Chapter Text
Disclaimer: The E! characters do not belong to me. They have been borrowed strictly for fun and not for fortune.
"Firemen Should Be Seen, But Not Herd"
By Ross
Chapter One
The Captain and A-Shift crew of L.A. County's Fire Station 51 had no sooner sat down for a late lunch, when the claxons sounded.
The six munching firemen immediately abandoned their meals and began heading for the garage, and their respective rescue trucks.
Their 'late lunch' was looking more and more like it was gonna end up being an 'early supper'.
"Station 51..." the dispatcher's voice blurted from a wall-mounted speaker, "single vehicle accident...in the East-bound lanes of the Pamona Freeway...near an overpass...between the four and five mile markers...East-bound lanes of the Pamona Freeway...near an overpass...between the four and five mile markers...Ambulance is responding...Time Out...13:20"
"Station 51. KMG-365," Captain Hank Stanley calmly acknowledged. He replaced the call desk's radio mic' and passed a copy of the address on to his paramedic team.
John Gage glanced up from an open map in his lap. "Cap, there's a whole lot a' construction on La Brea. If we take 28 and use the Palo Verde on ramp, we might be able to save a few minutes..."
The Captain flashed Squad 51's navigator a smile of approval."Sounds like a plan," he determined. "I'll run it past Mike."
Hank trotted across the garage and climbed up into Engine 51's cab. "If we take 28 and use the Palo Verde on ramp, John seems to think we'll save a little time." The fire officer finished shrugging his coat on and donning his helmet. "What d'yah think?" he asked, as he collapsed into the leather-covered seat, beside his engineer.
"I think we'll save more than a little time," Mike Stoker immediately came back. The engineer stuck his left arm out his open window and gave Gage a 'thumbs up' sign.
"Okay," the paramedic informed his partner, as they began pulling out of the parking bay. "Hang a right."
Roy DeSoto did as directed.
Engine 51 followed them from the garage and both rescue vehicles went racing off down the broad, busy street in front of the Fire Station, with their overhead lights flashing and their warning sirens wailing.
In a little less than ten minutes, the rescuers had reached—and been waved through—a police roadblock. But, not before being advised to proceed non Code R.
Sirens were obligingly silenced.
Sixty seconds later, the trucks pulled up to the accident scene and their occupants spilled out onto the pavement.
The racing firetrucks had made excellent time, indeed! Apparently, they had even managed to beat the Sheriff's Department and Highway Patrol to the scene, because there was only one other vehicle visible.
A semi tractor-trailer was lying on it side, near an overpass.
It's a good thing the cops had traffic stopped, because the big rig was currently blocking four of the Pamona Freeway's five East-bound lanes.
Judging by the ventilation slats in the overturned trailer's side walls, the truck had been transporting livestock. 'Had' being the operative word. The trailer's roof had become partially detached during the crash, allowing its live cargo to escape.
Fresh 'cow pasties' were everywhere!
Captain Stanley pulled a hand-held radio from a clip on his belt and thumbed its send button. "L.A., 51 is on scene. We have an overturned semi. Looks like a livestock hauler has lost his load. Traffic is under control here. Notify the proper authorities and have them stop traffic in the West-bound lanes, as well. We will require a back-up rig, to transport the cattle. Also, request additional manpower be sent to this location..."
"10-4, 51," the dispatcher acknowledged.
The Captain turned and ordered his crew to grab some reel lines and start checking for signs of fire or fuel spills.
The semi's driver couldn't have been too badly injured in the crash, for he had crawled out his window and was standing on the side of the cab, staring dazedly off into the distance.
51's paramedics pulled some equipment from the side compartments of their rescue squad and went trotting up to the front of the truck.
"You okay?" Roy DeSoto cautiously inquired.
"Yeah," the young man replied. "I was buckled in." The guy glanced glumly down at the carnage beneath his booted feet. "But my rig's sure seen better days."
Before the driver could even complete his gloomy comment, John Gage had managed to join him topside—er, side-side. "Here. Why don't you just sit down, and let us check you ou—"
The driver jerked his elbow free of the fireman's steadying grasp. "—I don't wanna sit down! And I don't wanna be checked out! I told you, I'm perfectly okay! If you guys are looking for something to do, why don't you go start rounding up those cows down there?"
The paramedic's helmeted head swung in the direction of the driver's pointing finger and his bottom jaw fell open.
The landscape was dotted with cattle. The crazed critters were running up and down all five lanes—and both steeply sloped sides—of the California freeway!
Roy passed a clipboard up to his partner.
John pulled a green pen from his front pocket and had their victim sign a release form.
"What happened here?" Captain Stanley suddenly demanded.
The young man's focus shifted, from the dotted line, to the fire officer. "I was just drivin' along...mindin' my own business—when this little blue Bug suddenly cuts me off! I'm tryin' my damnedest to keep from jack-knifing, and this other idiot, in a Peterbilt, haulin' a tanker full a' gasoline, decides to pass me! The #%!&! blasted his air-horn as he went by! Scared the livin' crap outta the cattle, and they all lunged to the other side of the trailer! Rapid lane change, coupled with a twenty-five ton load shift..." The driver's words trailed off and his attention returned to his wrecked rig.
Gage took back his pen and tossed the clipboard down to his buddy. "You kin cancel the ambulance, Cap. Our victim just refused treatment."
"I think we'll hold off on that, until we get these cattle rounded up. If any of them make it up over that slope," the Captain nodded his helmeted head in the direction of the freeway's still-busy West-bound lanes, "somebody could be seriously injured—or killed."
Speaking of somebody being seriously injured—or killed...
Six or seven of the trailer's former occupants were returning to the accident scene—at a rather high rate of speed!
Marco Lopez heard a commotion and turned his head to investigate its source. "Cows," he calmly observed. "Cows!" he nervously repeated, as the critters continued their rapid approach. "CO-OWS!" the firefighter alarmedly shrieked, and immediately began to seek cover.
"Stampede!" Chet Kelly more accurately announced.
Stoker and Lopez had been washing down a diesel fuel leak. They flung their hoses and started racing toward the safety of their firetruck.
Kelly followed blindly along. The fireman was keeping both eyes peeled on the stampeding animals—in case they should suddenly decide to change course. "Ah, shi—eesh!" he declared, upon dashing through an unseen pile of fresh cow...manure. "That is soooo disgusting!"
"Don't let them get past you!" their Captain commanded, as he came running around the back of the semi.
The firemen abandoned their fright flight and bravely began hooting and hollering and wildly flailing their arms.
The already terrified animals became even more frightened and fled the area.
One cow kept coming and Kelly had to 'bonk' it on the nose, to avoid being trampled.
"Punchin' cattle is just a quaint cowboy expression, Chet," Mike bemusedly remarked. "You're not supposed to literally 'slug' them."
"Yeah," Marco joined in. "The poor things already took a beating, when that trailer tumbled over."
"Hey, that thousand pound monstrosity was about to flatten me like a pancake," Kelly promptly pointed out, in defense of his actions. "I wasn't goin' down without a fight."
John Gage had rounded the back of the overturned truck just in time to watch 'events' unfold. The former ranch hand found his crewmates' attempts to stop the stampeding cattle most amusing.
The scared critters simply disbanded and then went bolting off—in seven different directions.
"C'mon!" the Captain urged his crew. "Another cattle truck is coming. Let's start gathering them up."
John's amused look vanished. "Uhhh, Cap?"
Hank halted and turned back in the dark-haired paramedic's direction. "Is there a problem, John?"
"It's, eh, just that I noticed that those animals were all branded."
Chet Kelly rolled his eyes. "Relax, Gage. We're not gonna rustle 'em. We're just gonna round 'em up."
His fellow firefighters were forced to grin.
His Captain remained curious. "The brands are significant because...?"
"It means that they're range cattle."
"So...?"
"So, they've had very little contact with humans. They're not used to people on foot. It's a safe bet that they've never seen 'firemen' before."
Seeing that their Captain still looked somewhat at a loss, Mike Stoker decided to speak up. "I think what he's tryin' to say is, that firemen should be seen...but not 'herd'."
The firemen found the engineer's witty comment most amusing.
"Well," Hank continued, once the groans and snickers had subsided, "we can't just allow them to run loose. If any of them make it up over that ridge, before the CHP can get traffic in the West-bound lanes stopped, somebody could get killed, or be seriously injured."
John crossed over to their rescue squad and then stood there, drumming his fingers on its hood. "A one-ton truck doesn't maneuver quite as quickly as a cutting horse. But I'd sure like to give it a try, Cap..."
"Go ahead," Hank declared, with a broad grin and a wave of his arm. "Show us what yah got."
Gage returned his Captain's grin—with interest, and quickly climbed up into the truck's cab. "Cap?" he called out the Squad's open window. "Yah think we could use some ladder sections to create a loading chute, and maybe string some ropes out, to form a kind a' human corral?"
This time, the Captain nodded his approval of the paramedic's proposals. "Consider it done!"
The former cowboy—turned fireman—revved his truck's engine to life, and then headed off, to begin his 'cattle drive'.
TBC