Chapter Text
The following story is a crossover between "EMERGENCY!" and "The Rockford Files".
Disclaimer:
I lay no claim to any of the main E! characters and I gain nothing financially by writing this...da-arn! ;)
"TV versus Reality"
By Ross
Chapter One
In the hospital corridor outside Rampart General Hospital's ICU room 604, a uniformed maintenance worker knelt before an exposed electrical outlet. His partner had just gone off to fetch a pair of wire strippers and, until his return, work on the shorted out sockets was halted.
The waiting man exhaled a sigh of sheer boredom and glanced at his watch. A frown appeared on his previously impassive face as he realized he was about to miss his favorite TV program-and he never missed 'The Rockford Files'.
The man cursed under his breath and sat back on his heels. Now he'd have to wait for the rerun. Suddenly something occurred to him which caused his countenance to brighten-considerably. "Just 'cuz I can't watch it don't mean I can't listen to it," he realized aloud and started getting stiffly to his feet.
The worker stretched and yawned and then disappeared into the nearest hospital room.
He reappeared-just moments later-and re-assumed his wait, leaving the door behind-and beside-him slightly ajar.
The now quite pleased looking workman stood there with his right hand tapping his holstered tools, and his right foot tapping the polished hall floor, to the rather catchy beat of the program's theme music.
There followed, several messages from the show's sponsors, extolling the superior qualities of their brands of after-shave and aspirin.
The sounds of a noisy nightclub came drifting out of the room and then gradually faded, replaced by traffic noises. A car door opened and closed. It's engine came to life and its tires squealed off down some unseen street.
A minute later, the car's engine died. Planes could be heard, landing or taking off, in the distance. The car's door slammed again, along with its trunk. The sound of footsteps on pavement echoed out into the hallway.
"Harry?' a man called out.
"Ready whenever you are, Mr. Nardis!" Harry called back.
"Good. Then let's get out of here!"
The sound of a large door sliding on rails was heard, followed by more banging doors and finally the click of seat belts.
Harry radioed the control tower for permission to take off. He received clearance and started taxiing out to the runway. The sound of the plane's engine grew steadily louder and then was joined by the sound of two or more racing car engines-and gunfire!
The plane's engine noise faded and the cars screeched to a halt. Someone's hand slammed against one of their dashboards.
"Mister Gardino isn't going to like this," a man said quietly, following someone else's muffled curse.
"Uh-oh," Harry suddenly muttered over the plane's droning engines. "We're losing fuel-fast! We're going to have to land right now!"
"No!" Mr. Nardis screamed.
"We don't have any choice!" Harry shouted back. "We either land or we crash!"
"Okay," Mr. Nardis relinquished. "Find a clearing."
"That's dangerous enough with two tires!" a rather horrified Harry reminded him.
"Yeah? Well it's a whole lot safer than that airport back there!" Mr. Nardis reminded him right back.
"There are too many power lines!" Harry deduced. "We've got to go back!"
"No! Keep looking!" Mister Nardis insisted.
"We're running on fumes!" the pilot informed his stubborn passenger.
"There!" Nardis determined. "That field along that highway! That looks plenty big enough!"
The plane's droning engines began to sputter. "It had better be!" Harry declared. "Cuz' we're going down!"
The hospital maintenance man cringed at the sound of a crashing plane.
_____________________________________________________________
Inside ICU's room 604, the body in the bed stiffened and a grimace appeared on the un-bandaged portion of the patient's pale face.
The workman wasn't the only one listening.
LA County Firefighter Paramedic John Gage tried-in vain-to make some sense out of the disturbing sounds, but the thoughts that were reeling through his foggy, groggy brain remained disjointed. The patient groaned and gradually slipped back into semi-consciousness.
_____________________________________________________________
The next thing John knew, he was seated at the dinner table in LA County's Fire Station 51 with the rest of A-shift, and Chet was asking Marco to please pass him the gravy bowl.
Marco reached for the requested object, but then stopped, as the alarm went off.
All six of the famished firemen tensed up and listened.
"Station 51..." the dispatcher began.
The firemen frowned, then got up-en masse-and started heading for the garage and their trucks.
_______________________________________________________________
"...Police report two men trapped in the wreckage of a light aircraft...six miles south of the Corona Freeway/La Brea Canyon Road Junction...Six miles South on La Brea Canyon Road...Ambulance responding...Time out...17:15."
"Station 51...KMG-365," Captain Stanley answered. He handed DeSoto a copy of the call slip and then headed across the garage toward the Engine.
Roy passed the address on to his partner.
"Hang a right!" John told him.
DeSoto did.
The Engine exited the Station, and followed the Squad off down the street-lights flashing and sirens blaring.
______________________________________________________________
Ten minutes later, on the La Brea Canyon Road, two California Highway Patrolmen motioned for the fire trucks to pull over onto the highway's shoulder.
The rescue vehicles groaned to a halt and their drivers cut the sirens.
Seeing that they were still four or five hundred feet from the plane, Stanley leaned out and yelled, "Can't we get any closer?"
"It's too rough!" one of the officers called back with a shake of his helmeted head. "You'll either break an axle or get stuck!"
"Do we have a fuel spill?" Stanley further inquired.
Again the patrolman shook his head. "The fuel tanks were empty on impact."
Seeing the Captain's somewhat astonished look, the patrolman's partner added, "Judging by all the bullet holes in the fuselage, somebody shot this bird clean out of the sky!"
Captain Stanley and his men glanced uncertainly at one another.
John and Roy packed their equipment into a Stokes and started off for the accident site on foot.
The Engine crew grabbed their rescue gear and followed after them.
_____________________________________________________________
The rescuers continued to traverse the incredibly rough terrain, toting the increasingly heavy tools of their trade.
_____________________________________________________________
At long last, the firemen reached the plane-or, at least what remained of it.
The emergency landing had obviously been as rough as the terrain. The aircraft had apparently flipped several times before coming to rest-upside down and practically wingless.
The firemen noted that there were indeed, several bullet holes clearly visible in the plane's crumpled fuselage, and its fuel tanks.
Gage and DeSoto tugged at the cockpit doors. They didn't budge.
Stanley motioned for Stoker and Lopez to give the paramedics a hand.
Mike stepped up to the pilot's door with the porta-power and a pry bar attachment. The metal gave like paper.
Roy shot the tool's operator a grateful glance and leaned inside to examine his victim.
At the same time, Marco pried open the passenger's door with their Ajax tool. Again the already strained metal yielded easily-this time, to hydraulic pressure.
"Thanks..." John mumbled and dropped to his knees to examine the plane's upside down passenger. He saw his partner kneeling directly across from him and shot him a questioning look.
Roy frowned and slowly shook his head.
Gage lifted his fingers from his victim's carotid artery. "Get Rampart!"
At least the plane's passenger still had a pulse.
His partner nodded and backed out to use the bio-phone.
"Better request a chopper!" John advised and continued his initial patient survey, expertly running his hands over the victim's body, checking for injur-he froze, feeling a hard lump under the man's coat jacket.
He reached in and pulled out a .45 caliber pistol? His jaw dropped and his eyebrows elevated. "Uhhh...somebody wanna get rid of this for me?" he requested.
One, of the patrolmen relieved him of the weapon.
He gave the guy a grateful glance and then relieved his gun-toting victim of his wallet as well. "Somebody wanna get a name and check for medical information?" he additionally inquired, passing the bill-fold back over his shoulder.
"His name is Victor Nardis," the officer informed him moments later. "He's 47 and single. No medical information."
"Mister Nardis, can you hear me?" John asked upon completing his initial exam. No response. "Cap, his legs are pinned between his seat and the instrument panel."
"Chet! Marco!" his Captain called out.
_____________________________________________________________
Two minutes later, Gage had the upper half of his upside down victim immobilized and his friends had the poor man's pinned legs freed.
John released the seat belt and they carefully extricated the passenger's crumpled body from the plane's crumpled cockpit.
The paramedic dropped to one knee beside the Stokes and proceeded to procure his now horizontal patient's vital signs. He finished and passed the info on to his partner, who passed it on to Rampart via their phone.
Gage opened several cases and began removing various bits of medical paraphernalia he knew the doctor would be ordering them to use in their treatment of poor Mr. Nardis.
Their victim had fractured both legs, both arms, his neck, his back, and possibly some ribs as well...judging by the large bruise over his sternum.
John had also noted a rigid, distended abdomen and blunt-force trauma to the head.
_______________________________________________________________
"Roger Rampart," DeSoto acknowledged. "We'll update the victim's vitals before we transport." He glanced back over his shoulder to identify the source of the siren that had just pulled up. "Ambulance has just arrived."
"10-4, 51," Dr. Brackett acknowledged back. "Oh, and if we can free up a med-evac chopper in the next few minutes, we'll be sure to head it your way!"
"We'd appreciate that, Rampart," Roy signed off and set the phone down to help 'all the king's horses and all the king's men' try to put 'Humpty Dumpty' back together again.
_________________________________________________________________
Several hectic minutes later, the two paramedics had their patient's IV's flowing, traction splints applied, M.A.S.T. trousers inflated, throat intubated, oxygen administered and safety straps in place.
The rescuers gathered their remaining gear, and the Stokes containing their secured victim, and began trudging back across the tricky, treacherous terrain, heading towards their trucks and the waiting ambulance...and a sizable crowd of spectators.
_____________________________________________________________
The stretcher-bearers had almost reached the highway, when their passenger regained consciousness and started choking on the tube down his throat.
They quickly and gently lowered the Stokes to the ground.
"Take it easy, Mr. Nardis!" John pleaded and expertly slid the endo-trache tube from the choking man's throat.
Mr. Nardis stopped choking and started groaning.
"Rampart..." Roy spoke into their bio-phone, "Squad 51."
"Go ahead, 51..."
"Rampart, victim has regained consciousness and is in a great deal of pain. Stand-by for an update on vitals..."
"51, administer 100 milligrams Demerol, IV..."
"Roger, Rampart," DeSoto gratefully acknowledged. "100 milligrams Demerol, IV." He glanced in Gage's direction.
John nodded and, after passing his partner the updated vitals, he proceeded to administer the prescribed painkiller. "Hang on, Mr. Nardis," the paramedic gently urged. "We've given you something for the pain." He saw the man's mouth moving through the clear plastic of his oxygen mask and raised the thing just enough to make out what he was trying to say. The victim's volume was still too low, so John lowered an ear so he could hear.
"I...I...can't see!" Mr. Nardis told him through tightly clenched teeth.
'Mister, that is the least of your problems,' the paramedic morbidly, and silently, informed the poor man.
Someone suddenly snapped a picture of him, leaning over his whispering patient.
The light from the unbelievably bright flash temporarily blinded the paramedic. "Will somebody get him out of here?" John requested, sounding extremely annoyed.
The same patrolman who had relieved him of the gun and the wallet relieved him of the extreme annoyance as well, ushering the protesting reporter out of close-up range.
John stared down at the bright blob, which moments before had been his patient's face. "How's the pain?" he asked and once again lowered an ear so he could hear.
"Better. Am I...gonna die?"
The paramedic winced and hesitated a moment or two before answering. "We're going to take you to Rampart General, Mr. Nardis. Rampart has some of the finest emergency physicians in the country," was all he'd say. After all, he didn't wanna lie.
"Okay, Johnny..." Roy interrupted. "He's stabilized. We can go ahead and transport."
Johnny looked visibly relieved and climbed up into the ambulance with their victim.
______________________________________________________________
Several more busy minutes-and miles-later, in the back of the speeding ambulance...
John finished taking and relaying his now barely conscious victim's latest set of vital signs. "Mr. Nardis? Is there anyone you want us to notify?" he forced himself to ask. "A relative?...Friend?"
"No...relatives," Mr. Nardis quietly informed his concerned questioner. "No...friends. Except...for you," he added.
The paramedic pulled back a bit and saw a slight, somewhat sarcastic, smile forming on his no longer pained patient's pursed lips. 'I wish there was more I could do for you...' he sadly and silently confessed and placed his left hand over his dying victim's.
"Since you've been...so...nice...to me," Nardis quietly continued, over the ambulance's annoyingly loud siren sound, "I'm gonna do...something nice...for you."
Seeing the tremendous effort it now took for his new friend to talk, the fireman felt obligated to speak as well. "That's not necessary, Mr. Nar-"
"-Victor!" Mr. Nardis quietly corrected.
"You just take it easy...Victor. Don't try to talk," John gently urged. He reluctantly released his hold on his victim's hand and stuck his stethoscope back in his ears, to satisfy Rampart's sudden request for yet another, newer, set of vital signs.
Victor ignored his compassionate caretaker's suggestion and kept right on chatting, completely oblivious of the fact that he was now talking to himself.
Again John noted the energy draining from his critical patient and again he felt obligated to dispense with some advice. He pulled the tips of his stethoscope from his ears and took the dying man's hand back into his. "Save your stre-" the paramedic saved his breath, seeing as how his victim-er, Victor, had just lapsed back into unconsciousness.
TBC