This was in answer to a challenge issued by Vanessa. . .

So This is Progress?

By Marty P.

Mike Stoker glanced around the waiting room again.  Where was everyone?  Sure, there were people around but no one to give him information and no familiar faces.  He got up from the chair again and paced, not noticing that all eyes were on him.  An older woman adjusted her pale pink sweater as he circulated the air around her.  Her movement caught his attention, and with a silent apology he sat down.  He needed something to occupy his mind.  A tattered Highlights magazine sat on an end table next to his chair.  That wouldn’t work.  What was that underneath it?  He turned it over to read the title:  Craft World.  “13 New Afghans.”  No, that definitely wouldn’t fill the bill.  On the bottom of the stack he saw a black nondescript book.  He read the fading letters on the spine, The History of Fire Engines.

The first page he saw showed fire buckets.  That’s right.  At one time households were required to keep them at the ready.  When the church bells pealed everyone grabbed them and did their best to prevent the fire from spreading.  The whole town became the fire department.   Fires were always fought defensively then.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a white uniform.  Was it Dixie?  No, it was a nurse he didn’t recognize.

His gaze returned to the book, and he turned the page.  Hand pumpers: the latest technology in the early 1700s.  Newsham’s engine was the best known.  His double stroke engines reminded him of the handcars used on railroads.  Skimming the text, he discovered the smallest rigs pumped 60 times per minute ejecting 30 gallons per minute while the largest expelled 170 gallons per minute.  Pretty amazing!   Who maintained them if something went wrong?  That brought Mike back to the present in a flash.  Something had gone wrong today and he was to blame.  Why wouldn’t anyone tell him what was going on?  He rose from his seat and peered down the hallway toward the treatment rooms.  The only thing in sight was empty gurneys. 

With a look of frustration, Mike came back to the waiting room and plopped into a faded mustard chair.  The cracked vinyl caused a momentary irritation, and he shifted his position.  With reluctance he reopened the book and studied a lithograph of a double-deck engine that was manually operated.  It must’ve weighed a thousand pounds.   This engine, used by New York, needed at least a dozen men to haul it to the scene, he noted after doing a quick count.  Imagine dragging this behemoth to a conflagration and then battling a blaze.  He read the caption, “The public named it Mankiller.  It was considered dangerous but never hurt anyone.”  Wished he could say the same thing!  Someone approached; it was Dr. Brackett.  He spied Mike but just then a voice called out, “Dr. Brackett, we need you in Treatment Room 3!”

Squelching his desire to stalk after the physician and demand information, he closed his eyes and replayed what had occurred that day.  During the shift the squad kept getting calls, but the engine had stayed in the house all day.  That is, until after lunch when they’d been toned out for a structure fire in a residential area.  As they were on their way, dispatch announced a water main break close to their destination.  A few seconds later, there was a major pileup at that location.   Equipment headed to their location and Squad 51 were rerouted and suddenly it was the engine careening solo to the fire.

The book slid off his lap and when he made no effort to pick it up a mother sitting near him pointed to the volume and asked her son to retrieve it.  The six-year-old spotted a picture as he handed the now open book to him. “Mister, there’s horses pulling an engine in this picture!  How come?”

The question brought Mike back to the present.  “Horses were a big help to firemen before we had fire trucks.”

“Ya mean they had that kinda thing when you were a kid?” 

Mike chuckled, “No, I’m not that old.” 

“My mom told me horses were afraid of fires.” 

“Most horses are scared of fire but there are special horses that were able to do the job.” 

“Why’s there smoke coming out of the top of the engine?”

“It’s not smoke; it’s steam.  Those engines used steam to make them run instead of gas.”

His mother intervened, “Now, Sam.  Don’t bother the nice man anymore.”

“It’s all right, ma’am.”  Mike broke off as he saw two familiar figures come into sight. 

Johnny approached him first, “We had to take patients to Harbor General.  We got here as soon as we could.  How are they?”

“I’m not sure.”  Mike replied, his voice conveying defeat.  “No one will tell me anything.”

“What happened, Mike?”  Johnny continued, “We just heard dispatch announce Code-Is but nothing more.”

“The engine hit Cap and Marco,” Mike avoided eye contact as he made his announcement.

Johnny was speechless, for a second.  “Didn’t you set the emergency brake?”

“Yes,” Mike spat out the word.  “I think so…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”  Johnny’s voice grew louder.

Roy, who had stood in silence up to this point, stepped in.  “Johnny.”

“What?”

“Johnny, this isn’t the time or place to discuss this.”  He put his hand on Mike’s shoulder and addressed his partner, “Go see if you can get any information.”

After Johnny disappeared from sight, Roy looked at Mike.  “Let’s go around the corner, shall we?”  Roy guided the engineer into an alcove the hospital staff used to speak privately to families.  He waited until Mike was seated and took the chair next to him.

“I didn’t see Big Red in the parking lot.  How’d ya get here?” 

“We’re using a reserve rig today.  Big Red’s in for maintenance.”  Mike’s mouth curled and Roy was pretty sure he could read his thoughts, why’d they hafta do maintenance on my shift?

“Did you notice any problems with the engine they sent you?”  Roy asked in a calm voice.

Mike shook his head, “No.”  He stretched his legs out, crossed his ankles and then sat in an upright position again.  For the first time he faced Roy, “I think this is my fault.”

            “Tell me what happened.” 

            “We arrived at the scene.  I left the rig in drive, set the emergency brake and hopped out of the cab to connect the hoses to the water supply.”

            Roy nodded, “Yeah, the pumps on the engine don’t work if they aren’t in drive.  You remember setting the brake?”

            The firefighter tried to rewind the events in his mind, “I think I did.  It comes automatically like putting on a helmet after ya get into the equipment.”

            “Go on.”

            “Well, the hydrant nearby didn’t have pressure because of the water main break.  Cap put in a call to ask how soon we’d have backup and reported the problem.”

            “Where were Marco and Chet?”

            “They’d already taken an inch and a half into the house.  Neighbors didn’t know if the couple that lived in the house was home or not.  A few minutes later Truck 127 pulled up and parked in front of our rig. Cap and the Captain of 127 were standing between the engines discussing the fire when Marco and Chet burst out of the house, each carrying a victim. I hauled the oxygen out of the engine and helped Marco get it going and then I ran over to the other engine to get their O_2.”  He paused and his face grew grim.  “Either they put it in a different bay of their engine or someone put it away in the wrong place cuz I couldn’t find it.  I was on the other side of the truck when…”

            Roy was tempted to urge Mike to tell the rest of the story but he waited.

            Mike cleared his throat, “I had just found the oxygen and was going around the front of engine 127 when I heard shouting.  ‘Watch out!’  I rushed to see what was happening.  The engine was rolling right at Cap!  Marco scrambled off the ground and sped to shove Cap out of the way.  I saw Chet fumbling to get Cap’s door open.  He must have yanked on the brake because the rig jerked to a halt.  Then Chet hollered, “They’re hurt!”

            Mike blinked and took a deep breath, “There was an explosion, and I had to go fight the fire.”  Mike deflated, like a balloon, and sat spent.

            “And then you came here to find out what happened?”  Roy prodded gently.  “Let me bring you a cup of coffee and then I’ll see what I can find out.”

            As Roy got up he saw Johnny and Chet coming toward them.  “Marco’s in surgery.”  Johnny informed the waiting men.

            “Surgery?  What’s wrong with him?”  Mike moaned with dismay.

            Chet went to stand beside Mike.  “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking.”

“They’re surgically setting Marco’s broken tibia and fibula.  Dr. Early said he has a concussion as well.  Cap has several cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder.”  Johnny reported.

Mike sat up straight and pulled himself together, “Chet, if you hadn’t stopped the engine.”

“Let’s not go there,” Chet still had the vision of his injured shift mates vividly in his mind.

Squad 51, are you available?

Johnny spoke into the handi-talkie, 10-4.  The two paramedics were already moving toward the exit as their call came in.

“I guess we better get back to the station,” Chet grabbed the turnout coat and helmet he’d set down when he came into the room and moved toward the hallway.

Mike followed him.  The captain from 127 had told him a replacement firefighter and captain would get sent to 51s as soon as possible.  They were probably there now waiting for the engine to arrive.  When Mike opened the cab of the engine he saw Chet sitting in his usual seat.  Before he started the engine Chet leaned forward, “Mike, did the engine give you any trouble?”

Mike, who had been berating himself over the incident, shook his head.  “No, none.”

The two firemen rode in silence back to the station.  A short time later everyone was gathered in the dayroom.  Johnny and Roy entered, muttering about cancelled calls.  “Hi, Sam and Captain O’Grady.” Roy greeted the two men who had come in to fill out the shift.  Johnny nodded to them and went to find something to eat.  Dinner was delayed when they realized Marco had been the chef for the day.  Everyone pitched in and the ingredients for sandwiches appeared on the table.

Cleanup was underway when Chief McConnike came into the station.  “How are you doing, men?”  His eyes lit on Mike and rested on the replacement captain.  “Could I use your office for a few minutes, Bert?”

            “Stoker?  Would you come with me please?”  Roy, Johnny and Chet watched them vanish from sight, wishing they’d been included.

            Chief let Mike perch on a chair, closed the door and then seated himself in the captain’s chair.  “I know there will be an investigation, Chief.”

            The chief raised his hand to interrupt the engineer, “Normally there would be but I just got word from Charlie down at maintenance.”

            Mike looked startled and the chief picked up where he’d left off.  “Mike, a mistake was made.  The replacement rig sent to Station 51 today needed work.”  Mike’s position relaxed.  “It has a faulty emergency brake cable.  Sometimes it works fine but not always.  It was schedule to get worked on today but someone misread the orders and it came here.”  

            The chief laced his fingers on the desk and leaned closer to Mike, “Son, what happened wasn’t your fault.  Both Cap and Marco will heal and be back to work soon.”

            The chief left the office, pulled Chet, Roy and Johnny aside and gave them the news. 

A few minutes later Mike came back into the room.  Chet slapped him on the back, “I knew you weren’t at fault.”

“Thanks, Chet.”  Both men knew what they’d been thinking previously.

The phone rang and Captain O’Grady went to answer it.  “They’re coming to pick up the engine.  We’ll be out of service until they deliver your engine.” 

An hour later Mike stood staring at Big Red.  He picked up a rag and started to buff the chrome on the front bumper.  Roy, walking from the kitchen to the dorm, saw Mike.  He stopped and watched the fireman polish his machine. 

“It’s amazing what the engines can do these days, isn’t it?”  Roy gazed at all the instruments he’d memorized for the engineer’s test.

Mike thought about the book he’d glanced through in the hospital waiting room, “Yeah, we’ve come a long way.”  He set the rag down, “Roy, what happened today was horrible and I thought it was my fault.”

“But it wasn’t.”  Roy assured him.

Mike didn’t speak and Roy turned to go and heard him mumble, “Yeah, but what if it had been.”

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Stories by Marty P.      Guest Dispatchers