“Subterfuge”

By Ross

A-Shift’s Captain had just called for his crew to assemble for morning roll.

But, before everyone could gather in the garage, the claxons sounded.

"Station 51..." the dispatcher began, "...in place of Station 16. Unknown type rescue...Universal Movie Studios…Lot B...814 Hollywood Blvd...Eight-fourteen Hollywood Blvd...Crosstreets: Merk and Dawson...Time out: 07:56..."

"Station 51. KMG-365," Hank Stanley calmly replied. He replaced the radio mic’ and passed his senior paramedic one of two copies of the call slip.

Hank noted that the rescue location was a bit out of their usual jurisdiction. 'Wonder what Station 16 is up to?' he mused, as he trotted across the parking bay.

The Captain climbed aboard Big Red and donned his turn-out coat. He plunked his helmet down on his head and his bottom down on the seat beside his Engineer.

"C-Shift left us with a little less than half a’ tank,” Mike Stoker reported, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “We should probably stop and fuel up on the return trip."  The Station had its own diesel storage tank, but their Engine Company might be dispatched to other calls before they could get back to utilize it.

"I think we can manage that," his Commander quickly determined.

Mike eased his beloved engine out of its parking bay and followed Squad 51 off down the street, lights flashing and siren blaring.

Twenty minutes later...

Station 51's trucks reached their destination: Universal Movie Studios.

A Security Guard directed them to Lot B.

Once there, the firemen were then waved on to Soundstage 12.

"What do we got?" Hank asked, as he and his men exited their vehicles.

"You'll see!" was all one of the film crew guys would say.

Hank shot his own crew a puzzled glance, before finally following their guide inside.

The inside of the soundstage was all done up in a Western decor.

There were horses…and soldiers...and cactus…and sagebrush.

Everybody looked ‘bored out of their gourd’...even the animals.

Seeing as how there was no emergency apparent, Station 51's Captain frowned and rephrased his question. "Will someone please tell us what we're doing here?"

"I called you," an authoritative figure confessed, as he came onto the set, "over half an hour ago!" he tacked on rather irritatedly. "We're trying to film a commercial here and I need you guys to get this idiot off this bench!"

The film crew crowd parted and a Cavalry Officer appeared, in full regalia. He was, indeed, seated on a long wooden bench...and not looking exactly happy about it.

The Captain remained confused. "Why doesn't he just stand up?"

"We're shooting a commercial for Super Glue and idiot boy, here, sat on the product and glued his...behind to the bench! That's why!" the commercial's angry director shot back.

A bugler blew a cavalry charge.

"Super Glue to the rescue?” the grumpy guy on the bench began. “Huh! Should be Super Glue and you'll need a rescue!" He glared angrily around the set. “Somebody took the cap off the tube and set it there on purpose!" idiot boy stated in his defense. "And, if I ever find out who—" he pulled his saber from its sheath and waved it wildly through the air.

Hank had heard enough. "Let me see a tube of this stuff!" he demanded.

The person in charge of props promptly placed an un-opened tube of Super Glue in the perturbed Fire Captain's open palm.

Station 51's Supreme Commander read the WARNING! label and whistled softly. "10,000 pound weight-bearing capacity?…Avoid contact with the skin. If contact occurs, seek immediate medical attention," Stanley stopped reading and turned to his paramedic team. "He's all yours, gentlemen..."

John Gage and Roy DeSoto studied the guy who was glued to the bench for a few silent, somber moments.

John then dropped to one knee and tried to see just how much of the man's posterior was actually pasted in place. He quickly surmised that the calvary officer's entire backside was firmly attached to the bench.

Roy glanced down at their equipment and then back up at their victim.

"What?" John asked, hoping his partner had come up with a way to free the poor fellow from his sticky situation.

"Nothing. There's nothing in these cases that'll work,” Roy regrettably admitted. “There's absolutely nothing that we can do for him here, Cap. I've read about this Super Glue stuff. It's a real bear to get it off your skin. Unless somebody around here's got some acetone?"

Nobody said a word. Well, except for the Director...who cursed.

"We'll have to transport him to Rampart. Hopefully, the ER docs'll be able to do something for him there, " DeSoto sadly summed up.

Chet Kelly took note of the actor's predicament, and muttered beneath his breath, "If they can’t, he's gonna be sittin' awful tall in the saddle."

His colleagues heard his comment and suppressed smiles.

Realizing the wooden bench was too big to squeeze into the back of an ambulance, Stanley turned to his engine crew. "Kelly, Lopez...bring a couple a' drop sheets and the K-12."

The pair nodded and disappeared.

The commercial's director cursed again. "He's wearing the only officer's uniform we've got. We may as well break for the day. Benny, get this gear back to wardrobe! Lou, get these animals outta here!"

Five rather loud minutes of cutting and sawing later...

Hank and his crew carried the cavalry officer—and his personal piece of bench—out to a waiting ambulance.

"This is so-o-o-o embarrassing!" their victim confessed. "I just sat down for a second to pull on these boots. The next thing I know, I'm stuck here!"

"Look, why don’t you just sit back…relax…and enjoy the ride," Roy advised their understandably agitated patient.

"You sure there's no other way?" the actor implored.

"Sorry," DeSoto said. "We're strictly 'bench-from-building' removers. The doctors’ll have to handle the 'bench-from-bottom' part."

"You'll probably make medical history," Chet chimed in. "The world's first bench-an-dectomy."

A look of absolute horror filled the victim's face.

"Hey…Relax!” Chet urged. “Roy, here, is right. The doctors'll get to the bottom of this."

His colleagues groaned.

His Commander suppressed a smile and rolled his eyes.

The ambulance's back doors closed and its driver headed off...non-Code R.

Seeing the Irishman's mouth opening yet again, Stanley pulled the Super Glue from his coat pocket and calmly stated, "The tube says: 'A 1001 Uses' . You trying for 1002?"

Kelly's jaws closed—immediately—and remained shut. 

The guys grinned.  Then they gathered their gear and followed their suddenly silent associate back over to where their trucks were parked.

"John! Roy!" Hank hollered out. "You two can head back. We've gotta hit a gas pump on the way home."

The paramedics nodded and then replied—in perfect unison, "Right, Cap!"

Stoker started the engine and eased their big red rig into gear.

Stanley snatched up the truck’s dash-mounted radio’s mic’ and thumbed it’s call button, “LA, Engine 51 cleared at the scene, returning to quarters. Show us 10-8 on a refueling run...”

“10-4, Engine 51.”

Gage and DeSoto were about halfway back to their squad, when their handheld radio began ‘bleep’ing.

“Squad 51…What is your status?”

“LA…Squad 51 is available at the scene…” Roy reported.

“10-4, 51…Standby for a response…”

The paramedic pair used the pause to pile their equipment into its compartments and themselves into their truck.

"Squad 51…Man down…possible back injury…8907 East Weller…eight-nine-zero-seven East Weller…Cross Street: Durham Blvd…Ambulance is responding…Time out: 08:45…"

"Roger that, LA…Squad 51 enroute," John acknowledged, and jotted down the address.

Squad 51 left the Universal Studios’ lot—with its lights flashing and its siren wailing.

"Turn left up here,” John suddenly instructed his friend. “I know a shortcut." Gage was familiar with the fire district, having worked two years out of Eight’s.

Roy executed the turn and then sped back up.

They were making good time.

Less than five minutes later, they reached the call site...

The pair piled out and began pulling compartments open. They grabbed the 02, the Bio-phone, the drug box and a backboard, before finally heading up the steps towards the house.

Roy rang the front door buzzer.

The portal opened and the face of an extremely worried-looking elderly woman appeared.

The firemen followed the beckoning woman down a long hallway and into a small study, where a ‘Mr. George Davis’ was lying down on a couch. The patient was obviously in a lot of pain.

"Hi. I’m John. He’s Roy. What seems to be the problem?" Gage inquired. He set his equipment down on the carpet, flipped a couple of cases open and began gathering vitals.

“I dropped my newspaper…and was bending down to pick it up…when I felt this sudden, sharp pain in my back,” George replied with a grimace. “I don’t know. I think I may have pulled a muscle or something. Because it hurts like blue blazes!”

"Alright, Mr. Davis…you just relax. We're going to check you out, here," Roy reassured as he reached for the Bio-phone, to contact Rampart.

Engine 51 pulled into a Shell Station on Hadley Blvd.

Stoker eased the Ward up to one of the station’s diesel pumps and killed the engine.

Stanley stowed his turnout gear. Then he snatched up his HT and stepped down from the truck. “Anybody thirsty?” the Captain queried of his crew.

No one spoke.

“I’m springing for the drinks,” he tacked on, and received three different requests for liquid refreshment. Stanley smiled and started strolling over to a pop machine, sorting coins out along the way. Seeing he was a nickel short, he stepped into the station building to secure some more change.

“Cop!” one of two teenage boys shouted, upon seeing the blue uniform and badge.

“Fireman!” the Captain quickly corrected, as they directed the barrels of their guns his way. ‘Good grief! There must be 10,000 gas stations in LA County...and we have to stop at one that’s being robbed.’ He groaned inwardly and thumbed the call button on the radio in his raised right hand. “I’m unarmed,” he assured the gunmen—er, boys. “Firemen aren’t issued weapons.”

Meanwhile...back at Squad 51’s call site...

"I'm unarmed," Captain Stanley's voice suddenly came over the speaker in Roy and John's handheld radio. "Firemen aren't issued weapons."

The paramedic team exchanged perplexed glances.

DeSoto grabbed their HT and thumbed its call button. "Engine 51, this is Squad 51. Can you please repeat?" Only dead air followed. "I'm not getting through. Must be an open mic’."

His partner’s confusion was quickly replaced by concern. He thumbed his own radio. "Squad 51. 10-4, Rampart. The patient will be advised. Squad 51 out." John replaced their Bio-phone and began stowing their gear. "Well, Mr. Davis…Rampart says all your vitals are normal and your EKG checks out. If the pain persists, they advise that you see your personal physician." Gage glanced up at his partner. "We've been cleared here. Let's go see if we can find out what's goin' on."

At that exact same moment...over at the Shell Station on Hadley Blvd….

“I’m unarmed,” the engine crew heard their Commander say, over their engine’s dash-mounted radio. “Firemen aren’t issued weapons.”

Chet and Marco glanced at each other in stunned silence for a moment or two. Then their heads swung in the direction in which their unarmed Captain had disappeared. They saw Stanley standing just inside the station building—with his outstretched arms raised above his head.

“Psssst!” Mike whispered up to them. “Come down here.”

Kelly and Lopez slowly and carefully crawled down from the truck.

“What’re we gonna do?” Chet asked in an anxious whisper, as the three of them stood there, huddled behind Big Red for protection. “We gotta do something!”

“C’mon,” their Engineer urged. “I got a plan.”

Assuming Stoker would take the same streets back, Gage and DeSoto began tracing the Engine's route home...

"C'mon! Hurry it up!" some impatient punk's shouted voice came over the Fire Department's radio frequency.

Again, the paramedic team exchanged glances—this time, alarmed ones.

Once again, they tried—and failed—to make contact with their missing shiftmates.

"Still an open mic’," John solemnly stated. "Cap must be thumbing the call button."

At the Shell Station on Hadley Blvd…

“Is this all of it?” the older of the two teens demanded of the gas station’s proprietor.

“That’s it,” the sandy-haired gentleman behind the counter quickly came back.

“What about you?” the gun-toting kid asked, aiming his gun and his gaze back in the fireman’s direction.

Stanley slowly lowered his left arm and offered the nervous fellow his handful of change. “We don’t carry our wallets with us when we’re on duty...sorry,” the on-duty fireman apologized, seeing the gunman—er, boy was now gazing at his open palm, looking extremely disappointed.

“Okay! Let’s go!” the pair’s leader prompted and motioned for the fireman to join in their exodus.

Hank, however, had no intentions of being taken hostage. He caught the guy at the cash register’s attention and motioned for him to make himself scarce. “Ah-ahh!” the Captain then cried out in agony and clutched at his chest.

The younger teen turned his gaze away from the window. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing!” the older boy vowed.

The man with the blue uniform and the badge let out another agonized groan. “I think...it’s my heart...” the fireman gasped, with a grimace. Then he doubled up and dropped to the floor.

The Squad was still tracing the Engine's route back to the Station...

The paramedics heard the radio transmission part—about their Captain's heart!

The pair exchanged horrified glances, this time.

Roy revved the Squad's engine into high gear and hit the lights and siren.

The Shell Station on Hadley Blvd...

The young robbers stared down at the fireman, writhing on the floor in agony. Well, they were not about to carry their hostage out. The kids turned in the direction of their back-up hostage.

But the man behind the counter was long gone.

The gun-toting teens panicked and made a mad dash for the exit.

Their get-away vehicle was parked alongside of the building. The two teens managed to make it out the door okay. But, before the boys could ‘get away’, they were picked clean up off of their feet and body-slammed into the side of their car. The guns were jarred from their grips and the pair was held captive there…by two powerful streams of water.

The station’s owner helped Hank to his feet and the two of them stood there...staring out a big glass window...at the hapless, and helpless, hoods.

“I thought you said you guys were unarmed,” the sandy-haired fellah stated, with an appreciative smile.

“I lied,” the fireman confessed and returned the grateful guy’s grin. Hank pulled a buck from his billfold and calmly inquired, “You got change for a dollar?”

The station manager gazed down at the fireman’s open wallet. “I thought you said—”

“—I lied,” the sneaky Captain came back, again.

“So did I,” the station manager fessed up, as he stepped back behind the counter. He pulled a bank satchel from a small safe below the cash register and withdrew four quarters from it.

The sound of sirens—approaching from every possible direction—drew their attention back towards the windows. The two of them watched as at least a half-dozen police cars descended upon their location...along with one LA County Fire Department Rescue Squad.

Upon the arrival of reinforcements, the hose streams were cut off and the soggy robbers were carted away—in handcuffs.

The Engine crew came trotting up to their Commander. “You okay, Cap?” the trio asked—in unison.

Stanley flashed his concerned crew a warm smile and nodded. “Good work, guys!"

"It was Mikey's idea," Kelly confessed.

"You’re gonna make a helluva Captain…someday,” Hank told his Engineer.

Stoker beamed a bashful grin back at his boss before strolling over to the pump to calmly continue topping off his truck’s tanks.

Kelly and Lopez headed back over to their engine, too, and started draining and stowing the pulled hose.

Hank saw that his paramedic team had finally talked their way past the police line. “I’m fine,” he assured the panicked pair, as they carted their heavy equipment cases up to him. “Contrary to what you may have heard over the radio, there is absolutely nothing wrong with my heart.”

“Yeah...well...Why don’t you just sit down,” Roy suggested. “And we’ll let the doctors be the judge a’ that.”

“Let go a’ me, yah twit!” Stanley ordered, as Gage grabbed him by the arm. “I told yah—I’m fine!” he repeated. “My heart is fine! I lied about my heart...so those two yahoos wouldn’t take me hostage.” He saw his medical team remained skeptical. “Sheesh! I must be a better actor than I thought...” he muttered to himself, and started strolling towards the pop machine. Personally, he'd a' preferred something a little stronger than soda pop, right then. But hey...it was a gas station—not a bar. Besides, he was on duty. “You two want anything to drink?”

The two stunned paramedics exchanged amazed glances, this time.

John’s right eyebrow suddenly arched. “You buyin’?…In that case,” he continued, upon seeing his Captain’s nod, “I could really go for a Cream Soda.”

“No-o. What you could really go for—” Hank pulled another buck from his billfold and waved it through the air, “—is some more change…”

Gage snatched the dollar bill from his Captain’s outstretched hand and then ducked inside the station.

The End

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