Mike Stoker sat at the dayroom table, sipping coffee and reading the paper
as C-shift rustled around him, getting ready to go home. He was in the habit
of getting to the station a little earlier than his co-workers, to get first
dibs on the newspaper. He knew his alter ego on C-shift, Engineer Chris Dobbs,
tried to pick up a paper whenever he could on early morning dumpster fire
runs. Mike in turn did his best to grab a paper for the man who took his
place, B-shift Engineer Anton Kablevsky. And Anton returned the favor for
Chris. And so on. Of course none of the other guys on any of the shifts knew
where the paper came from. They just assumed it magically showed up every
day – and the tight-knit engineer's club wasn't about to set them straight.
It wasn't their way.
Then there was the entertainment – another good reason for getting in
early. Quietly sitting at the table, hidden behind the paper, Mike was in
the perfect position to observe each of his colleagues as they headed for
their morning coffee before roll call.
"Hey Michael." Mike didn't even have to look up to know that it was Cap striding
into the dayroom. No entertainment today from leadership; it appeared Captain
Stanley was not feeling obsessed about anything in particular just yet. "Hey
Cap," he answered, before going back to the shelter of his newspaper. Captain
Stanley poured a cup of coffee, sat at the table, and started sorting through
ad flyers that Mike had tossed aside. He's still pricing eight-track tape
players for his wife, Mike noted silently. That should be good for a rant
or two later this week.
On a good day, John Gage showed up on time, got dressed quickly, and bounced
into the dayroom looking for his caffeine fix, which again the guys always
magically (and wrongly) assumed showed up every morning on the counter without
effort. But on a bad day, Mike would never see him until roll call -- Johnny
would run from the locker room at the last minute, stumbling into the apparatus
bay, taking his place in line while simultaneously buttoning his uniform
shirt. Apparently this was to be a good day, as Roy and Johnny walked into
the dayroom together, chatting amiably about their accomplishments during
their off-time. Something about yard work at Roy's house . . . Mike tuned
out, since he had plenty of yard work of his own to do.
Chet wandered in. "Hey Cap, Mikey, Roy, Johnny." Chet ignored the coffee
pot, which Roy and Johnny were still hovering over, headed for the table
and started sifting through the parts of the paper that Mike had finished.
That meant only one thing; Chet was back on a health kick, one that included
no caffeine. There could be some extra entertainment today, if Chet was on
food detail. Mike made a mental note to unearth his stash of beef jerky from
his locker later on.
Marco walked in, the last member of A-shift. "Hey guys," he addressed the
room. "The weirdest thing happened this morning. My dog started freaking
out, walking to the door and back, whining and refusing to go out when I
opened the door. He was still acting strange when I left."
Mike perked up his ears. This was a little more interesting than Chet's eating
habits.
"Ya know, they say dogs know stuff that we don't. Maybe he was tryin' to
tell you something," Johnny offered. Gage has a point there, Mike thought
silently. He started thinking back to an article about dogs he'd read a couple
of weeks ago in a magazine.
"Yeah," said Chet. "Like Henry here, you get the feeling he's full of ideas
and emotions that he just doesn't know how to share with us humans."
"Shut up, Chet," Johnny said. "The only ideas Henry has are how to eat, sleep
and shed. I'm talkin' about real pets, not couch-warmers."
"You'd know all about couch-warming, since that's what you're left doing
when your dates dump you."
"Har-de-har-har, Chet. At least I have dates, and I don't have to get warmth
and companionship from dogs."
"Dogs? What was that Gage? Your dates are dogs? Your last date was a real
dog?"
Johnny started sputtering and stammering, like he always did when in the
middle of a heated exchange with Chet. It always amazed Mike that Johnny
willingly got involved with these discussions, considering his lack of verbal
agility. Johnny was not dumb, not by any standard, but sometimes it seemed
he just couldn't translate his brain waves into speech.
"You know… oh man… that's not what we're… what I meant…
" Johnny paused and started again. "I'm just sayin'…"
Mike could see Cap and Roy had reached their annoyance quotient for the morning.
Just as Roy was opening his mouth to distract his partner away from the topic
of conversation, Captain Stanley beat him to it: "Sorry to interrupt you
boys, but roll call is in five minutes." He walked out of the dayroom, coffee
cup in hand, and headed for his office.
"So anyway," Marco resumed, "for all I know he's still pacing around the
house, whining and pawing at the door. I'm thinking of asking my sister to
check up on him later."
"Yeah, that's not a bad idea," Roy replied. "You don't want him taking a
dump in the house or something like that." The thought made the group grimace,
almost in unison.
Suddenly Mike remembered the point of the article he was trying to recall.
"I read somewhere that dogs can predict earthquakes and epileptic seizures
through their behavior," he said, softly but clearly, looking at Marco from
over the sports section.
The entire A-shift stared at him, although he didn't know if it was because
of his statement, or because of his unexpected contribution to the conversation.
He blushed and went back to his paper, killing time before roll call by reading
a feature about Dodgers' pitcher Andy Messersmith.
The members of A-shift stood at attention in the apparatus bay as Captain
Stanley read the day's announcements. As usual, Mike stood at the end of
the line, nearest his engine. That way he could keep half an ear on what
Cap was saying, while looking for smudges and dents in the chrome that Chris
and Anton had missed.
"….and they'll be testing those new hose dryers at HQ next week, so
maybe we're a step closer to trashing the hose tower for good…Michael?
Would you care to join us?"
Mike nearly jumped out of his skin. Cap didn't usually catch him out like
that. Chet and Johnny started giggling. He decided there was no need to make
an elaborate excuse; that would just give the Bobbsey Twins more ammunition.
"Sorry Cap," he said simply.
"OK, today's duty roster: Stoker, mop the bay… once you come back to
the land of the living. Kelly, kitchen duty and hang the left-over hose.
Lopez, latrine. Gage, help Chet hang hose. DeSoto, clean the dorm and come
see me at some point so we can talk about in-service training. Dismissed."
"Uh, Cap?" Mike said quietly as the men dispersed. He wanted to mention his
suspicions about Chet's current dietary habits.
"Yeah?"
"About Chet and kitchen duty…"
"Yeah?"
"I wouldn't. He skipped coffee this morning."
"And that means what?" Captain Stanley started, before realization dawned.
"Ah, I gotcha. OK, I'll keep an eye on that." He clapped Mike on the
shoulder…
…and that's when it happened.
The floor started to roll underfoot, first slowly and then more quickly.
The large bay door, which was open to let in the spring air, rattled overhead
in its brackets. "Ho there!" Mike heard someone yell from the dayroom, probably
Chet. Mike and Captain Stanley trotted outside, even though the fire station
was fairly earthquake-proof.
"About a six, wouldn't you say Mike?" Cap offered. Mike didn't reply, except
with a distracted smile. He had never been very good at the earthquake game
all Californians seemed to play on a regular basis, Guess-the-Richter-Scale.
A cracking sound in the street in front of them grabbed their attention.
Even as the rolling motion of the earth under their feet calmed down,
223rd Street continued to
heave and tumble. A crevice opened up, a diagonal slash that crossed most
of the street, big enough to swallow up a small car. Smaller cracks traveled
from the crevice like tiny tributaries of a larger river. One of the cracks
worked its way diagonally up the driveway where Mike and Captain Stanley
stood, stopping just short of the squad's front tires.
"Jesus!" Cap yelled, leaping back into the bay. "Shit!" muttered Mike, as
he followed suit. At the same time, the squeal of tires drew their attention
back outside. It appeared a small car had, in fact, taken an unexpected trip
into the crevice. By then, the other men had scrambled into the bay.
"Oh man!" Johnny yelled as he saw the car's predicament, and ran out toward
the street, Chet and Marco close on his heels. Mike and Roy grabbed at them,
as Captain Stanley held up his hand and hollered, "Wait up! Let's let things
settle for a second before someone gets hurt!" Johnny didn't look too happy
with the decision, but he shook off Roy's grip and, instead of heading out
to the street, ran to the squad. Grabbing some equipment, Mike supposed.
A rescue man to the end.
As if in response to Captain Stanley's warning, the ground started to shake
and heave once again – an aftershock, thought Mike, although it seemed
as bad as the original. Traffic on 223rd was halted on either side of the
crevice and people were getting out of their cars, only to be left clutching
their side-mirrors and fenders as the aftershock rolled through.
"Now fellas," Cap began as the rattling overhead died down again. "Here's
what we're going to do. Mike, get on the horn and call in our status to dispatch.
We may have problems getting the engine or squad out of here with a big freaking
crack in the driveway. Also, call in a still alarm for that car, so they'll
know we're out of quarters. Johnny and Roy, you guys come with me to check
out the car. But we won't do anything, I repeat, ANYTHING, until I'm convinced
you're not going to fall to China in that hole. Chet and Marco, it looks
like we had a few fender-benders out there; check 'em out. Let's move, and
be careful!"
Mike headed to the mic and turned down the dispatch monitor, which was already
starting to squawk with tones for other stations. L-A County dispatch wasn't
going to be too happy to hear what he had to say. "L-A, this is Station
51."
"Stand by 51."
Mike waited. Normally after a quake, big or small, stations called in their
status as a matter of course. A minute passed. The long wait told him more
than the Guess-the-Richter-Scale game ever could.
"Go ahead 51." Mike noted that Sam's voice seemed a little tighter, and faster,
than usual.
"L-A, Station 51 will be unable to respond to calls for an undetermined period
of time, due to nearby road damage."
Mike swore he could hear Sam sigh deeply. "Copy that, 51. No responses for
undetermined period of time."
"Also L-A, station 51 is responding to a still alarm in front of the
station…" Mike had to pause for a moment to remember the station's address,
"… at, uh, the 2000 block of East
223rd, cross street,
uh, Wilmington, for a car involved in a road collapse. Unknown injuries.
We have not yet determined a safe route for ambulances, so hold ambulance
response."
"Copy that, 51. Still alarm outside the station, 2000 block East
223rd, cross street
Wilmington. Holding ambulance response. Station 51, be advised that once
you determine an ambulance is necessary, ETA could be a half-hour or more."
Damn. Maybe they'd better get an ambulance anyway, just in case. By the time
they got the victim or victims out, ambulance response time could be forever.
On the other hand, what was the point if the rest of 223rd looked like it
did by the station? But if no one was seriously hurt in the car and they
tied up an ambulance that was needed elsewhere, no one would win. Mike made
a decision and depressed the mic button.
"Copy that L-A. Go ahead and respond an ambulance then. We'll stay live on
HT 51 in case there's any problems with their arrival."
"10-4, 51. Responding an ambulance to your location."
"Station 51 out, KMG-365." Mike dropped the mic and grabbed a handy-talky,
then headed outside.
He was greeted by mild chaos.
223rd Street was two lanes
in either direction in front of the station, and cars and trucks occupied
all four lanes. None of the fender-benders looked serious though. Chet and
Marco waved him off, so he went to see if Cap, Roy and Johnny needed his
help.
"Got it called in, Cap," he told Captain Stanley as he approached the large
gap in the road. "Could be a while for an ambulance, but I had them send
one just in case."
"Great Pal, thanks," said the captain. He was standing over the crevice with
Roy, hands on his hips, talking strategy, as Johnny lay on his stomach to
take a quick look inside and chat with the occupants of the car. At times
like these, Mike always felt a little useless. He knew basic first aid, but
Chet and Marco seemed to have everything under control. He admittedly wasn't
the most chatty guy in the world, so comforting upset victims wasn't his
forte. Even when he was a hose jockey, he disliked the rescue aspect of the
job. It was fine with him that Johnny and Roy had the market cornered on
confined spaces. So that left driving the engine, acting as second in command
and making sure everyone had enough water pressure – none of which felt
important in this particular instance. He found himself wishing for the ability
to respond to a call, any call, even a quake-spooked cat in a tree, just
so he'd feel helpful again. It was time to find a use for himself. He knelt
next to Johnny.
"Whadaya got, John?"
"Well, we got us a young woman who was heading to work when the road dropped
out in front of her," Johnny said cheerfully, as much for the victim's sake,
Mike was sure, as his own. "She was wearing a seatbelt and is feeling OK,
just banged her lip on the steering wheel as far as she can tell. But there's
no way she can open the doors or get out the side windows; she's too wedged
in there."
"Break the rear window and pull her out?"
"That's what Roy and Cap are talking about right now. Or maybe, I was thinkin',
we could haul the car out of there all at once, to keep her from getting
showered with glass when we break the window. But I'm not all that sure what
we'd haul it with. A shame we can't get the engine out here."
Mike nodded in silent agreement. There was no knowing how bad that crack
in the station driveway really was, and they risked sending the heavy Ward
LaFrance engine into a sudden sinkhole if they pulled it out of the bay.
Cap and Roy walked back over to where Johnny and Mike were. "Let's break
the back window. John, get her to put a coat or shirt or something over her
head," Captain Stanley ordered.
Johnny hung over the crevice to shout instructions to the trapped woman.
Meanwhile, Chet and Marco came over to give an update to the captain.
"Cap, we just got a couple cuts and bruises out there," Chet said. "Everyone's
more shaken up than anything else. Some of 'em want to turn around and go
back the way they came – is there any way we can figure out what shape
the rest of the road is in?"
Mike didn't stay to hear Captain Stanley's reply. He was trotting back into
the station, to get some tools and turnout gear for the window-breaking attempt.
As he grabbed the items they would need, he noted that at least they would
be able to get their own personal cars out of the lot, since the cracks had
spared the side driveway. "Not much point in us staying if we can't respond
to anything," he muttered, and headed back out toward the group.
Roy relieved Mike of the objects he had retrieved from the apparatus bay,
and started handing them to Johnny, who stood on the car's rear window frame,
straddling the window. Mike stood back and watched.
"Ready now? Keep that shirt over your head," Johnny yelled downward. Mike
couldn't hear the reply but he assumed it was in the affirmative. Johnny
put on his turnout coat and goggles, and began whacking at the rear window
with one of the heavier tools.
"Cap, he's done," Roy hollered after a moment, and started heading into the
crevice as Johnny shimmied into the car. Roy froze as his foot touched the
car. Mike wondered why, but then quickly realized the reason – the ground
was rolling again.
"Aftershock, Johnny, sit tight," Roy said quickly. When the shaking started,
Mike and Captain Stanley had lurched forward to grab Roy's arm, but he shook
them off, riding out the wave. The car settled slightly lower in the crevice
as the shaking ceased.
"OK Johnny?" Captain Stanley yelled.
"Yeah, Cap, but something down here shifted. She's gotten all tangled up
in the pedals. The dash and firewall are compressed, or something."
"How's she doing?"
"Says her feet and ankles don't hurt much, but damned if I can get 'em out.
And that little bump on her lip looks to be more like a broken cheekbone
to me."
Mike heard Roy and Johnny muttering, then Roy yelled "coming up" and slowly
made his way back onto the street.
"Cap," Roy said, "I don't suppose there's a way we can get the engine or
squad out of there."
Cap looked expectantly at Mike.
"Give me a sec," Mike replied and ran back over to the station. The crack
in the driveway was about two feet wide, with one side considerably lower
than the other. At a bare minimum, the engine's undercarriage and frame would
take a real beating and be unable to tow anything. In a worst-case scenario,
it would get caught up and stuck – or the crack wouldn't hold up to
the weight. The squad weighed less, but its tires would never maneuver the
crack successfully. Mike knew they needed to get the car out of the crevice,
but Big Red and the squad wouldn't be doing it.
Mike dejectedly made his way back to an expectant Captain Stanley and Roy.
"No way, Cap," he said.
He was pleased to see the captain trusted his judgment enough to say, "all
right then. Other options?"
There was silence for a moment as the men thought. Roy looked across the
crevice to the vehicles gathered on the other side. "I wish that 18-wheeler
was on this side," he said wistfully. Mike looked too. A big rig could certainly
pull that car out, but pulling from the other side would mean dragging the
car out on its roof – too risky for its occupant. The vehicles trapped
on their side of the crevice were all too small for the job.
Silence took over again, and Mike's mind started wandering. Until now, he'd
given little thought to how Beth was dealing with the day. He knew she was
probably safe in their new one-story house, but he wouldn't mind being home
with her right now. Driving home wasn't going to be much fun though if more
roads were like this. Driving home. Driving. That was it!
"Cap!" he said, startling his companions. "We've got Johnny's Land Rover,
my truck and Chet's van. They all got tow hooks. And the side driveway is
OK."
Captain Stanley considered the idea. "Michael, you may have something there,
pal. Chet, come here, wouldja?" he yelled across the divide, where Chet and
Marco had gone back to chat with the motorists. Mike could see Chet stop
what he was doing and head the long way around the crevice to where the captain,
Mike and Roy stood.
Meanwhile Roy yelled down to Johnny, "where's your keys?"
"Why?"
"Mike's got an idea. We're going to use the Rover, his truck and Chet's van
to haul this puppy out of here."
"In my locker, in my sneakers. Chet's van? Are you sure that's a good
idea?"
"What about my van?" Chet said as he came up behind Roy.
"We're going to use it with Johnny's Rover and Mike's truck to get this car
out."
"Oh, don't you worry about my van, guys. Volkswagons were built just for
emergencies like this."
Roy grinned, and Mike could imagine Johnny smiling down in the crevice as
well.
"OK then fellas," the captain said. "Let's get this show on the road." Marco
was there by then as well, wondering what the pow-wow was all about. "Marco,
lets get these other cars out of the way so the guys have room to back up."
A few minutes later, Roy had taken Johnny's place in the car, while Johnny,
Chet and Mike were in their vehicles, maneuvering them into place. Captain
Stanley and Marco jogged back to the station to grab some ropes, chains and
hooks. They came back and began tying the ends of the three ropes to the
car's rear axle, laying on their stomachs and stretching to reach the proper
spots. Johnny, Chet and Mike did the same with their vehicles' tow hooks
and three more ropes. The ends of their ropes were tied to one end of a single
chain, and the ropes trailing from the car were fastened to the other end
of the chain – so there was no risk of the three larger vehicles pulling
directly on the car's axle with uneven pressure. Mike had made that suggestion
after considering what would happen if too much direct pressure from three
different points snapped the axle into a couple of pieces.
"Ow! Sonofabitch!" Captain Stanley suddenly jumped up, shaking his hand
furiously. Marco jumped up too to take a look. Mike, Johnny and Chet hopped
out of their vehicles and ran back to check on him.
The captain waved them off. "It's alright guys, I just brushed the exhaust.
Damn thing was still hot!"
Mike could see blisters starting to pop up on the captain's left hand and
wrist. "Drive my truck, Cap. I'll help Marco with the ropes." Mike knew he
was telling his captain what to do – not really a good idea for someone
who wanted to make captain himself some day -- but he knew that otherwise
Cap would ignore the pain.
Captain Stanley looked like he was about to refuse, but then Johnny went
into paramedic mode. "We don't want those blisters popping and getting infected
before Roy and I can take a better look at 'em. Seems like Mike's got a good
idea there, Cap. In fact, why don't I dress them before we take this road
show any further."
Mike didn't say anything, but looked at Johnny gratefully for the support.
Cap didn't look too happy, but kept quiet long enough for Johnny to get some
dressings and saline on his hand.
"Good thing it's my left hand," said the captain sheepishly. "Otherwise I
couldn't move Mike's gear-shift very well. That was really stupid of me."
"Yeah, well, steering isn't gonna be much fun either Cap, so just be careful
with that dressing," Johnny warned. With that, they all headed back to their
positions. Mike got down on his stomach and took up where Captain Stanley
had left off, tying a rope onto the car's axle. He eyed the exhaust warily
as he maneuvered the rope in place. He could hear Roy inside, chattering
with the stuck woman. Sometimes he almost envied Roy and Johnny's ability
to make patients feel at ease. It seemed like anytime he talked to anyone,
about anything, people just stared at him strangely. Cap and Beth were the
only two people who seemed to understand fully what was going on in his
head.
Next to him, Marco finished up with his rope and got to work on the second
one. Mike finally tied off his as well, and they stood up together, brushing
their greasy hands on their pants. Mike had to suppress a sudden urge to
yell, "Gentlemen, start your engines," opting instead to give the three men
a thumbs-up. Their engines roared to life. He yelled down to Roy, "we're
ready up here. Hold on tight."
"We're ready down here," the paramedic answered.
A small crowd was gathering at the edge of the crevice on both sides, watching
the operation. As Marco went to shoo them away, the handi-talkie crackled
to life on the ground next to Mike.
"Wait up," Mike yelled to the three men, and grabbed the handi-talkie. "Unit
calling H-T 51 repeat," he ordered.
"H-T 51 this is Mayfair ambulance 16. We are approaching your location from
the north. Please advise as to road condition."
"Mayfair ambulance 16, H-T 51. Suggest you utilize side streets to approach
scene from the south."
"Copy that H-T 51. Mayfair ambulance 16 out."
Good, Mike thought. Just in time. He put the handi-talkie back on the ground.
"Marco," he called, "go hang out by Cap and the guys, so if someone is going
too fast or slow, you can let them know."
"Sure thing, Mike," Marco said, and headed in that direction. Mike took another
look at the Rover, his truck and the van. That van. Sheesh. That van had
to be the ugliest thing Mike ever saw, and he wasn't too sure about its towing
ability either. But every little bit helped, he thought, willing himself
to believe it. Chet was eagerly hanging out the van's side window, waiting
for the signal to go.
"OK, Marco, tell them to start moving slowly."
The ropes grew taut, and the car's rear end slowly rose out of the ground.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike could see the ambulance pull up. He could
also hear Marco yelling directions at Cap and the guys, but Mike's main attention
was on the car. The rear wheels were next out of the crevice. Now the car's
undercarriage was in direct contact with the edge, and it threw up a shower
of sparks as it was dragged slowly along by the three ropes.
"Stop!" Mike yelled, holding up his hand. Sparks. That definitely wasn't
a good thing. Who knew what shape the gas tank was in? He looked under the
car. From what little he could see, the gas tank was intact. But he didn't
want to bet Roy's life on it, much less the woman's.
He walked up to his truck. "Cap, we're getting sparks where the undercarriage
is rubbing the pavement. Gas tank looks OK, but I can't be sure."
Captain Stanley considered the problem. "Can we get a hose out here?"
Mike took off running for the station again. The reel line might not make
it, but an inch-and-a-half should do the trick. The only problem would be
water pressure. If it was too high, and he had to put the charged hose down
to tend to another problem, the nozzle would bounce around like a ping-pong
ball. He did some quick calculations, set the pressure, hooked up the coupling
to the engine and hauled the hose outside – laying it carefully near
the car. The hose stayed put, and the water started pooling around the car.
Mike heard a yelp from inside the car – he'd forgotten to warn Roy and
the victim about the water. "Sorry, Roy," he called. "Sparks."
"You could warn a guy," Roy yelled back up.
Mike grinned and signaled the three men to start pulling away again. The
car's undercarriage scraped along the edge of the crevice, but with no sparks
this time. Soon the front tires caught the edge, and the car was back on
solid ground.
Johnny and Chet ran out of their vehicles and whooped. "I knew my van could
do it," Chet bragged, giving Johnny a high five.
Johnny went to help Cap out of Mike's truck and see what further damage the
captain had done to his hand. The ambulance attendants rolled a stretcher
toward the car as a sopping wet Roy crawled out. He walked around the other
side of the car and pulled the driver's side door open. A woman sat inside,
also sopping wet, with blood dripping from her face. "I'll need the jaws
to get her feet out," Roy said.
Mike headed back to the engine, quickly shut off the hose and grabbed the
jaws for Roy. He watched as Roy and Marco made short work of the dashboard,
and freed the woman. She walked to the stretcher, so Mike guessed that her
feet weren't hurt – just stuck.
"I'll take her and Cap in," Johnny told Roy. "You get dried off. You look
like you went swimming while the rest of us were working hard."
"Ha ha," Roy said, without a trace of humor in his voice. He turned to Mike.
"Forgot, huh?" Uh oh. Mike was going to have to steer clear of Roy for a
little while.
The married men of Station 51 called their wives, while the single men picked
up broken dishes and secured any items that had worked themselves loose during
the quake. The TV news had helicopter shots of
223rd street, along with
an interview with a city official who said the crevice was a fluke, caused
by an old sewer line that collapsed when the first tremor came. Police arrived
for traffic control, and soon the street in front of the station was empty
of cars. Cap had lost the Guess-the-Richter-Sale game – the quake was
a 5.4. But due to the mysterious ways of shifting tectonic plates, it appeared
damage to populated areas was more cosmetic than tragic.
After talking to Beth, Mike waited quietly at the kitchen table, sifting
through the rest of the paper. The phone rang, and he picked it up. It was
the chief.
"Sorry to hear that, Stoker. Hope he's OK. Tell him a little butter will
clear up those blisters in no time," Chief McKonnike said in response to
Mike's news about Captain Stanley's hand. Mike grimaced; Johnny and Roy had
just lectured a burn victim last week about the old-wives tale of putting
butter on burns. "Anyway, Stoker, I'll tell you what I was going to tell
him. This wasn't as bad as it could have been, but we obviously can't just
send you guys home to relax in the middle of this mess."
"Yes sir."
"So I'm sending you all to 8's for the rest of your shift to help out. Might
be a little tough bunking, but they definitely got the worst of it over in
that area. Except for you. You're going to 59's. Their A-shift engineer got
zapped by a downed power line. He's OK, but he'll be out for awhile. So grab
some chow and then head out. We're still working out what to do with B and
C shifts. I'll let Hank know when I talk to him."
"Yes sir." 59's. He might as well be going to Timbuktu. Sigh.
"Good job out there. Hang in there. Ha"
"Yes sir. Goodbye sir."
Mike hung up the phone, and headed toward the apparatus bay to tell the guys
about their new assignment. He decided not to mention the chief's suggestion
that they eat lunch before heading out. After all, he was in command for
the next few minutes, and the least he could do for his men in that short
period of time was protect them from Chet's cooking.
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