Chapter Text
Disclaimer: The characters from Station 51 and Rampart General belong to Mark VII. They have been borrowed strictly for fun and not for fortune.
"There's Just No 'Getting Away From It All' "
By Ross
Chapter One
Los Angeles County firefighter/paramedic Roy DeSoto sat on the bench in front of his locker, buttoning the shirt of his uniform. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned his attention to the doorway and was shocked to see his partner, John Gage, enter the room. "What on earth are you doing here?" he demanded.
John pulled the door to his locker open and started shedding his street clothes. "Franklin's wife's sister is getting married. Potter's wife's father is getting buried. Brice burnt his arm last night. The paramedics on A over at 36's are assisting the National Guard with that brushfire in the San Dimas Canyon. So the paramedics on B over at 16's are subbing for them." He slid his uniform slacks on and then began sinking slowly down onto the bench beside his fuming friend. "I can't remember the rest of it, but, somehow, my vacation got lost in the shuffle...again."
"They can't do that!" Roy insisted and slammed his locker for emphasis. "They're taking advantage of you! This is the third time your vacation's gotten 'lost in the shuffle'! You've got to stand up to them, Johnny! Franklin doesn't hafta go to his wife's sister's wedding!"
"Franklin's already gone." Gage finished buttoning his uniform shirt and then stared sadly down at his badge for a few moments, before finally pinning it on.
"That's what you should've done, too!" Roy realized, as they both finished tying their bootlaces and then stood up to tuck in their shirts. "Just taken off!"
Chet Kelly, Marco Lopez, and Mike Stoker came strolling into the locker room just then. The three firemen appeared to be every bit as shocked as Roy had been, by his partner's unexpected presence.
"Humph!" Kelly turned to his crewmates. "I always thought the idea behind a paid vacation was that you got the money without having to do the work."
Stoker and Lopez exchanged grins.
Gage gave Kelly one of his 'Shut up, Chet!' glares.
Chet's next smart remark was drowned out, as the Station's alarm suddenly sounded.
He and his companions quickly commenced stripping.
Squad 51's crew of two tensed and then listened as the dispatcher's voice came over the loudspeaker.
"Station 51...CHP reports a three vehicle accident on the Arrow Highway /San Gabriel River Bridge...one half mile west of the Rivergrade Road Junction...Arrow Highway/ San Gabriel River Bridge...Ambulances responding...Time out...07:52"
Captain Hank Stanley poked his head into the room. "You ladies wanna shake a leg!" he ordered more than asked. "I told Ron we'd take this one."
Gage and DeSoto trotted past him, heading for their Rescue Squad.
A-shift's Engine crew threw a few last articles of clothing on and then followed their leader into the garage, stomping their boots on, tucking their shirttails in and zipping their flies up along the way. The trio took a moment or two to tie their bootlaces, before tossing on their turnout coats and climbing up into their fire truck.
The guys from C-shift, coffee cups in hand, stepped out of the day room to see their replacements off.
"Thanks again, Hank!" Captain Graham restated as he passed a copy of the call slip up to Stanley's engineer.
"No problem, Ron!" A-shift's Captain reassured him.
Over in the Squad, John recorded the time of the call he'd just been handed and noted the address. "Hang a left," he advised his partner.
Ron Graham and the rest of the firemen from C-shift watched as Squad 51 exited the Station and then swung left, closely followed by Engine 51. The now off-duty firemen continued watching as both trucks disappeared down the street, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Everybody hated it when a call came in just prior to, or during, a shift change. It meant that one crew was going to work a little early...or one crew was going to work a little late.
If the call had come in just five minutes sooner, C-shift would've been putting in some major overtime.
A mere eight minutes later, the crew of Station 51 reached the scene of the accident.
Mike and Roy brought their respective trucks to an abrupt halt on the bridge and cut their sirens.
The firemen piled out onto the debris-strewn pavement.
"Didn't the dispatcher say three vehicles?" Roy pondered upon counting the number of cars involved.
His partner nodded and began pulling medical equipment from the compartments on the side of their truck.
The paramedics grabbed what gear they figured they needed most, and went running up to the CHP motorcycle officer, who was standing in the middle of the bridge.
Engine 51's crew joined them there.
"What do we got, Jon?" Captain Stanley queried.
Officer Baker pointed to the first of two cars that had crashed into each other and then plowed into the bridge railing. "She seems to be hurt the worst..."
Roy hurried over to the person being pointed out.
Jon Baker's partner, Frank Poncherello, was kneeling on the seat next to the victim, applying pressure to the artery in her upper left arm. The front of his uniform was streaked with blood. "Her airway's clear and she's breathin'!" he informed the paramedic, upon his arrival.
DeSoto gave the capable cop an appreciative glance and then went to work.
"Those three appear to have only minor cuts and bruises," Jon continued and motioned to the occupants of the second vehicle.
Gage went trotting up to the still somewhat stunned-but able to stand-trio.
Officer Baker led Captain Stanley over to the bridge railing and pointed down. "I don't know about the driver of that car..."
The firemen leaned over the railing to get a good look.
Stanley whistled softly at what he saw.
Seventy-five feet straight down, a black sedan was bobbing in the swift current of the San Gabriel. The banks on both sides of the river were too steep and treacherous to traverse quickly. It would be a lot faster, and much safer, to follow the same route the car had taken.
The Captain turned and issued a slew of orders, which his engine crew readily obeyed.
As fast as Roy could press fresh 4x4's over the laceration in his victim's left forearm, they became saturated with blood. "Good going, Ponch'!" the paramedic said to his assistant, as he tore open another roll of gauze and used it to secure the fresh dressings over the ghastly wound. "If you hadn't applied arterial pressure when you did..." he paused to shoot the first-aid administrator another appreciative glance. "Well, you prob'ly saved this lady's life..."
Ponch' was pleased as punch by the paramedic's praise and he flashed the fireman a grateful grin. "Been watchin' you an' Johnny for so long, guess somethin' must a' finally rubbed off."
DeSoto smiled, both at the comment and at the fact that he had finally gotten the bleeding under control. He checked the pulse below the wound to make sure he hadn't cut the circulation off to his victim's hand, and then reached for their drug box. "Can you contact Rampart for me?"
Poncherello nodded and quickly opened up the case containing their bio-phone.
John finished his initial patient surveys.
Officer Baker was right. Thanks to their seatbelts, the driver-and both passengers-of the second car had no apparent injuries, save for a few superficial cuts and bruises.
He had convinced them to allow him to place a couple of band-aids on their facial lacerations, but they had waived off any further assistance from him, choosing, instead, to seek their own treatment. Gage had just gotten the last of the 'release from liability' forms signed and was about to head over and help his partner, when he heard his superior summoning him. He stowed the paperwork and then snatched his equipment cases back up.
"Yeah, Cap?" the dark-haired paramedic pondered as he promptly appeared before his Captain.
"We're all set here. Can you leave them and go down?"
John nodded. "They refused treatment." His curiosity piqued by his Captain's question, the paramedic set his cases down and peered over the bridge railing. So-o, the dispatcher had given them an accurate count after all. "They say, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line," he mumbled to himself and quickly donned the nylon harness and leather gloves he'd been handed.
The CHP officers had been recruited to help lower away.
Gage secured himself to the rope they were manning.
Mike and Chet had charge of a second rope.
Marco secured himself to it.
Those doing the lowering began playing out their respective ropes.
Those being lowered began their slow descent toward the river.
Being as how they were short-handed, Stanley took it upon himself to lower the equipment-filled Stokes. "More slack!" he ordered as the two dangling rescuers entered the water and began swimming against the current.
Gage and Lopez fought their way upstream, towing the Stokes between them.
Being as how they were both strong swimmers, they reached the bobbing car in no time and set their stretcher up on its hood.
The sedan was tilted sideways, with its passenger door partially submerged. The vehicle's undercarriage appeared to be hung up on a huge boulder, and the river's current caused it to rock precariously.
The paramedic hauled himself onto the hood as well, and then scrambled up onto the auto's roof. He reached down and tried to pull the driver's door open.
It didn't budge.
"Uh, Marco? Can you smash the back window in and unlock this door for me?"
Lopez carefully crawled over Gage's legs, across the car's slippery-slanting-roof, and over to the backseat window. The rescuer removed a spring-loaded device from a pants pocket, placed the pointed end of it against the glass and pressed its trigger mechanism.
The backseat driver's side door's window shattered into a zillion little pieces.
Marco re-pocketed the handy tool. He then reached in and around and pulled the driver's door's lock up.
Gage gave him a grateful glance and jerked hard on the door latch. Again, nothing happened. So he braced himself and jerked harder. The portal finally 'screaked' open. The rescuer carefully lowered himself down into the car to examine its only occupant—an unmoving fellow slumped forward in his seat behind the steering wheel. John noted that a deep gash in the gentleman's forehead had scarcely bled, which told him the guy's heart was probably not beating. A careful check of the victim's carotid pulse confirmed his suspicions. A quick flick of his penlight revealed the victim's pupils were both fixed and dilated. The paramedic turned to his companion and solemnly shook his head.
The firefighters exchanged frowns and their mission shifted gears from one of rescue to retrieval.
They pulled the victim's body from the vehicle and secured it into the Stokes.
Marco descended once more into the cool swift current.
John lowered the 'body in the basket' down to him and then began slipping back into the water, as well.
Suddenly some five hundred pounds lighter, the car was swept from its precarious perch. It rocked sharply, as the current caught it and then spun it sideways, pinning the paramedic's back up against the boulder and pressing the weight of the car into his ribcage.
"Uh-uhh!" Gage gasped with a grimace.
Seconds later, the completely out of control automobile spun back around and began drifting off downstream.
Marco narrowly missed getting nailed by the thing himself. He watched the now nearly submerged object float past him and then looked for his crushed companion. Lopez stiffened, as all that was visible of Gage...was his rope.
TBC