Author's Note: This story takes place before the events depicted in "The Firehouse Four" and "The Great Crash Diet."
It had started out as a routine run. Nothing in the dispatch gave any indication
that this should have been anything but a relatively simple incident. Engine
51 had been called out to a dumpster fire. That the dumpster fire had, in
reality, been a small structure fire—in this case, a large storage
shed—might have been the first clue all was not as it appeared to be.
That it could have been a deliberate misrepresentation to get just the
engine to respond was something Engineer Mike Stoker would find himself
reflecting on in the days following the episode.
Mike pulled the engine in front of vacant lot littered with wooden crates
and old cartons. A sizeable shack stood in the middle of the lot, an odd
sight as it was nestled between two abandoned apartment buildings. Flames
could be seen through the two windows on the front of the small building.
Captain Hank Stanley ordered an inch-and-a-half pulled to deal with the fire.
After an initial dousing through heat-broken windows, the door lock was dislodged
with a quick strike of a forcible entry tool. Stanley led firefighters Marco
Lopez and Chet Kelly into the structure to deal with the blaze from the
inside.
Mike double-checked the settings on the gauges a few minutes later. He nodded
in satisfaction as he glanced behind him. Captain Stanley was exiting the
shed. The engineer could tell by his captain's semi-relaxed demeanor that
Chet and Marco had the fire under control, if not already extinguished. Fifteen
minutes for overhaul and they could be headed back to the station for Marco's
chili casserole.
Just as Mike was beginning to return his attention to the gauges, he heard
the sharp crack of gunfire. Two more reports quickly followed as Mike
automatically dropped to the ground and hastily scooted beneath Big Red's
undercarriage. More shots hit the dirt where he'd been standing just moments
before. Mike quickly made his way beneath the Ward-LaFrance and crawled out
the opposite side of the engine; cautiously, he got to his feet.
The shots had come from his left as he'd stood at the gauges, so Mike figured
the sniper was in the building facing the cab. He edged around the engine's
backside to check out the situation. Once there, his gaze quickly fell on
the sprawled form of his captain lying on the ground. Hank Stanley didn't
appear to be moving; he lay on his back, his helmet rested in the dirt a
short distance away. Due to his vantage point and the heavy turnout coat
Stanley wore, Mike was unable to ascertain where his captain had been shot
or if he was even still alive.
Cap! No! Subconsciously trying to make himself a smaller target, Mike
knelt at the back running board. Fear for his captain's life nearly choked
him, but Mike managed to shout, "Cap! Cap, if you can hear me, don't
move! Help's on the way! Don't move!" Please, let him be okay!
Mike swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry. He found his gaze falling
on the fully charged hose that blazed a curious trail from Big Red to the
shed. Oh, Lord! Marco and Chet! They're still in there! They probably
didn't hear the gunfire over the sound of the water. What if they come out
while that sniper's still lurking around?
Mike carefully inched his way around the back of the engine, then sprinted
along the side towards the cab. Slowly, he eased open the door and reached
in to grab the bullhorn, scanning the building in front of him through the
windshield. He could see no sign of the sniper, but that didn't mean the
guy wasn't still out there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Quickly, he aimed the bullhorn towards the storage shed before speaking into
the mouthpiece. "Kelly, Lopez, this is Stoker. Do not, repeat, do not
exit the structure! We have a sniper out here. Await further instructions.
Stoker, out."
Hoping his shiftmates had gotten the message, Mike returned the bullhorn
to its original location on the cab floor. He reached further, snagged the
mike off its spigot. "LA, this is Engine 51. We have a sniper at our location."
The engineer hastily ducked back to the ground as bullets struck the vehicle,
one actually spider-webbing the windshield on the captain's side. Anger briefly
flared within Mike at the thought of what the shooter was doing to his beloved
engine. "Request squad, ambulance and police assistance. There is a Code
I at our location. Inform units to proceed with caution, sniper is still
in the area with shots being fired."
"Engine 51."
The firefighter snorted softly at the disembodied voice. "Yeah, easy for
you to be calm," he reflected as he tossed the mike back into the
cab, "you're not being shot at!"
As Mike started towards the back of the engine, he paused at one of the storage
compartments. He opened it, extracting an asbestos blanket and the first
aid kit. Another compartment unfastened and he pulled out a long ceiling
pike. He rolled one end of the blanket around the pike until he had a "pennant"
hanging down. It wouldn't afford him much protection against a bullet, but
maybe it would distract the shooter. The idea had worked in another rescue
involving a man on scaffolding who'd been shot by a sniper; Mike only hoped
it would work this time, as well.
Shoving the first aid kit into the voluminous pocket of his turnout coat,
he edged around the back of the engine. Captain Stanley didn't appear to
have moved. Mike wasn't sure if he was happy or not about that. Some
movement at least would have let him know his captain was still alive. He
noticed the stack of crates just behind where Hank lay. He tucked that piece
of information away. The crates were closer to Stanley than the engine and
would, therefore, be the best place to get Cap out of the line of fire if
their "friend" hadn't left the scene.
What I wouldn't give to have Marco or Chet here to create a diversion!
Mike licked dry lips, his grip tightening on the pike. Okay, Stoker,
it's now or never, pal.
Mike single-handedly tightened the chinstrap on his helmet, took a deep breath,
held up the blanket banner then stepped away from the engine. Shots rang
out again, but Mike forced himself to ignore them and the fact that he could
get himself wounded in the process, trying to keep total concentration was
on his fallen leader. Be alive, Cap! Please, be alive! The engineer
found himself repeating the mantra as he moved resolutely towards Hank. Upon
reaching his lanky superior, Mike suddenly realized the shooting had
stopped.
Not caring if it meant the man had given-up his game of live target practice
or was just reloading, Stoker ditched the pike and, keeping a firm grip on
the blanket, turned his attention to his captain. Hank's eyes were open,
his breathing labored, his left hand was holding a badly bleeding wound on
his neck. A quick assessment also revealed Hank's upper right pants leg was
saturated with blood.
How could I not have seen that he was breathing? Mike berated
himself. Some rescue man I am, not even knowing if my 'victim' is alive
or dead!
"M-mike, take cover!"
The low, urgent voice snapped the engineer out of his self-recriminations.
"I will, Cap, soon as I get you out of the line of fire!"
"No time," Hank murmured. Though soft and slurred, there was an underlying
conviction in the man's voice. It was his ongoing determination not to let
his men get hurt.
"Right. No time to argue." Mike threw the blanket over his superior, then
grabbed Hank under the shoulders and began to drag him. When the injured
man let out a sharp cry of pain, Mike said, "Sorry, Cap, I know it hurts."
Not wanting to hurt his captain any more than he had to, he hauled Hank behind
the safety of the crates, and just in time: more shots thudded in the dirt.
He was definitely just reloading.
Mike gently lowered his captain to the ground. He moved to Hank's side
so he could look him over. Hank's face was pale; Mike had no doubt he was
going into shock. Blood seeped between the fingers of his left hand. Mike
grimaced. "I think he got you in the jugular, Cap."
"Yeah, I figured as much." The captain's voice still sounded quite strong.
How long will that last? The engineer asked himself. He's already
lost quite a bit of blood.
"Chet? Marco?"
Mike was not surprised by the question. Captain Stanley always put the wellbeing
of his men above his own. "They're fine," he answered reassuringly as he
repositioned his captain's hand so he was compressing the wound tighter.
He was rewarded when the bloodflow eased considerably. "Can you keep your
hand there, Cap?"
"So far, pal."
"Okay. I'm going to take a look at your leg." The engineer yanked
off his helmet and tossed it aside. He retrieved the first aid kit from his
pocket and set it aside, then doffed his coat quickly, folding it as he moved
to Hank's feet. Carefully, he elevated his commanding officer's feet and
put the thick square of turnout beneath them, then pulled out his pocketknife.
Pushing the blanket to one side, he slit the pant leg a couple inches below
the knee. Setting the open knife aside, he ripped the stained fabric to the
top of Hank's thigh.
The wound was bleeding freely. Mike grabbed the first aid kit and opened
it. He extracted some sterile gauze from its packaging, then pressed it on
top of the injury. He pulled out the rolled gauze. As he began to wrap the
bandaging around Hank's upper leg, he realized something wasn't right. He
set the gauze back in the kit and gently felt the area with both hands.
"Damn it!" he growled softly.
"Problem, there, pal?"
Mike started. He hadn't realized he'd spoken loud enough for his captain
to overhear. "No, Cap. It's just the bullet broke your femur." He met the
older man's eyes. "I don't have anything to fashion into a splint, but I
have to wrap the wound. That means I have to move your leg a bit. It'll
hurt."
"Do what you gotta do." Hank's tone was resigned, but also growing softer.
Mike nodded. As he reached for the roll of gauze, he noticed Hank's right
hand curling into a fist. He wrapped the bandage around the bullet wound,
taking extra care to make the process go as smoothly as possible. He sliced
the gauze with his pocketknife, risked a quick glance at the older man's
face. Hank had his eyes closed and teeth gritted against the pain, as if
determined not to make a sound.
For his benefit, Mike wondered, or for mine?
The engineer reached out and put a hand on Hank's right shoulder. When
pain-filled eyes met his, Mike said, "Done, Cap. You're gonna be all right."
God, please let me be right about this!
Hank gave him a weak smile. "Sure, Mike."
Who am I trying to kid? He knows how serious this is. Before Mike
could formulate a verbal response, a couple more bullets hit the crates
protecting them. With his concentration focused on treating his captain's
wounds, he's almost forgotten the reason they were there. You bastard,
you have no qualms about letting a man bleed to death, do you? Mike growled
silently in uncharacteristic anger at their tormentor.
Mike tugged the HT out of the pocket of Hank's turnout. Hastily he put it
to his mouth and pressed the switch. "Squad 51, Engine 51, what is your
ETA?"
A moment that took too long in Mike's adrenaline-surged mind, then John Gage's
voice, "Engine 51, ETA is three minutes. Mike, what's the situation?"
"We're still under fire. Cap's been hit. Bleeding badly from neck and leg
wounds. I think he took a hit to the jugular. We're applying pressure now.
I've bandaged the leg wound as best I can. Right femur's broken."
"Do you have vitals?"
"He's conscious, but starting to fade. Definitely shocky. Respiration and
pulse are rapid. We're pinned down behind some crates away from the engine.
I've got his feet elevated and he's covered with a blanket. Anything else
I should be doing?"
In his mind, Mike could see Johnny writing down the information he'd been
given as he did a quick mental assessment. "Maintain pressure to the neck,
just enough to stop the bleeding. How's the leg?"
Lifting the blanket, Mike gave the leg a quick once-over. The dressing was
bloodstained, but not overly so. "I think the bandage is working all right,
doesn't look too bad."
"All right. Keep an eye on it. Let me know if the wound bleeds too much."
"10-4," he responded into the HT. Under his breath, he muttered, "Any
bleeding is too much."
He repositioned the blanket so he could see the bandaged leg, then moved
to his captain's left side. Hank was losing the battle to remain conscious;
as a result, his left hand was slipping and the neck injury was beginning
to bleed heavily again. Mike quickly lay Hank's hand on his stomach, then
clamped his own right hand over the wound.
"Hang in there, Cap, hang in there!" he murmured encouragingly, though he
wondered if his lanky superior could even hear his words.
The approaching wail of sirens caught his attention. Lifting the HT, he stated,
"LA, Engine 51. Inform incoming police the sniper is in the north building
facing the lot. Also, inform them there are two firefighters trapped in the
shed and two firefighters, one a Code I, behind the crates stacked near the
south building."
"10-4, Engine 51."
Mike listened as the dispatcher relayed the information. A minute later,
he heard, "Squad 51, LA. Police advise you approach from the north. Be advised
you are to wait out of area until the all-clear is given."
"10-4, LA."
Even with those couple of words, Mike could almost hear the frustration in
Johnny's voice. It was hard to be told to wait when a colleague--a brother--was
down and needed immediate medical attention. It was harder when that brother
was your much-respected captain.
The engineer automatically turned his head as he heard the skid of tires
on dirt, doors opening and commands being shouted. Barely able to make out
the police cars, flashing lights and personnel through the splintered crate
boards, he returned his attention to Hank as he tried to ignore the sudden
barrage of gunfire that occurred on the other side of the lot. "Stay with
us, Cap. Roy and Johnny are here, just a few more minutes."
So intent on tending his superior, Mike was surprised when he realized the
shooting had stopped and the pounding of running feet came headed his way.
A police officer came around the edge of the crates. Mike instantly recognized
the officer as Vince Howard, who responded on many of the same calls as Station
51.
Vince turned and shouted, "Over here!"
Several sets of feet came sprinting in his direction. John Gage and Roy DeSoto,
carrying the biophone, drug box and portable oxygen, came into view. They
quickly arranged their equipment. Johnny checked Hank's leg wound, then reached
into the drug box for a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, as Roy worked
on getting the oxygen set-up.
As he placed the nasal cannula, Roy glanced at his crewmate. "Mike, you all
right? Were you hit?"
"No," Mike shook his head. "I'm fine." He looked up. "How are Chet and--?"
"We're fine."
Mike glanced at the remaining members of A-shift standing behind Roy. They
were anxiously watching the paramedics work on their unconscious captain.
"We were just getting ready to leave that shed when you warned us about the
sniper," Chet related. "Talk about good timing."
"How's Cap?" Marco queried apprehensively.
"He's lost quite a bit of blood," Roy noted. "If we can get him to Rampart
soon, he should stand a good chance." He looked at Mike. "Your quick actions
probably saved his life."
The engineer remained silent, not wanting to dwell on what could have happened.
Or what might still happen. Instead, Mike turned his attention to Johnny,
who was on the biophone to Rampart Emergency. In the short time he'd been
talking to the others, the paramedic had freed their captain's arms from
the bulky turnout coat.
He watched as the dark-haired paramedic started an IV, handing the plastic
bag to Marco. In the meantime, Roy had splinted Hank's fractured femur, then
beckoned the ambulance attendants that they were ready to transport.
Johnny glanced up; he gave Mike a small, encouraging smile. "Mike, can you
keep hold of that jugular while we transport?"
"You bet." Mike kept his place as they shifted Hank onto the ambulance gurney.
He stood as they raised the gurney, then paced it to the back of the ambulance.
It was only then he noticed Chief Connor McConnikee was there. He probably
came when he'd heard my call to dispatch.
McConnikee leaned over and squeezed Hank's right shoulder. Even though
he knew Stanley was unconscious, he instructed gently, "Hang in there, Hank.
Don't force me to replace one of my best captains."
At those words, Mike felt some of the dread leave him. He knew, as did the
rest of 51's crew, that the chief really liked their captain. Hopefully,
McConnikee's words would penetrate even unconsciousness and, realizing the
chief he thought was out to get him really did care, Captain Stanley
would find it one more reason to fight to stay alive.
Mike could reflect on the situation no further as he was forced to accompany
the gurney slowly into the back of the ambulance. Roy and an ambulance attendant
climbed in behind him as the remaining four crewmembers placed needed equipment
into the back of the emergency vehicle. He got a last look at their concerned
expressions as the doors were slammed shut.
From his position at the head of the gurney, Mike watched silently as Roy
continued to monitor their captain's vital signs. Since the paramedic hadn't
seen the need to get back into communication with the hospital during the
transport, Mike figured there were no major negative changes to Stanley's
condition and that was a good sign. He tried to ignore the dull ache in his
knees from kneeling on the ambulance floor. He could feel every bump in the
road jarring his already stressed out system.
A hundred times, or so it seemed, Roy questioned him about his wellbeing.
Each time, the engineer patiently assured him he was perfectly all right.
Mike knew it was Roy's job to make sure he was faring well, too, but Mike's
main concern right then was the survival of Hank Stanley. His own welfare
was secondary. So when the ambulance finally backed up to the emergency entrance,
the relief on his face was quite evident. Not only would they finally be
able to get their superior more advanced medical care, but also the endless
interrogation would stop.
Mike kept his vigil as they unloaded their wounded "brother" and started
down the hallway. He heard Dr. Kelly Brackett bark something about the emergency
OR, then a nurse dressed in green scrubs was taking the engineer's place.
Mike was unceremoniously elbowed away from his captain's side. He noticed
Roy, IV bag held high in one hand, other hand guiding the gurney, was permitted
to enter the held-open door. Dr. Brackett followed, along with another nurse.
Next thing Mike knew, the doors to the emergency OR were closing and he was
left alone in the bustling hallway.
Roy stepped out into the hallway. He'd helped the already scrubbed doctors
and nurses set up a few things for Hank's emergency surgery. Now, of course,
his services weren't needed. He ran a hand through his hair as he sighed
in relief. Hank's blood pressure had remained stable. That and the strong
readings on other vitals had Dr. Kelly Brackett informing the paramedic that
he thought the captain stood a good chance of making it, probably being able
to return to work eventually.
Roy knew, of course, that anything could happen, but the prognosis looked
great so far. He turned when he saw Johnny, Marco and Chet coming towards
him.
"There's Roy!" Chet lengthened his stride in order to reach his shiftmate
faster.
"Anything yet?" Marco asked in concern.
"He's in surgery even as we speak," Roy informed them. "It looks pretty good
for a full recovery."
"That's wonderful!"
"Great!" Johnny agreed.
Roy nodded. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use a cup of
coffee." He started down the hallway. "The chief let you all come?"
"Hey, Chief McConnikee's a very understanding guy," Chet replied as they
entered the doctors' lounge. "He knows what the Cap means to us."
"Besides," Marco stated, "Big Red's not going anywhere except the department
garage. That sniper did quite a job on her."
"Yeah, bullet holes all along the front and left side, the front windows
shattered. It's a good thing Stoker went in the ambulance with you. He would
have had a stroke seeing her all shot-up like that!"
Johnny paused in pouring himself a mug of coffee. "Where is ol' Stoke, anyway?"
He glanced around the room as if he'd somehow missed seeing the engineer
seated on the couch or at the table.
"Don't know." Roy set down the empty mug he held. "I haven't seen him since
we took Cap into the OR."
"Maybe he found a pretty nurse to tell his exciting rescue to," the Irish
firefighter suggested with a sly grin.
Marco frowned. "That's more your style than Mike's."
"I'll go look," Roy offered. Before the others could say anything, he exited
the small lounge, making his way to the emergency nurses' station. There,
he found Dixie McCall scribbling notes in a chart.
"Dix, have you seen Mike Stoker?"
She glanced up. "Treatment 1, I believe."
"Thanks." The paramedic dodged the individuals, hospital and civilian,
crisscrossing down the crowded hallway. He pushed open the door of the treatment
room and entered. He paused as the door silently closed behind him.
The engineer's blue uniform shirt and white undershirt, both now stained
with their captain's blood, had been discarded onto the exam table. Beside
the sullied garments lay a clean scrub gown. The fire specialist stood at
a water-filled basin. His pants were damp; here and there a dark patch discolored
the fabric. His hair was wet and unruly. He stood profile to Roy, but didn't
appear to have noticed the man's entrance. He was staring at the bloodstained
towel in his hands. Mike slowly raised the already sodden towel and patted
his face.
It was then Roy noticed the man's hands were shaking.
Roy stepped closer. "Mike?"
Mike startled, turning his head to face his crewmate. His blue eyes held
fear and uncertainty; for a moment he looked like a man prepared to bolt.
He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, and the wild look was gone,
replaced by a calm professionalism. "Roy. How-how's Cap?" The slight tremor
in his voice belied his seemingly unruffled manner.
Roy hesitated before answering. He'd never seen Mike outwardly affected by
a run prior to this and it surprised him. Am I seeing a first? Has something
finally broken through that calm, cool exterior that makes up "Stoic Stoker?"
Just as quickly, the paramedic berated himself. That's not being fair
to Mike. He's got as much right to reach a breaking point as the rest of
us. Can't say I blame him on this one. Being shot at, making sure Chet and
Marco stayed safe, having to keep Cap amongst the living… I doubt he's
ever had to be in charge of a company before. Hell of an initiation.
"He's in surgery to repair the jugular and remove the bullet. He's lucky,
that bullet could have shattered the bone, made a real mess of his upper
leg. As you figured, the bone's only broken; it stopped the bullet. A few
units of blood, time to rest and let that bone heal… Dr. Brackett is
confident he'll be able to return to work."
Mike offered a small, albeit shaky, smile. "That's great to hear." He haphazardly
tossed the towel on the floor, reached out and automatically snagged his
undershirt. He paused and stared at the bloodstains that marred its white
surface.
Roy stepped forward. Not sure how close the engineer would permit him to
get, he halted next to the exam table, several feet away. "How about you?"
Mike raised his head. "Me? I didn't get hit. I told you that earlier."
"I don't mean physically."
"What do you mean?" Mike asked sharply, eyes dark with accusation.
If Roy hadn't already guessed that Mike was having a tough time dealing with
what had happened, the venom contained within the engineer's words would
have set off alarms in his head. Treading lightly was the order of the day.
Though, I'm used to trending lightly with Johnny, not Mike.
"I mean, you just spent the last run being shot at and having to keep Cap
alive without much in the way of medical supplies. It would be enough to
scare any of us."
"Not Johnny. Not you."
"Even Johnny. Even me. Just because we manage to act professional during
a rescue—hell, we all manage that—doesn't mean we aren't
scared to hell and back while we're doing it. It certainly doesn't mean it
doesn't affect us later. We're all only human, after all."
Mike lowered his gaze. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. Slowly,
he dropped the stained undershirt back on the treatment table and picked
up the sterile scrubs. When he met his shiftmate's eyes again, the guarded
look was gone, replaced with an almost naïve expression.
To Roy, this was the most vulnerable he'd ever seen A-shift's second-in-command.
He waited patiently for the engineer to answer.
"I've never been shot at," Mike admitted. There was a long pause, then, softer:
"When I saw Cap down and I didn't know if he was still alive…" He clutched
the scrubs tighter as he remembered what he'd witnessed earlier in the day.
"I'd rather face a five-alarm fire than go through that again." He snorted
derisively. "Some rescue man, huh?"
"I think any of us would rather face a five-alarm fire than see anybody go
down. Listen, Mike—"
The engineer interrupted. "I've watched you treat Johnny when he's hurt.
Hell, I've watched you treat any of us when we're injured, and you deal with
things very well." The pause was only long enough to allow Roy to open his
mouth, but not answer. "I certainly don't know how Cap manages to keep it
all together commanding us, especially when one of us gets hurt; I was scared
shitless!"
It was an admission Roy never thought he'd hear Mike voice aloud. The engineer
tended to deal with his emotions in his own way, usually when nobody else
was around. "He manages to keep it all together because he has to," Roy stated
matter-of-factly. "If he starts to lose it or allows his fear to take over,
he knows the same will happen with us." Roy stepped forward and gently gripped
his friend's upper arm. Startled, Mike turned his anxious gaze on the paramedic.
"And from everything I heard and saw during this last run, you were keeping
it all together, too. You got the job done and done well. That's what
matters!"
"But what if I hadn't done it well? What if what I'd done to Cap had killed
him? Just pulling him out of the line of fire, I could have done something!
I didn't think, I just reacted!"
"That's what you're supposed to do! React! Why else do we all go through
all those hours of training? As for the risk involved just trying to get
the patient out of danger, that's a situation we all face, every shift. Every
time we go out, we risk doing the wrong thing. Is it better that we stand
on the sidelines and do nothing, for fear of possibly doing the wrong
thing?"
"Of course not!" Mike pulled away from his friend. He stared once more at
the green material in his hands. "But we're trained to handle situations
most people should never have to worry about. But this… I'm not a paramedic;
I'm not trained to go beyond the basics unless you or John tell me what to
do otherwise. I barely had any equipment, nothing…"
"You had enough knowledge to keep Cap alive until we could take over. You
kept your cool, used what materials you had available and contacted us for
further instructions." Realizing he wasn't getting through to the shell-shocked
firefighter, Roy stated, "Let me tell you something Dr. Brackett told me
once." Once he had Mike's attention, he continued, "When you find yourself
in tight situation, you ask yourself, 'Can anybody here do the job better
than I can?' If the answer is 'no,' then you better pick up the ball and
run with it." He smiled. "Today, I'd say you scored a touchdown."
Mike nodded slightly, finally understanding. "You just do what you gotta
do."
"Exactly. Like I said, you kept calm and took over when Cap was down. I think
he'll be glad to know he can count on you if something like this should happen
again."
Realizing what his shiftmate was saying, the engineer stated adamantly, "No,
don't even go there!"
Roy smiled. "I hope we never have to, either, but it's good to know we can
count on you above and beyond the call of duty."
"It is actually my duty to take over for Cap if something should happen,
but thanks." Mike peered at his shiftmate, his expression grateful. "For
everything."
"It's all right. Anytime. You gonna be okay?"
"I think so."
"Okay, good. I'll go find the others, see if there's any word on Cap. Maybe
Elly's arrived. You take your time and join us when you're ready."
Mike nodded.
Roy walked over to the treatment room door. He hesitated, his hand on the
handle, as he glanced back at his friend. "For what it's worth, I think you'll
make a fine captain some day."
A smile appeared on Mike's handsome face. "It's worth a lot, and I appreciate
it."
Engine 51's driver watched his colleague leave. As he pulled on the scrub
gown and managed to tie the laces, he thought about what he'd been told,
then smiled. Yeah, I made it through and I know I can do it again should
the need arise. He gathered up his bloodied clothes and tucked them into
a plastic bag. He'd set them to soak at the station later. Now comes an
even bigger challenge… facing Chet Kelly while I'm in these
scrubs!
Hank Stanley's crew was pleased to welcome him back to full duty status several
weeks later. It turned out to be a full day of runs that physically tested
all of them, not just their newly returned captain. During the particularly
grueling three-alarm fire that took up most of the late afternoon and early
evening, Mike noticed the slight limp Hank had in his right leg: the only
physical reminder of his ordeal with the sniper. It wasn't enough of a handicap
to keep him sidelined from field duty, for which they were all grateful;
in fact, the doctors had assured Hank eventually that small abnormality would
only become apparent if he was overly tired or stayed too long in one
place.
Amazingly, nobody had been injured during the huge fire, so the squad returned
to the station with the engine. Mike was surprised to see Chief McConnikee
awaiting their return. The engineer was even more astonished at how calmly
Captain Stanley regarded the presence of Battalion 14's head honcho. It was
almost as if Hank had been expecting the chief to be there.
Hank ordered his men to shed turnouts and helmets then get into formation.
Even as he got into position next to his captain, Mike could sense no nervousness
in him. It was totally against Hank's character not to be frantic
about a superior's visit, particularly with the visit being so unexpected
and the crew not in spotless condition. Of course, even Chief Engineer Houts
couldn't insist on them being cleaned and pressed just after returning from
an incident.
Mike was wondering what one of them had done to warrant a visit from the
big brass or maybe McConnikee had decided to welcome Captain Stanley back
in his own way. Why today? It's Cap's first day back on duty, why did
you have to show up today?
He was only partially paying attention to the welcomes between the chief
and captain, so when McConnikee addressed the rest of the crew, he almost
missed what was being said:
"I have a letter here for Michael Stoker."
Mike blinked. "Sir?"
McConnikee smiled understandably at his confused expression before dictating
the contents of the commendation.
Still baffled, Mike barely heard what was being read. He pushed aside his
confusion long enough to realize he was being commended for the events that
occurred the day of the shooting: keeping his cool under fire, making sure
his shiftmates remained out of harm's way and getting his captain to safety
while disregarding his own welfare.
Bewildered, Mike accepted the letter and the chief's congratulatory handshake.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the others smiling readily at
him.
Hank turned to Mike after the chief was finished and offered his own hand.
"On behalf of Station 51, congratulations." He gave his engineer a grateful
look. "And I'd like to add my personal thanks, Michael."
Mike could only nod.
"Can I offer you some coffee, Chief?" Hank asked.
"No, thank you, Hank. I've a meeting to get to and you and your crew has
work to do. I do want to welcome you back to the fold, Hank. Your crew's
missed you," McConnikee patted the lanky captain's shoulder, "and so have
I."
"'Preciate it, Chief. It's great to be back."
"Chief, did they ever find out why that guy was using Cap for target practice?"
Chet queried.
"That they did, Kelly." McConnikee took off his hat, rubbed his finger on
the already shining brim. "Seems he found out his wife was having an affair,
with a firefighter. Best the police can tell, he snapped and decided
somebody, preferably somebody who rode a rig, had to pay. Hank just
happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Aren't you the lucky one, huh, Cap?" Johnny grinned.
"Actually, he told the police he was all set to take out 'the man at the
engine,' Stoker here, when you stepped out of the shed and distracted him,
Hank."
"Guess I owe you my life, Cap." Mike remarked.
"I think we're more than even on that, pal," the captain smiled.
"Walk with me to my car, Hank." McConnikee nodded his head at the others.
"Boys."
The rest of the crew bid the chief farewell, then gathered around Mike, offering
their congratulations. Mike accepted their handshakes and kind words. As
the others dispersed to get started on post-fire chores, Mike took a better
look at the commendation. After being sure it was, indeed, his name
on the parchment, he folded the cover back over it.
Footsteps came toward him from between the wall and squad. Mike realized
he could easily pick out the familiar, long stride of A-shift's regular
supervisor, even above the sounds of equipment being checked and the chatter
of his shiftmates, and how much he missed hearing it the past couple of months.
He turned to regard Stanley. "Uh, got a minute, Cap?"
"Sure, pal." Hank gestured. "Step into my office."
Mike didn't even allow his captain a chance to get to his desk before he
insisted, "You didn't have to do this, Cap."
Stanley didn't seem surprised at the words. It was as if, like the chief's
presence, he'd been expecting them. Mike briefly wondered if his captain
had suddenly become psychic, then dismissed the idea. He knew the
chief would be here today and he knows me well enough by now to know how
I'd react to this commendation. Not that I plan on giving it back, but--
"You're right, I didn't." Stanley perched on the edge of his desk and regarded
his second-in-command. "But you deserve it, Mike. Everybody agrees with
that."
"Everybody?"
Hank nodded. "The chief said in your transmission to dispatch, he could hear
the sound of gunfire in the background. He was impressed with the calm way
you presented yourself." He chuckled. "You probably had the attention of
every person who heard your transmission."
Mike appreciated that. How often had he heard an unusual call over the radio
system and wondered what was going on? It wasn't often firefighters found
themselves being live targets of gun practice and the Code I definitely would
have had other members of the department wondering who'd gone down.
Hank kept his gaze on his engineer as he continued. "Roy and John said it
was your quick actions that kept me alive. Chet and Marco said they watched
you run out into the line of fire to pull me to safety. I can personally
attest to those last two. I sure as hell wouldn't have let you run into the
open like that, putting your life at risk, had I been coherent, but I can't
say I'm disappointed you did. Neither can my family."
Mike smiled slightly at the warmth in the man's voice. "I didn't do anything
that you wouldn't have done for any of us, Cap. Or any of us wouldn't have
done for each other."
"It goes beyond that, Mike. It's good to know I can count on you to take
over should the need arise. I can rest easier knowing you can handle the
responsibility of giving orders, seeing that things get done and calling
in reinforcements should it become necessary."
Mike nearly blushed at the compliment. "Thanks, Cap." He hesitated a moment,
then asked, "Cap, can I ask you a personal question?"
Hank's brows rose in curiosity. "Depends on the question, there, pal."
"Have you—Do you ever get scared commanding us?"
"Every time I have to send one of you into a dangerous situation. Hell, every
time we get a call-out, I worry about what might happen. It's the price one
pays being in charge, the responsibility of having to make the right decisions.
Why do you think the captains make the big bucks?" He joked, then grew serious
as he regarded the man before him. "You got a good dose of it yourself that
day."
Mike nodded.
"I'd bet my job you had the shakes afterwards."
The engineer stared at the commendation in his hands, unable to look his
captain in the eyes while embarrassment flamed his cheeks. Now Cap'll
think I'm a coward. He'll think I can't deal with it. How can he trust me
after this?
"Yeah, me, too."
The answer was so honest and straightforward, Mike's head snapped up; he
could only stare at his superior for a moment before asking, "You,
Cap?"
Stanley smiled. "Even me, pal. It was a structure fire. I was still an engineer.
Captain Downings, he'd transferred in after McConnikee, went through the
roof. I ended up taking charge until another company arrived. I was fine,
until it was over. Then it hit me what had happened, what I'd done.
When I thought about everything I could have done wrong… well, I'm sure
you know how I felt."
"I know exactly how you felt."
"The important thing is you handled the situation, and yourself, well. Any
fears you had, you kept to yourself. You allow your doubts to show and it'll
affect the men you're working with."
Mike nodded, remembering the conversation he'd had with Roy at Rampart.
"Anything else, pal?"
"Not right now."
"Then, I think I hear Big Red calling to you." As the engineer turned to
go, Stanley added, "And, Mike, my door's always open."
"Thanks, Cap." As Mike strode out of the office, towards the locker room
to stash his commendation, he thought about Stanley's words. He knew now,
without a doubt, should the need ever arise again, he was prepared to pay
command's price.
Second Author's Note: I mentioned the episode "The Firehouse Four" at
the beginning because if you look at the end of the first scene, when Hank
tells his crew they can talk about the barbershop quartet competition later
and then walks away, it looks like he has a slight limp in one leg. Maybe
his leg was just asleep or maybe I'm seeing more into what was really there,
but who am I to give up the chance of explaining an "owie," real or imagined?
<g>
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