost here."

"Mmmmm Hmmmm," Gage agreed. Then he opened his eyes to look at his partner. "You took care of Cap?" he asked.

"Yeah, Radneker is riding in with him now."

"He was having a lot of trouble breathing, Roy," John said, sounding more lucid than he had been since arriving topside.

"I know Johnny, don't worry about him. He'll be all right."

"Broken ribs, Roy, lots of 'em. Was worried about a collapsed lung."

Roy shook his head with exasperation. "Don't worry about Cap. He's in good hands."

"But," Johnny said after a second. "This is all my fault."



The ambulance bearing Captain Stanley hit a pothole as it turned the corner into Rampart's Emergency entrance. It wasn't a big one; it was hardly noticed by the paramedic and the attendants. The same could not be said for the victim.

"Owww, shit!" Hank exclaimed as the vehicle hit the bump. Instinctively he grabbed his left side and tried to roll onto it to relieve the sudden shot of pain.

"No, Cap, don't!" Radneker shouted, pushing the injured man back onto his back. But it was too late. The movement caused Captain Stanley to scream in pain before virtually passing out.

"He's barely breathing," Pete said aloud. "Step on it!" he urged the driver.

Within seconds the ambulance was backed up to the ER doors. Pete looked up from listening to his victim's chest as the doors opened, and immediately started speaking to Dr. Brackett.

"Completely absent breath sounds on the left, doc," he reported as his victim was lifted from the truck. "Heart rate is increasing, and I think I detected an aortic shift."

"Tension pneumothorax," the doctor diagnosed. "Let's move it, people!"

They didn't even bother to move Cap off the ambulance gurney, instead just laying him flat where he was. Brackett snapped on his stethoscope and listened for about three seconds. "Dix, I need a 16-gauge cardiac needle," he ordered.

The nurse gave him the item, and without a second of hesitation, he thrust it into the left side of Hank Stanley's chest.

The response was dramatic. Cap's heart rate started to decrease, his breathing began to improve, and the man's eyes started to flutter open.

"That's better," Kel declared. He looked at Radneker. "If you had been any farther away, he'd have been in big trouble."

"Tell me about it," the paramedic agreed.



Roy stared at his partner, a worried look on his face.

"Johnny, don't blame yourself for this. You didn't know that house was gonna go when it did."

"We . . . we knew . . . it was close," Johnny swallowed hard. "I shoulda left . . . cat."

Roy sighed. "Look, that lady was worried about her cat. And to some pet owners, animals are as much a part of the family as anyone else. If we had said the cat wasn't worth rescuing . . . well," Roy waved his hand slightly for emphasis, "it would've been like saying that a child of hers wasn't worth it."

" 'm tired," Johnny responded. He just closed his eyes.



The ambulance had pulled up to a stop. Wheeler and one of the attendants quickly pulled out the stretcher and brought it over near Johnny.

"You ready, Roy?" Tom asked.

Roy looked up at the paramedic. "Yeah, let's get him out of here."

They lifted Johnny onto the stretcher and secured him in place. Roy carefully draped the blanket from the ambulance over Johnny up to his neck and tucked it around him.

"Marco, can you bring in the squad?" Roy asked. "I want to ride in with Johnny."

"Sure, Roy," Marco answered.

"Chet, why don't you get in with us," Roy said, motioning for Chet to get in the ambulance. "You really need to be checked out and I'll try to clean up those cat scratches more. Besides, I think Johnny may need some humor along the way."

Chet climbed into the ambulance and sat on one of the benches. He looked down at Johnny. All this for a damn cat.

Roy climbed in. Before Wheeler could close the doors, Captain Stone was there.

"Desoto, I'll call Rampart later to check on Hank and Gage. We'll be holding good thoughts."

"Yes, sir," Roy nodded.

Stone stepped back and Wheeler closed the door, giving it the customary two slaps.

As the ambulance pulled away, Chet took his eyes off Johnny and looked at Roy. "Is Johnny gonna be okay?" he quietly asked.

Roy didn't answer. He adjusted the oxygen mask on Johnny's face and thought about the brief conversation he'd had with his partner. He hoped John didn't add to his problems by beating himself up mentally.

Roy's silence didn't go unnoticed by Kelly. It had to be bad if Roy wasn't talking. He looked down at Gage and couldn't get over how pale and truly awful the injured man looked.

Chet shifted in his seat and removed his turnout coat. He was sweating now and it was irritating his injury.

"You okay Chet?" asked Roy when he saw the man pulling on his shirt to get it away from his chest.

"Yeah, Roy. Just stings a little. That's all."

"Let me finish cleaning those scratches." He grabbed some 4 x 4's and poured antiseptic on them. Chet winced as Roy continued. "You're probably gonna need a tetanus shot."

"Oh great! Remind me to thank Gage properly for that later. Maybe the Phantom. . . ."

"Chet . . . ," Roy interrupted as he held out his hand. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

A coughing fit halted their conversation. "Johnny?" He was having a difficult time catching his breath. It was a deep, wet, rattling cough. Roy listened to his partner's lungs, placed his hand on John's forehead, and swore quietly.

"Roy? He gonna be okay?"

"I'm afraid he might develop pneumonia. His breathing is labored and I think I heard rales." Roy readjusted the oxygen mask and called Rampart.

Chet put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "It's going to be alright Johnny. Hang in there, pal." To Roy he asked, "Aren't we there yet?"

Johnny gave no indication that he heard his friends. Roy rechecked his vitals and relayed them to Rampart.

"10-4 Rampart. ETA is approximately ten minutes." Roy adjusted the flow of oxygen as ordered and sighed.

"Roy?"

"Yeah, Chet?"

"He's going to be okay. I mean he's been through some bad stuff before and made it okay."

"I hope so Chet. I really do."

Upon arrival at Rampart, Johnny was directed to treatment room 3 and Chet to room 5. The young paramedic moaned in pain as he was moved quickly and none
to gently from the stretcher to the gurney.

"Hey! Take it easy! He's got a broken arm, a dislocated ankle and probably a concussion," shouted Roy.

The orderlies just looked at Roy and continued on their way. DeSoto was fuming. He was about to say something else to the two men when Joe Early walked into the room.

"Hey Roy," he hesitated when he noticed the irritated look on the usually easy-going man's face. "What's wrong?" he asked while he began his assessment on Johnny.

"Jenna. Get x-ray in here STAT. Also I want you to draw some blood," He listed off the usual battery of blood tests. "Has he regained consciousness?" he asked Roy.

"He's been in and out. He's in a lot of pain. They were pretty rough on him when they transferred him to the gurney." DeSoto made a point of emphasizing that last fact.

Early listened to his patient's lungs and frowned. "I don't like the sound of this."

"Cap said his head went under the mud and water when they were trapped in the house. I imagine he aspirated some of it."

"How long were they trapped?"

"Roughly five hours," the paramedic replied.

The doctor continued with his exam while the young nurse took vitals, drew the required blood samples and attempted to get Gage into a hospital gown. He noted that the cut on John's arm was full of mud.

The technician arrived with the portable x-ray unit and everyone stepped out into the hall. Chet walked out of the other treatment room at that time and joined them. He asked about Johnny and Dr. Early replied that x-ray was with him now and they would know more once they got the films. Chet absent-mindedly rubbed his shoulder as he stared off into space.

"You okay Chet?" The question startled him.

"Huh?"

"I asked if you were okay," Roy repeated.

"Yeah. Just really tired."

"Something wrong with your arm?" the doctor asked.

"Nah. Got a tetanus shot. Man that hurt! When he gets better I'm gonna pay him back for this," he complained. Roy shook his head and sadly wondered if that time would ever come.

Dr. Kelly Brackett walked up to the group assembled in the hallway.

"How's Cap?" asked Roy, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Better, under the circumstances. He has a punctured lung and we had to insert a chest tube. He's breathing better."

Marco opened the door and peeked into the staff lounge. There he saw Roy sitting by himself at the table, staring at a cup of coffee in front of him. When Roy didn't look over at him, Marco pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Where's Chet?"

Roy's eyes didn't move from staring at the cup. "He's in getting his chest x-rayed. They . . . ah . . . they needed to be sure his lungs were clear."

Marco nodded. "And Johnny?"

Roy sat back in the chair, sighing. He looked up at Marco. It was then that Marco realized just how bad things were. Roy's eyes said more than the paramedic ever could in words.

"They're doing x-rays and blood work on Johnny now. Early is afraid he may develop pneumonia. He's in pretty bad shape, Marco." Roy leaned forward and
rested his elbows on the table. "Besides the physical injuries, he's dehydrated and borderline hypothermic."

"All that for a cat." Marco shook his head.

"Well, that's another thing," Roy said, rubbing his right thumb on the rim of the cup. "Johnny . . . Johnny blames himself for the whole thing. Marco, I'm afraid his feeling responsible may have an affect on how quick he comes back from this physically. And wait till he hears about Cap--"

"Cap?" Marco interrupted. "How is he? He didn't--Roy, tell me Cap's okay."

"He nearly died in transport. If they hadn't gotten him here when they did, we may not have had a Cap anymore."

Marco's eyes widened in shock. "Wow. You know I never think about anything like that happening to the captain. It's like no matter what, he's always going to be there with us."

"Yeah, well, he almost wasn't. And if Johnny finds out, he's gonna be kicking himself even more."

Marco was numb. He couldn't even bring himself to ask what had gone wrong with Captain Stanley.



It was the pain that woke him. A constant ache in his left side. Hank forced his eyes open, squinting against the glare of the too-bright fluorescent lights overhead. He rolled his head sideways on the pillow and looked around the room. He was in the emergency room at Rampart. Rampart? What was he ...? How did he ...?

He had a vague recollection of not being able to breathe. But he didn't remember how he'd gotten to the hospital or how he'd ended up attached to a dizzying array of tubes and wires. There was an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, an IV in each arm, sticky patches on his chest connected him to a heart monitor, he could feel a slight burning sensation between his legs, which he knew from past experience meant that he was catheterized. But worst of all was the large plastic tube protruding from the left side of his chest and snaking down over the side of the bed where it attached to a plastic box filled with bubbling liquid. He was cold, despite the thick layer of blankets piled on top of him. His knee ached, his shoulder throbbed, his ribs ached. Hell, his whole body hurt. It was hard to breathe.

What the HELL happened?

Hank didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until a familiar voice answered him. "You were caught in a mudslide." Kelly Brackett appeared at his bedside, a sheaf of x-ray films in his hand. "You were banged up pretty badly, Captain. And you gave us a bit of a scare when you first got here, but you're going to be just fine."

"A-a- mud . . . ," he stopped and cleared his throat. "A mudslide?"

Kel nodded. "You were trapped inside a damaged house for several hours."

And the memories came flooding back. He remembered the little house slipping further and further down the slick embankment while he and John struggled to stay alive inside. He remembered the long hours, shivering in the cold and the wet, startling at every creak and groan of the tortured walls. He remembered Gage's injuries, remembered treating them as best he could and feeling utterly helpless.

"How . . . how is John? Where is he? Is he all right?"

"He's been battered around as much as you have, but he's going to be fine."

"Are you sure?"

The doctor smiled. "He's been asking the same thing about you. Yes, he's going to be fine. You both are. But let's worry about you for right now, okay? I was just about to take a look at your x-rays."

"But what about his ankle? Is it . . . did I do anything wrong when I. . .
."

Kel grinned and shook his head. "You firemen. Always more worried about the other guy than you are about yourselves." He laid the x-rays aside and pulled a low stool up next to Hank's bed. "We'll talk about Johnny first if it'll ease your mind. THEN we're going to concentrate on you, okay?"

Hank nodded.

"First off all, no, you didn't do anything wrong when you reduced his dislocated ankle. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness and when he's awake, he's been pretty groggy but from what we've been able to piece together, it sounds as if you probably saved his foot."

"So there's no permanent damage?"

"Well, it is a serious injury and I have to be honest, there is a chance there'll be some lingering side effects." Kel must've seen the shock on Hank's face because he held up a placating hand and hastened to add, "But he's under the care of one of our best orthopedists and he's going to undergo some pretty intensive physical therapy so I really expect him to make a good recovery."

"Good enough to come back to work?"

"In all likelihood, yes. It will probably take several months for him to reach that stage. But Johnny's young, he's healthy . . . hell, for a such a skinny kid he's got the constitution of an ox."

Hank laughed at that. And discovered that the old adage 'it only hurts when I laugh' was true. "Ouch," he gasped, laying a hand on his chest.

"You've got four broken ribs. And when the ambulance went over that pothole.
. . ."

"John," Hank reminded the doctor a bit breathlessly. "We were talking about John."

"Okay, okay," Kel conceded with a laugh. "Other than the ankle injury, our young paramedic is doing pretty well. He was a bit dehydrated and borderline hypothermic but we got fluid into him and warmed him up. He has a mild concussion, a lot of bruising on his chest and abdomen, a badly sprained arm. . . ."

"It's not broken? I thought. . . ."

"So did we, at first, but he got lucky. No fracture. The laceration was bone deep though and full of mud so Dr. Markham, one our surgeons, is taking him to the operating room to clean the wound and stitch it in layers to try and reduce the scarring."

"And then?"

"Then he's going to be our guest here at the hospital for several days while we keep an eye on him."

"What about his lungs? He swallowed a lot of mud. I was afraid he inhaled some too."

"Based on the amount of mud he vomited on Joe Early's shoes, I'd say he mostly swallowed it," Kel chuckled at that and Hank couldn't help but smile at the image. "But his lungs are congested so odds are he did inhale at least some of it. We're going to monitor that very closely, start him on some preventative antibiotics and try to hold off pneumonia."

"Can I see him?"

"I'm sorry, captain, but he's on his way to the operating room right now. But, I'll make sure you see him when he comes out, all right?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Good." Kel reached for the x-rays he'd laid aside earlier. "Now, are we ready to talk about YOU?"



"John?"

"Mmm? Yeah?"

"We're ready to start the procedure now." The doctor prodded the paramedic's injured arm. "Can you feel this?"

He could, but only barely. "Sorta," he mumbled.

"Sorta? Meaning what? Do you feel pain?"

"Nah, just pressure."

"That's good. That's what you're supposed to feel." The surgeon draped the area as he spoke. "You can sleep if you want but we'll be waking you up every now and then because of your head injury."

"My head's okay," he protested, just wanting to sleep uninterrupted.

"Sorry, but I think that's for me to decide, not you," Dr. Markham chuckled. "First I'm going to irrigate the wound so you might feel the cold water but it shouldn't hurt. When it's clean we'll do the suturing. It's going to take a while because I have to close the wound layer by layer."

"Jus' get it over with," Gage muttered drowsily. "I wanna go to bed."

The doctor laughed. "Okay, let's get started."



Finally settled in a room, Hank was dozing when a slight commotion awakened him. It was John, finally out of surgery.

"How is he?" he asked the orderlies as they transferred the sleeping paramedic from the stretcher to the bed.

"Sorry," one of them shrugged. "We just move 'em. You'll have to ask the doc. I bet someone will be by in a minute," he added as they left.

The captain tried to roll onto his side to get a better look at his man but was pulled up short by a stabbing pain in his side. He had to settle for raising the head of the bed a scant few degrees. John looked better, Hank decided. Still battered, bruised and pale, but better. It was amazing what a sponge bath could do.

He was still studying the other man when the door opened again. He glanced up expecting to see a doctor or a nurse but it was Roy. He entered and was soon followed by the rest of Hank's crew.

"Hey, Cap. How're you feeling?" Chet asked.

"I'm okay. Glad to see you made it out, pal. I was worried."

"Me?" Kelly scoffed. "No problem. I'm fine and so's the cat."

Stanley noticed a fleeting look of alarm pass across Roy's face. The paramedic quickly glanced at Johnny.

"Roy? What's the matter? How's John?"

Startled, DeSoto turned his attention back to the captain. "He's okay, Cap. Or he will be."

"Good. You scared me there for a second. I thought something was wrong the way you were looking at him."

"No, the doc said he'll be fine as long as there aren't any complications."

"Good," Hank repeated, and then he yawned despite his best effort to hold it in.

"We should go," Mike spoke up.

"Yeah," Roy agreed. "You need your rest. You gave us quite a scare, you know. We just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything."

"Just a good night's sleep," the captain replied.

The men shuffled through the door, mumbling their farewells.

"Roy? Got a minute?"

DeSoto turned back. "Yeah, Cap. What can I do for you?"

Hank waited until the door closed behind the other men. "What's up with John?"

"What do you mean?"

"I saw the way you looked at him. You're worried about something."

"No, really. He'll be okay."

"DeSoto," the captain used his best command tone, the one that said 'knock it off and tell me the truth'.

Roy looked at his sleeping partner again before turning to Stanley in defeat. "It's just something he was going on about at the scene. He kept saying this was all his fault because he went back for that cat. You know how he can be."

"He shouldn't have gone back in," Hank admitted. "But he couldn't have known what was going to happen. It was just bad timing and bad luck. These things happen."

Roy allowed a small smile to cross his face. "I'm not the one who needs to hear it, Cap."

"I'll tell him," Hank promised.

"You go back to sleep now, Mr. Gage. I'll be back in a couple hours, okay?"

No, it wasn't, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, so he remained silent, only sighing loudly once the nurse was out of the room.

"John? You okay pal?" came a voice in the darkness. Cap.

"Mmm just tired and they won't let me sleep."

"Me neither," Hank said. "But they are just doing their job."

"You didn't hit your head too, didja Cap?"

Hank chuckled. "No, but they're not exactly quiet when they come in here, are they?"

"Oh, geez, Cap, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, John. Just go back to sleep."

The darkened room fell silent, but after a moment John spoke again.

"Really, Cap, I'm sorry about all this."

It was Stanley's turn to sigh. This was hardly the time.

"It's okay. We'll talk about it in the morning. You need to rest. Hell, we both do."

"You okay, Cap?"

"Can't sleep on my back and I have this garden hose in my side, but otherwise, I'm okay."

"Sorry," came the paramedic's timid reply.

"Enough of that," the captain ordered. "Go to sleep, John."

"Night, Cap," the chastened man finally said.

"Night, John."



At first Hank wasn't sure what had wakened him. The first light of dawn could be seen through the window by John's bed, but it was hardly enough to disturb him. But then he heard it. A groan and a sharp intake of breath from the other bed.

"John?" he questioned.

"Yeah Cap?" Hank could hear the distress in the other man's voice.

"What's the matter?"

"Nuthin'" came the response.

"Gage. . . ." It was the same voice he'd used on Roy the night before.

"I'm cold, Cap, that's all."

The room seemed comfortably warm to the older man. "You having chills, John?"

"No. I'm just cold. And my arm hurts."

"Hurts how? Is it burning? Do you think it's infected? Do you think you might have a fever?" A snort of laughter stopped the captain in mid-question. "What?"

"You're playing paramedic again, Cap. I'm just cold. And tired. And it hurts. That's all."

Hank studied his man closely, and John met his level gaze. "Did you call the nurse?" he finally asked.

"Nah. It's okay. I'll be okay."

"Uh huh," Cap said incredulously, and he made sure John saw him press his call button.

"Awww, Cap, why'd you do that?"

"I'm your captain, that's why."

Rather than a nurse, it was Doctor Brackett who answered the call. "Hank?" he queried. "What's the problem?"

"It's not me, Doc. It's Gage. He's in pain. And he's cold," he added.

Brackett's mouth twitched with concern. "John?"

"Can you get me a blanket, doc? I'm okay. I'm just cold."

"You sure?" the physician asked as he approached the bed. He clipped his stethoscope into place in his ears. "Let's have a listen to your lungs. You aspirated some mud, you know."

Johnny shifted uncomfortably in his bed. "My lungs are fine," he protested. "I'm just cold."

"Humor me," Kel said with a grin. John rolled his eyes, but allowed the examination to take place.

"You still sound congested, but it doesn't sound too bad. The antibiotics must be doing their job. But we should still get a temp on you."

"Doc," Johnny whined. "I just want a blanket. And maybe a morphine chaser." He glanced over as his captain, but Hank was too worried to appreciate the joke.

"He okay?"

Brackett looked up from inspecting the wound on Gage's arm. "You're doing it again, Hank. He's fine. I'll be with you in a minute." He produced a thermometer from his pocket, shook it down, and deposited it in John's mouth without a word.

"A blanket," Gage reminded without dislodging it.

Kel smiled, and went to the closet. "You know," he said as he pulled the linens off the shelf, "I don't do this for just anyone." He unfolded the blanket and laid it across the foot of the bed. John tried to reach it, but failed, and shot the doctor a baleful look.

"Not until we know if you have a fever," Brackett admonished. "Leave that there," he said, pointing to the thermometer, before turning his attention to Captain Stanley.

"How're the ribs?" he asked, once again putting on his stethoscope. "They hurt?"

"It's okay, as long as I don't move much," Hank allowed. "What about John? He told me he was in some pain."

Kel stopped what he was doing and crossed his arms reproachfully. "Stop worrying about John," he scolded. From the other bed a garbled "yeah" of agreement could be heard. "We're taking care of John. You worry about you. Now be quiet, I need to listen."

Soon enough both men had been examined. John had his blanket, they'd each received pain medication, and they were able to relax once more.

"You're both doing remarkably well, considering," he told the firemen. "Keep it up, and get some sleep."

"Hey, we're not the ones coming in here at 6 in the morning," Johnny mumbled.

"I heard that," Brackett laughed as the door was shutting behind him.

The room fell into a comfortable silence. Or so Hank thought before Johnny started to speak.

"Cap," he started warily.

"Yeah, John," the captain acknowledged with a weary sigh. He knew what was coming.

"It's morning."

"Barely, John. But go ahead, say what you want to say. Get it off your chest."

Gage fidgeted nervously, emitting a slight gasp of pain as he did so.

"You okay?" the captain asked.

"Yes," John answered, not hiding his annoyance. "Stop worrying about me, Cap. Please."

"I can't help it, John. Of course I'm gonna worry. I'm your captain. You are my responsibility."

"That's just it, Cap," Gage exclaimed. "Not this time. This . . . this is all my fault; my responsibility, and . . . " he paused for a long moment. "I don't know what to say, Cap. I was kinda outta it in the ER, but I remember some things. I heard them say you almost died."

"Do I look almost dead?" Hank retorted. "I have some broken ribs, a sprained knee, and a separated shoulder. And they tell me I'll have this chest tube out in a couple of days. I was lucky."

"Okay, but if I hadn't gone after that damn cat. . . ."

"Stop it right there, John," the captain ordered. He took a painful deep breath before continuing. "Look. You never should have gone back in there. We both know that--now. But I can understand why you did it. It was wrong, but sometimes we make mistakes." He carefully shifted part way onto his side in order to look at the paramedic directly. "And besides, I learned a thing or two during this whole experience."

"Like what?" the young man asked incredulously.

"Like I woulda made a pretty good paramedic," the captain said with a kind smile. "I'm willing to let this go. Are you?"

John was dumbfounded. He stared at his injured superior for a long moment, trying to decide if Hank was serious. He could be suspended, or worse, for what he'd done, and he knew it. "Are you serious?" he finally asked.

"Well," Hank said with a sly grin. "I'm not saying there's no latrine duty in your future. But yeah, I'm serious."

Gage's face broke into a wide smile. "You know," he said. "First you saved my foot, then you saved my life, and now you're letting me off the hook. I think I'm the one who was lucky."

Cap felt his face flush red with embarrassment at the praise. "Shut up, ya twit," he muttered. "Get some sleep."

THE END