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Cap grabbed him by the elbow as he passed by his chair. "Hold on a minute there Kelly. Didn't you see what time it is? Visiting hours are over. Now let's do the dishes before---" Eeee Oooo EeeeEEEEeeeeeeeeee. ##Station 36. Engine 10. Stations, 51, 112. Foam truck 127. Battalion 14. Stations 8 and 99. LAX reports an airliner in distress en route to Los Angeles from San Diego. Los Angeles Headquarters reports a Condition Orange is now in effect.## "Let's go!" Hank said, hustling his men. "We'll get where they want us on the move.." Roy shivered a deep chill and he and Brice's eyes met in a glance. "A crash is imminent..." "Yeah, but where are they projecting one?" Brice asked as he handed Roy his helmet before sliding into the squad's seat. "Now that's anybody's guess.." DeSoto said flipping on the squad's lights and siren so they cut urgently into the night as they headed down the boulevard towards the direction of the LAX. Unbidden, Boot uncharacteristically jumped inside the engine as Chet was coming aboard her. Stoker had the Ward in motion before Kelly could shoo him off. "All right ya crazy mutt, you're along for the ride. But in you'll stay!" Chet admonished the dog from where he sat, gripping the station mascot's chin as they both bounced as the engine turned streetward. Silently, the station main doors rolled shut in the darkness as both emergency vehicles sped away. -------------------------------------------------------- |
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**************************************************** From : Cassidy Meyers <killashandrarey@hotmail.com> Sent : Friday, December 19, 2003 6:58 AM Subject : Wing and a Prayer The fire chief in his speeding car, called the red phone in the main LAX air traffic control tower over his closed frequency CB radio. "Ground Crew Three, this is L.A. County. What do you have? We're en route and deployed in a full radius surrounding the airport." Another fire department captain, manning a communications panel next to the air traffic controllers handling the inbound emergency, spoke. "A Boeing 747, is suffering hydraulic malfunction in its right wing elevators. The flight crew reported only partial control of their aircraft. Two minutes ago, the controllers received an automated cabin decompression warning and so far, they've only had a quick spotty transmission back from the pilots specifying the number of souls on board. 135. Apparent damage has made all further communication with the cockpit impossible, the tower says they're receiving, but the pilots are not answering comm anymore." "Sounds like they've got their hands full just flying. Where are they?" "Twenty nine miles out at about 2600 feet and closing on a final approach vector,....oops a change, now turning .....070 degrees NW." he replied from what he saw on the screen. Captain Robert Osby replied to McConnikee. "They're losing altitude more than they're maintaining a level." he said, parroting what his tower aide was telling him in his other ear. "Ok.. worst case scenario applies.." Chief McConnikee. "Let's assume they won't make the airport. Give me impact locations. Best guesses. I have seven stations out." Osby rubbed his lined face and studied the radar, watching where his aide pointed. "Batallion, tower says the Torrence neighborhood. East of the 101 expressway." "10-4. That's where we'll be.." McConnikee said. "Keep me posted. Good luck with your crews if they manage to land." McConnikee relayed his new information to L.A. dispatch and one by one, the responding stations rolling diverted to waiting positions surrounding the affluent suburb. The chief himself placed his unit on an exit ramp in sight of the airport and the main bowl of the city of Torrence. Shortly afterwards, black and white police cars roared up his exit ramp to help open traffic for Station Ten, following just behind them. The chief tipped his white hat when the engineer blew his airhorn twice in a salute as he rushed by in a flurry of red lights. The chief picked up his main mic. "Station Ten. Position yourselves east of Dwight, along Nile Street. Park and wait. You're gonna be spotters until she's down." ##Engine 10, 10-4. ## ## Squad 10 stands ready.## A heavy feeling gripped McConnikee's gut when silence finally fell a minute later when all units reported they were set in place and position. He committed their locations and identities to memory. "It'll be a cold day in h*ll before we're through here." |
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The chief scanned the night sky now emergency cleared of traffic for the out of control incoming airliner. A wavering, unsteady point of light from a lone aircraft's transponder and alarmingly flickering cabin lights caught the chief's attention to his left and he held his breath when his radio crackled. ##We've a visual on 182. Looks like they're nose down.## came Osby's tense report. "1600 , .....1550..." "I see them. They're above Torrence proper over the restaurant district. They've cleared the freeway." McConnikee confirmed, kicking his car into gear as he sped onto a main avenue, following the flight path he could see. Then he lost his line of sight just as he heard the roar of over compensating air brakes through the open window. Several buildings were in the way of the smoky exhaust trail he could see spinning groundwards. The noise of jet engines in desperate compensation began to echo around the structures McConnikee could see. "May G*d have mercy on their souls." he whispered softly as the plane sank lower and lower. ---------------------------------------------------------------- At the intersection of 38th Street and El Cajon Boulevard where Stoker had the engine idling in wait. Chet Kelly climbed out and carried Boot from the back cab to Cap's side of the window. "Guess who came along for the ride..? Hiya, Cap." Kelly said, waving one of Boots paws through the window pane at Hank. "Hey hey..Wonder why he did that?" Cap said, opening the door of the Ward and stepping out to scrub Boot behind the ears. "That's a good dog but you aren't winning any brownie points for coming with us. Yess.." he crooned, forgetting for the moment the disaster to come. His face lit up with the flashes of red from the engine's lights and with a short faint smile. Hank looked up as Brice and DeSoto joined them to lean against the Ward. They still had their helmets on. "Have you heard how long, Cap?" Roy asked quietly. Cap's expression fell into business and he said. "Kelly, put Boot back inside and buckle him and yourself up. Could be anytime, Roy. Chief said he'll broadcast once he has a better idea of where they'll end up. He has a channel open to the tower." Roy rubbed his arms in the night chill and glanced around at the horizon. In the distance lay familiar outlines of buildings he knew well, with their lights glowing brightly in the darkness amid the blue fire of the street lamps. "I hope at least someone manages to make it." he said quietly to the warming wind rising from the engine's chassis. --------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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************************************* From : patti keiper <pattik1@hotmail.com> Sent : Friday, December 19, 2003 11:17 PM Subject : [EmergencyTheaterLive] And Then There Was One... Kel Brackett and Dixie McCall were in the nurses lounge watching a bit of the Tonight Show on their late night break when the EBS radio down the hall in the base station went off in a rare unscheduled dissident whistle tone and repeated in a series of triple bleeps bone chillingly. Both of them slammed down their coffee mugs and cigarettes and ran to overhear the official address issuing forth from the speaker above the main reception desk and so did a crowd of emergency room staff a few seconds later. Noisy babble from people demanding to know what was happening made the radio sound dampened and muted. ## ...advises a confirmed Condition Orange. Nature of emergency is an LAX inbound flight Boeing 747 with 135 passengers.... ## "Shhh.. I have to hear.." Brackett snapped at the milling throng of medical people around him. "Folks.. Just pipe down.. Now!" Dixie was a firm directive with an even louder voice of authority. "This is a Condition Orange Alert and it's real and that's all you staffers need to know. Everybody scatter to your assigned positions and duties. Pronto. " Dixie's face waxed pleading and reluctant. "And try to keep those families and patients here in the ER happy. I don't want there to be more trouble than we already have going on right now." Joe Early, Mike Morton quieted into what qualified as listening while those nurses, interns and residents in lesser departments started scrambling for extra supplies, and set about preparing the still open treatment rooms for double duty. Three student nurses began summoning more staff in on emergency recall from off duty by telephone. Brackett, Morton and Early leaned in once more into the EBS address speaker. ##....evidence of cabin decompression. Potential heavy casualties on the ground are expected. Flight 182 has overshot all sparsely populated regions and has been spotted losing altitude over a municipality classed as a residential zone. All fire and military emergency response stations have been activated....Repeat...This is a Condition Orange Alert..## Rampart General was kicked into overdrive and ready for anything in the space of just short minutes. Dr. Brackett was equally as coolly efficient."What's our current capacity?" Joe rubbed his hand in deep thought. "Admissions says we're at 91% occupancy. UCLA Harbor is at 95%, L.A.City Hospital is sitting at 97% And Bayside General's the worst of all. They're topped off completely and redirecting all ambulance run traumas and major medicals to other emergency care providers." Dr. Brackett frowned. "Hmmm, Guess we're on our own for the majority of any potential mass casualty admissions. Rampart's at 91%?" "Uh huh.." McCall nodded. |
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Mike's chin wrinkled firmly. "That leaves ......50 beds open for us. How many surgical wards do we have available?" Morton asked. Dixie's answer was swift. "Seven. Room Fourteen's just finished up on a bronchoscopy patient left over from 51's warehouse fire from this afternoon. She's just arrived in recovery." "Get that team ready to receive, too." Kel ordered. "Joe, Mike, those rooms have priority. If those airliner passengers are given opportunities of making it off that wreck with a pulse, I wanna make sure that ours have at least one chance each of surviving the ordeal." "Right." said Morton, Joe and Dixie. They darted in three directions to implement the changes. "Oh, and Dix..." said Brackett. "Yes, Kel?" "Let's keep all new arrivals from the crash site out of the pediatric ward. They've dealt with enough noise for one night.." A smirk played across Dixie's classic features. "Are you referring to a certain young dashing paramedic and his equally rivetting four foot two child accomplice?" Brackett's face contorted. "Yes..! It's good enough they're mostly by themselves in that part of the wing because of all the new construction. There's not many around them tonight to suffer the consequences of being within earshot! Dix, send someone to quiet them down, huh? Send a candy striper, an orderly,...the pizza man! Or anyone.. for that matter. Just get me some peace and quiet at that nurses station..! Dr. Mendelson from neurology says he heard the entire why did the chicken cross the road one upmanship contest wafting down through the elevator shaft without even trying hard." "Sure. I'll have the new LPN, Cheryl Adams, pay them a goodwill visit.." the head nurse winked, remarking mildly. Then her expression turned mischievious. "Her fifth one so far.." she purred. "What?!" Kel said, already buried in the disaster protocol manual from the drug cabinet. His explicative was distracted and half hearted but still icy with anger. "Just kidding..." Dixie said in humor, and she headed briskly off for the elevators to direct supply carts and newly arriving off scheduled staffers to where they would be most needed. Kel twitched. "I was joking..." Dixie trickled, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shoulder. Brackett's reply was just a long suffering growl. "Go..." "I'm gone.." she sighed in a breath. Controlled chaos filled all three doctors' senses as they waited for the fire department paramedic base station in the glass cubicle to light up in sudden urgent multiple summons. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ |
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---------------------------------------------------------- A deep chest rending roar bent the palm trees over Station 51's crew's heads as 182's smoking fuselage of street lit red and silver shot by at 360 knots barely 200 feet above them. The entire aircraft was inverted upside down. "Holy mother of..." Marco gasped. CRASHHH-HHH-HHHHHhhhhh!! *screechHHHh* BOOM!!! A wave of explosive concussion slammed the waiting firemen against the engine and made them fall to the ground in a protective duck and cover, while the ground shifted and shook in a outgoing wave of reaction. Before the ugly yellow and lava colored fireball nimbus had faded, Cap knew where the jet had impacted. The one building outline flared impossibly bright by raw plasma had been unmistakably familiar to him. "Rampart!!" "What?!" gasped Chet Kelly for the stunned others. "Shush a minute and let me talk. " Captain Stanley silenced him.."Do we have any injuries among us?" he said sharply. "Uhhh,..n-no." said Lopez for all of them while they brushed off dirt and freshly shorn palm fronds from their backs, legs and faces. "Then on your feet, gang. Now!..We haven't a moment to lose. To answer your question., *cough* Yes, they went down at Rampart!" Hank sobbed, barely in control. "Are you sure?" Brice said, rising and running for the squad two steps behind Roy. "That explosion could have gone up anywhere. There's dozens of office buildings in that direct--" "I know that silhouette better than my own station's, Brice! I'm more than sure! Now get the lead out and just go!" Hank shouted, sprinting for the Ward La France's side door. "Stoker. Once around the rig to make sure she's intact! Then put the pedal to the metal, pal. Avoid the main drags. Gawkers are bound to snarl those big time. The night life crowd's in full swing. Get us there side streets! My guess is that kind of route's gonna put us two and a half miles out. "I'll get us there in four mics, Cap." "Make it three.." "Done." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Johnny Gage felt the rumble before he heard it. He had slipped into just a pair of jeans to feel more at home when the hairs began to rise on the back of his neck. "What th--?" His face turned unbidden toward the venetian blinds in the window and a patch of fire orange growing there. Megan stirred in her half sleep. "What's the matter, Mr. Gage? Is it 'nother quake like the one we got last week?" In slow motion, Johnny's hand parted the curtains. The outline of a disintegrating flaming jet was cartwheeling vertically towards them as if in a horrific nightmare, crushing cars in Rampart's parking lot into smaller exploding gasoline stains as it came. "Oh Sh*t! !! ..Megan...! Get down!" Johnny Gage had time enough to snatch the little girl and her IV bag with him into a crouch behind a bed when all the glass windows on that side of Rampart imploded inwards in a rain of ballistic metallic debris and raw fire. ---------------------------------------------------------- |
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******************************************************************* From : Roxy Dee <laterrapincabesa@hotmail.com> Sent : Friday, February 6, 2004 11:25 PM Subject : [EmergencyTheaterLive] Aftermath~~ Captain Stanley licked his lips nervously as Stoker sped the Ward around increasingly damaged patches of earth. He saw no other red lights yet in the area. ::Looks like I'll be the highest ranking official in the area for at least a little while. So I'd better have at it.:: From behind him, Cap heard Marco breathe a sigh of relief. "Looks like the hospital's still intact. Only the windows are knocked out. Their power's still on." "Yeah, but is it from the main towers or their backup generators?" asked Hank over the roar of the sirens. "Does it matter?" Chet retorted, straightening his helmet as the engine wove its way closer to the forty foot wall of fire hiding the airliner's impact crater."We'll be able to see what we're doing man.." Cap snatched up his microphone and broadcast wide band. ## L.A. Station 51 is at scene, approaching from the south. Our aircraft has impacted nose down in the parking lot and seems to have effected part of the adjacent neighborhood of ....Dwight Street and Nile. We're seeing multiple jet fuel and magnesium based debris fires and a dozen automobile ignition points in a two block radius. As yet, we have no evidence of survivors from the plane. Beginning initial search for ground victims and laying down immediate water source reconnaissance. I repeat, fire is not evident inside Rampart Hospital. Noting window damage only. ## Hank spigotted the radio mic and heard Chief McConnike start his plan of attack using his reported information. Cap coughed on the stench of kerosene and smelled citrus trees from the nearby yards baking in the fire. But he was relieved to hear his superior begin the stream of relief and rescue to the disaster zone nightmare of scent and sight and noise that was assaulting his senses. He signalled Stoker to lay in regular air blasts from the engine's siren apparatus to encourage survivors and notify other companies as to his station's position despite the choking columns of smoke concealing their lights in the lurid nighttime darkness. Chief McConnike's voice was still clear and calm, not effected by the rising fumes that marked the place where passengers from the plane had perished, when it came over the speakers seconds later. ##All companies approach line of sight encircling the debris field in a full 360 degree radius. Use the black areas away from fires' glow upwind of smoke to find safe places to set up your command posts. Foam Units 127, 36, 118, 95 and 106 move into the main crash site by Station 51. They're near ground zero and blasting their air horn to mark their location. Begin your covering support and knock down any burning automobiles first to make a path for the second wave rescue teams. I'm hereby ordering 51 and Station 8 to sweep first line in for any casualties originating from the ground. Recovery teams, keep from disturbing any found fatalities as much as possible. Mark and cover the remains only. Companies moving in from the perimeter, make no attempt to use water on the magnesium blaze surrounding the Boeing's shell. It'll have no effect. Secondary stand by rescue squads and ambulance teams, coordinate with law enforcement authorities to keep all non essential civilians out of the immediate area. This includes all the press types and military personnel who aren't fire departmentally trained." |
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"Inner response teams: Prevent absolutely everyone from trying to leave the hospital proper. They'll all be much safer inside the structure than outside because of the large quantity of ignited jet fuel present amid all of these still potentially explodable cars sandwiched around the south side of the building. ## Echoes of radio hails and acknowledgements bounced off the city light and fire reflected white hulk of Rampart eerily. From where he stood, McConnikee could see patient faces numbly peering down at him from the shattered ruin of all the windows. Soon, white and blue garbed others came to take those shocked eyes away in evacuation to safer areas across the opposite corridors. ::This is H*ll on Earth folks, I know. But not for long. Just hang tough and soon you'll see the City of Angels fight back for its own..::he thought fervently. ::All 406 of us.:: he calculated counting the flashers of all the engines laid out in a ring around Rampart. ------------------------------------------------------------ Chet Kelly startled when unexpected vertical movement amid expected carnage caught his jumpy eye. His shock quickly turned to anger when that motion spelled out spectator over possible victim. Fury exploded from his lips as he adjusted the hose path he and Mike Stoker were using off the neighborhood corner hydrant at their assigned row of torn houses given to them to search through. "Already they're starting! Man.. I just hate that. What kind of sicko does it take for someone to go out looting in a place like this ?" Kelly spat, kicking up dust around his boots. "The ones who think they can get away with it." Stoker's quiet reply came back, equally sharp as he moved their fanning spray over some violated lawn. "Yeah? Well not while I'm on the job, they're not." Hit 'em Stoker.. " Chet challenged. "Feel free.." Mike jerked and shouted. When his commands to leave immediately were ignored by the looting crowd, he let loose with an untapered knifesteam of icy water at all their full hands and turned backs, scattering their ill gotten booty across the debris field. He made sure that they couldn't retrieve anything again by sending loudly protesting black clothed forms rolling away into the darkness under the naked force of his hose. A shout rose up as one male cry marked the audible but unseen location of a bruising impact. "Oooo.. Easy Mike... What if you hurt them doing that?" Kelly winced. "What if they hurt victims' relatives even more by taking the deceased's wedding rings and other stuff?" Stoker countered, not letting up his barrage on those he could reach. "Oh. Good point. Go ahead and nail it home, buddy. For them." he said, sweeping a glove over the sad remains of the plane passengers lying twisted and bare all around them. Hank Stanley's sharp retort came rapidly.. ##Engine 51, I said no water near the airliner!## crackled Chet and Stoker's HT's. Chet peeled off a soggy glove and thumbed the talk button. "Sorry HT 51, just...we were just, well, cleaning up.." "Cleaning up what? We were told to disturb as little as possible." "Cleaning up pond scum, Cap, the vilest kind." ##Oh....## came a chastened reply when Hank finally got the message.## That's different. Keep it up then, but don't fry your keesters in the process in a magnesium flare.## "We won't." ##Good men. Eerrr.. How's it coming?## Chet fought his way over yet another pile of shattered wood and metal smoulders which he shouldered out of his way. "Think we found one that's a death on the ground. Cap, under a blown in door inside the house designated B west of the main intersection." ##How can you tell?## "Looked like a senior who'd been burned fatally, she's still holding a phone receiver." |
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There came a noise of pain from the other end of the HT that was quickly stifled. ##Mark her location down on your notes and search on you two. Keep reporting the ground and plane DOA's like you are and wave on recovery personnel for live ones. Squad 51's handling the fuselage vicinity on the remote chance anyone aboard survived the impact.## "Yes sir. Marking...House B as ground victim number five. We're now on the move at... Dwight and...Victory Lane.." ## Ok, I've got your current position noted. ......HT 51?## came a further hail. "Go." Stoker said tightly as he watched Chet cover the woman in the house even as he glared at the soaked retreating looters. ##I'm sending Vince and a full support team your way to flush out any more of those rats. Save your water for the spot fires when you can.## "We'll be glad to have them. Looks like we found some more with full sacks just ahead." He grinned when a telltale, unmistakable collection of noises drifted his way on the bitter smelling night wind. "Sounds like the lot of them are getting sick behind the row of smouldering palm tree stumps by House D down the road on your side. Serves them right for even coming in here." ##10-4. Watch for the police from the north, Kelly. ## "Like a hawk." he coughed quietly. ##And keep your everloving rears safe, you two. Shots have been heard on your side of the debris field, west of the air liner's impact crater.## "You're kidding." Mike interjected into his plastic covered walkie talkie, dragging the laden hose further along towards the sound of stunned looters. ##Wish I was, pal.## "Understood." Kelly added firmly. ##HT 51 out.## Mike Stoker and Chet Kelly could almost hear their Cap's nod over the closing company frequency. |
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---------------------------------------------------------- Roy tried not to look at the fourth floor of Rampart where he could hear shards of glass hanging from their frames tinkling like windchimes amid the fire thermals from the parking lot. ::Johnny.. I wish I'd catch your face sneaking a peek down here from your room. But, knowing you, you got your hands full with protecting little Megan right now.:: Roy's boot was about to take another step forward around a seat cushion when Craig Brice's touch on his back stopped him. He pointed to Roy's left with his torchlight into the darkness. A motionless man in the wreckage, still wearing a plane oxygen mask, presented himself as more or less the sole intact shape amid the separated parts that lay strewn about from most of the other dead passengers. Roy began using his hook to throw aside debris between him and the man when Brice's grip tightened on his air bottle, pulling him back. "DeSoto. A moment." he heard in his ear. Still wearing hope's blinders, DeSoto gasped. "What? He might be one who's made it. We have no time to lose here." he shouted behind his mask. He blinked when a swirl of fuel smoke ruffled his hair. Roy could see Brice swallowing deeply behind his air mask. "Look farther down below his waist. That car's front is lying across his lower half and ...and...the hood's level to our thighs and the pavement. You can see that plainly from here. He's been crushed badly. I'm sorry. He doesn't look it color wise, but he's ..he's ..undeniably dead." |
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Roy checked once again using Brice's analyzing flashlight as a guide, and saw that Craig's observation was the correct one, illuminating fully dialated and blood cloudy pupils. Life had indeed fled for the man almost instantly when gravity and inertia had brought the car tumbling down onto his passenger seat. ::J*sus. Just how many fatality presentations am I gonna see tonight that they don't teach you from a textbook?:: Roy's mind interjected mercilessly. "How about giving me one that we can turn around here." he mumbled at Craig in muted thanks for saving him some useless exertion. "Working on it. Praying for it, too." came Brice's reply. "Give me time. I always find a live one. You know that." "Just don't fail me partner. I need a lift right about now." ---------------------- Kelly moved forward into House C, a neighbor of the phoning victim, and jolted his body and nerves yet again when an 8X10 photo suddenly drifted down from the air, hitting him on the helmet. Reflexively, Chet caught the bit of paper and turned its soggy gloss into his torchlight. It was a picture of four stewardesses that could only have come from the ill fated airliner. Each of them wore pink and orange polyester mini skirts with matching gogo boots and gay, brightly colored navy type hats amid stylish curls. Kelly gasped and froze in horror, until Stoker felt the drag of the hose behind him fall slack when Chet let go of his end of the charged line. "Find something?" Mike asked quietly, knocking his annoying hanging mask yet again away from his knees. Kelly lied.. "No. Let's just get to the next house." he said shoving the photo into a crack almost violently, away from him. Chet knew right then that he had been stabbed in the heart. Those frozen smiling two dimensional faces plunged deep inside his protective mental veneer and he shivered involuntarily as his world suddenly swam at this confrontation of his one weakness as a firefighter. :: No! No more reminders like that, please. :: he whispered to the stars above the smoke like a litany. .::Let them all be faceless... Please. I don't want to recognize anything about these people lying around me. It'll be easier. Please.. No faces.. N-no f--:: It was Kelly's turn to bump into Stoker at their next turn bending into a collapsed garage still filled with a shiny silver parked BMW. "Got someone.." Stoker said gruffly. "Go look while I snuff out this small fire.." Chet worked his way around aircraft metal and roofing beams until he could peer inside the car through a windshield smashed inwards from the outside. Kelly saw pink and orange cloth on just a torso. "Plane..." he said, backing hastily away. "You sure? That was awfully fast." "D*mmit Stoker. Yes, I'm sure. I saw a photo back there in the rubble of the last house of the plane's flight attendants. And they were dressed like... like..." his voice strangled into a sob. |
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