(A sequel to Big Red Meets Her Demise)
It was a little before Roll Call when Chet walked out onto the apparatus floor. It had been over a year and a half since “Big Red” was lost in a rollover on a muddy road near Glendora, yet Chet was still trying to get used to her replacement. Chet just stared at the 1977 Crown sent as a replacement. He still kept expecting to see the 1973 Ward LaFrance sitting next to the Squad, but knew deep down that he never would again. He often kidded Engineer Mike Stoker, about how close Stoker was to the Engines he drove, a peculiarity common to engine drivers, he supposed.
“Big Red” was special to Chet though… The 1965 Crown she replaced was, to Chet, “just another Engine,” but the Ward was somehow more special to him: more modern, more massive-looking. As he looked at the rounded front of the newer Crown, he almost ached to see the angled windshield again.
“Hiya, Chet,” C-shift firefighter Chad Anderson said as he headed for the locker room to change clothes and go home.
“Hi, Chad,” Chet replied.
“What’s with you?” Chad asked. He was used to Chet being jovial and usually assaulting him with a smart-assed crack. Today, he seemed distant, almost in a funk.
“Nothing, Man” Chet replied. The out-going Engineer just shook his head and went on his way. Chet took one last glance at the Crown, and turned for the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee. The rest of A-shift had already drained most of the pot, leaving Chet barely a cup-full. Others from C-shift were saying their good-byes and filtering out the door. “Another beautiful day at the ranch,” Chet thought to himself sarcastically.
“Good morning, boys,” Captain Stanley said as he entered the kitchen. “I’ve got an announcement before we go out for Roll Call, the Engine is out of service for awhile…according to Capt. Fletcher, they had some transmission troubles last night. I’ve already called LA, and they are sending a replacement rig out sometime this morning.”
“Great, probably a lemon,” Chet said under his breath.
“Something you want to say, Kelly?” Capt. Stanley asked, slightly irritated. Being without an Engine, even if only for a few hours, had soured his usually good nature.
“No, Cap,” Chet replied quickly.
“Well then, let’s get on with Roll Call.”
The men of A-shift assembled on the apparatus floor as Stanley called out each name. The crew had worked together for so many years, it was a mere formality, but it was a formality dictated by Fire Department tradition and regulation. With the Roll out of the way, Capt. Stanley issued his orders for the day: Lopez was on kitchen duty, with Stoker to assist. Gage and DeSoto were to take the Squad out on fire inspection duty in the afternoon, and Kelly had drawn latrine duty…again. Johnny poked Chet in the ribs and shot him a shit-eating grin, remembering all too well the look on the Capt.’s face when Chet’s latest prank backfired. Stanley had ended up covered head-to-toe in a mix of ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise; and anything else Chet could find in the refrigerator during the last clean out. He had been assigned to the latrine every shift since.
“Oh, and since the rig is out-of-service, I thought this morning would be an ideal time to test the hose on her. I at least want all of the two-and-a-half tested before lunch, and I want all hands working,” Stanley added before dismissing the men.
“Great, hose testing time again,” Chet grumbled as he headed for the back of the Engine. Johnny, Marco, and Roy exchanged curious glances…their comrade, and chief source of amusement was not in a good mood, and they didn’t know why. Mike was already pulling the hose tester out of the storage room as Chet grabbed a loop on the two-and-a-half inch hose and started stretching the line out the back door. The rest of the crew joined in except for Roy, who was making the daily check on the Squad’s supplies and equipment.
“Hey Marco, what’s for lunch?” Johnny asked. He usually looked forward to having Marco cook, and was hoping for a chance to make a grocery store run for him, if only for a chance to say “hi” to the cute new gal behind the register.
“I’m making my Mom’s famous home-made chicken soup…oh that reminds me, do we have any chicken broth?” That question froze Chet in his tracks. CHICKEN BROTH…words Chet never wanted to hear ever again. After “Big Red” had finally come to a grinding halt in the ditch, he ended up underneath her and had to be pulled out by the others. He had come through mostly okay, except for skull fractures, facial fractures, and; a broken jaw. For six long weeks, his diet consisted mostly of chicken broth. He had all but vowed to never go near the stuff ever again.
“I think Chet threw away the last can a few months ago,” Stoker said, casting a quick glance at Chet, who was standing in an increasing puddle of water by the tester. He had been attaching the hose to the tester when he had heard the dreaded words, and only got the connection halfway made when Stoker charged the hydrant line to the tester.
“Ah, Chet?” Marco tried to get Chet’s attention. “Chet? Ah, you know you’re shoes are getting soaked?” He still got no response.
“Hey, Chet, what’s going on, pal?” asked Johnny, who was at first amused by Chet’s bad mood, but was now concerned that maybe he was sick or something. Roy looked up from his test of the Biophone to see Johnny and Marco leading Chet out of the puddle and over to the tailboard of the Engine.
“What’s wrong with him?” Roy asked.
“I don’t know man, he just kinda ‘left reality’ for a moment,” came Gage’s perplexed reply as they sat Chet down. Chet finally looked up at the pair, and said slowly, in a voice so soft and low that Johnny had to lean forward to hear him:
“I HATE chicken broth….”
Marco seemed slightly embarrassed and yet slightly amused at the same time. Johnny was trying very hard not to laugh out loud, remembering Chet’s lecture on ‘good chicken broth,’ ‘bad chicken broth,’ and the stuff that ‘smelled like a wet dog.’
“Sorry, Chet, I ah, I guess I forgot about that…” Marco said.
“You FORGOT?!” Chet was on his feet and turning red. “I had to LIVE off that stuff for six weeks!” He was shouting now. “I NEVER want to see, smell, eat, or even hear the words CHICKEN BROTH EVER AGAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” By now, Captain Stanley was out in the apparatus bay, trying to find out why his peaceful station was now in turmoil.
“Kelly!” he shouted, “What the devil is your problem today?” the Capt. Demanded of his irate fireman.
“Lopez is gonna make soup with chicken broth! He knows I can’t go near the stuff!” came Chet’s frantic reply. Stoker had shut down the tester, and had wandered over to watch the spectacle; Roy was packing the gear back into the Squad. John and Marco just exchanged puzzled glances, as they looked first at Chet, then the Capt., then back to Chet.
“Ah, Cap?” DeSoto cautiously approached Stanley. “We, ah need to run into Rampart for some new batteries for the de-fib and the Biophone.”
“Okay, DeSoto, you and Gage take off, but be back here as soon as you can, there is a lot of hose to test…”
“Right, Cap,” they replied in unison as Gage and DeSoto quickly scooted towards the Squad.
“Hey, Roy?” asked Marco. “Can you guys stop at the store?”
“Why do they need to stop at the store?” asked Stanley.
“Well, since Chet threw away all of our chicken broth, I’m gonna need about three cans, as well as some potatoes.” He quickly moved behind the side of the rig as Chet leapt off the tailboard at him.
“Damn it, Kelly! That’s enough!” Stanley shouted, halting Chet mid-stride. “Marco, maybe it would be best if we had your Mom’s ‘famous chicken soup’ some other time.”
“Ah, right, Cap. Ah, Roy, could you guys pick up some hamburger instead? I think we’ve got enough stuff here that I could make a casserole out of,” Marco quickly said, keeping one eye on the irate fireman.
“Sure, Marco,” Roy said as he got in the Squad. Johnny now was upset.
“Casserole? Man, I HATE casserole….”
“That’s enough out of you too, Gage!” roared the Captain. “You two, take off, NOW!”
Roy answered by starting the Squad and pulling out quickly.
“As for the rest of you, get back to work!” Capt. Stanley turned, and walked briskly back into his office, where he promptly slammed the door.
“LA Dispatch, Squad 51, 10-8 enroute to Rampart Hospital for supplies,” Johnny said into the radio after regaining his composure. He truly hated Marco’s casseroles…hamburger, and anything else in the kitchen…the culinary opposite of his Irish Stew.
“10-4, Squad 51.”
The pair hadn’t gone but a block when a small convoy met them. A field repair truck, a large tow truck, and a rather worn-looking Ward LaFrance rolled by, apparently heading for the station. The Ward appeared to be one of the 46 rigs ordered by LA County in 1972, but also had apparently seen some better days.
“Man, would you look at that,” Gage said somewhat stunned as he saw how weathered the rig looked. “It almost looks like one of the training rigs from the training center!” Indeed, the rig had come from the training center, after shop forces quickly stenciled the number “51” on her.
“Well, maybe once Chet sees that rig, he’ll get over the chicken broth thing,” DeSoto said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than his partner.
***
At the station, Stoker was the first to catch sight of the Field Repairman’s Truck pulling onto the front ramp. He also saw the tow truck backing in, and caught a glimpse of faded red heading around the backside of the building. Chet looked up at the sound of a Cummins diesel engine, and was happily surprised to see “Big Red.” A closer look told him that no, it wasn’t “Big R,” but definitely a sister-unit, faded and dinged-up as she was.
Captain Stanley came out of his office, quickly looked to make sure there was no danger of an exploding Kelly, and met the mechanic. He relayed the C-shift Captain’s concerns about the transmission, then turned towards the back of the station, where the replacement rig sat. He groaned. As usual, LA had sent the rig out totally stripped. “Not even so much as one damn spanner!” Stanley muttered to himself. “Okay, boys, looks like we need to take everything of our Engine…and load it onto the replacement.” The crew exchanged glances and groans, realizing what a task they had ahead of them.
Within a half an hour, the boys had transferred everything from the Crown to the Ward. Chet was placing his Air-Pack into the holder in his jump seat when he suddenly paused. A strange feeling came over him as he thought about the last time that he had used the device in a Ward. He looked at the seatbelt, and saw “Kelly-Strap” written on it.
“Marco?” he called out over the engine housing.
“Yes, Chet?” Marco responded carefully, out of fear of another attack.
“Does your seat have anything unusual in it?”
“Nope, looks like any other jump seat.” He replied, curiously.
“Well, there is something different about mine! The seatbelt says ‘Kelly Strap!”
“Oh that, yeah, mine says it too. A new guy I worked overtime with over at 3’s said that all of the training rigs have that in them…apparently it’s a new way of trying to get the recruits to strap in. ‘Remember the Kelly Strap,’ they tell ‘em.” Marco was now grinning, thinking about how his friend had become an example, a notorious example, but an example nonetheless.
“But, Marco, if I had been wearing that thing, I wouldn’t be here now…you saw how that cab roof crushed down over my seat.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told him too, but LA is going to make it mandatory for all firemen to be seated and belted in on the Engines.” Chet just shook his head as the tones sounded and the klaxon went off.
***
Having finished up at Rampart, the Squad was now at the Supermart, picking up Marco’s hamburger. Johnny was alternating between trying to scheme up a way to convince Marco to just make burgers, and trying to get the phone number from the cute check-out gal when the portable on Roy’s belt came to life.
“Engine 51, Squad 51, Station 36, Station 127, Engine 116, Deluge and Truck 105, Battalion 14. Structure fire at Finestkind Foods, 112944 Industrial Way. 112944 Industrial Way, cross street Division, time-out 1045.”
Johnny and Roy scrambled from the store, stopping outside the truck to don their turnout gear before responding. Johnny looked back at the store to see his would-be honey with her nose pressed to the window. He threw her a half-wave and smile…she returned it by blowing him a kiss as the Squad pulled out of the parking lot.
***
Onboard the beat-up Ward, Chet and Marco were donning their Air-Packs while Stanley blasted the airhorn. Mike was happy again, he had never really taken to the ’77 Crown, even though it had the same engine and transmission as the Ward. He just never felt like letting Chet know he wasn’t the only one missing “Big Red.” As the Engine crested a hill near the industrial district, Captain Stanley noticed a large loom-up ahead. Even though they were still a mile or two away, he could tell that the structure was well involved.
“LA, Engine 51, I have a large loom-up prior to arrival, send me a 3rd alarm assignment.”
“10-4, Engine 51.” The tones for several additional companies went out over the radio. Chet glanced over at Marco, with a concerned look on his face.
“This is gonna be a big one,” he thought to himself.
***
In the Squad, Johnny looked over at Roy, and said, “I’m trying to remember what Finestkind makes.”
“Food,” was DeSoto’s reply, ‘he really can be a twit sometimes,’ he thought to himself.
“Come on, Roy, I know it’s a food plant, I mean ‘Finestkind Foods,’ come on, even I can figure out that one. What I mean is, what kind of food do they make?”
“I, ah, I guess I’m not sure on that one,” Roy then cursed himself, ‘Junior’ had stumped him. Not for the first time either.
“Man, I KNOW I’ve seen something they made…it’s on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t remember what it was…some kind of soup or something…”
“On the tip of your tongue, geez Johnny, that’s almost bad enough to be a Chet Kelly pun!”
“Chet! That’s it!! Roy, they make that chicken broth Chet hates so much!”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Junior, but doesn’t Chet hate ALL chicken broth? Seems he went a little bonkers this morning at the mere mention of the stuff.” Roy was quickly tiring of this conversation, and was actually looking forward to getting on the scene, if only to shut Gage up!
“Yeah, but he REALLY hates the stuff made by Finestkind…Roy, that’s the brand that smelled like a wet dog!”
“Wet dog?” Roy rolled his eyes, and then quickly kicked himself for asking…he was convinced he really didn’t want to know what in Hell Gage was talking about.
“Roy, when I visited him at his apartment, one day, he had this stuff boiling on the stove, it made the whole place smell like a wet dog! I, ah clear right (they passed through an intersection), I asked him what was smelling so badly, he then told me about the ‘good’ chicken broth with the fat globs, the ‘bad’ broth with runny fat, and the worst stuff, the one that smelled like a wet dog! I didn’t believe him, so I went into his kitchen, and damn if that stuff didn’t smell like a dog that had been soaked to the bone!” Roy just looked sideways at his partner, convinced that the years of concussions had finally taken their toll on him.
“Roy, I know you think I’m nuts, but, oh oh, watch this guy on the left.”
“Yeah, I see him, anyway, you were saying there Dr. Chicken?”
“I was saying, I happened to glance at the empty can on the stove, it said ‘Finestkind Chicken Broth Delux,’ I remember it so well because it smelled so bad, and they misspelled ‘deluxe!” Roy was about to try and shut Gage up, but halted himself. Before them was the burning Finestkind Foods plant. Several companies were already on the scene, including the Engine.
“Well, Junior, I guess Chet will find some ironic humor in this one…”
“Yeah,” was all Gage could utter as he watched the heavy black smoke billow out of the plant.
***
“Kelly, Lopez, grab an inch-and-a-half and do a search on that 1st floor starting at this loading dock!” Captain Stanley barked out his order after a supervisor tugged on his coat, and told him that he thought some men were still inside. When the Captain pressed him for details, the man couldn’t remember for sure. He had been on break at the time the fire alarm sounded, and wasn’t sure who was still on the floor and who wasn’t. After Stanley dispatched Chet and Marco, he looked over to see the Squad coming in the plant gate. He waved them over to stage by the Engine.
As Gage and DeSoto stepped out of the Squad, Stanley yelled to them. “Mask up and follow the line in that loading bay…Kelly and Lopez are in there doing a search, we may have some missing workers! Make it quick, I’m not sure how long this thing’s gonna stay standing!”
“Right Cap!” they said in unison as they opened the compartments and took out their Air-Packs. Quickly donning the units, they went over to the loading dock, and found the inch-and-a-half hose line. Because of the thick smoke, they dropped to their hands and knees, and crawled along the hoseline into the building.
***
Chet was in the lead with Marco following closely behind. They wound up going down a hallway, and found themselves at the foot of a set of stairs. Chet looked back at Marco and gestured with his thumb that they needed to go up them. Marco nodded, pulled in some slack hose, and followed him up. The stairs led to a metal walkway. If it hadn’t been for all the smoke, they would have seen that they were on a catwalk over several large, open-top vats. They had gone maybe 50 feet along the catwalk when an explosion ripped through the building. The West wall had collapsed, and triggered an explosion. Up on the catwalk, Chet dropped spread-eagle on the catwalk as a shock wave rolled over him. Marco also had flattened out, closed his eyes, and yelled-out a prayer in Spanish. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that Chet was missing! He inched his way to the edge of the catwalk, and found only dense smoke. A wave of panic shot through him.
About that time, he felt something smack him on his boot. Turning quickly, he found himself mask to mask with Johnny.
“Where’s Chet?” Johnny asked.
“I don’t know, there was a blast, and when I looked up, he was…gone! I think he went over the side, but all I see is smoke!”
“What’s going on?” Roy asked as he crawled alongside Johnny.
“Chet got blown over the side,” Johnny said. He was already sweeping the beam of his flashlight over the side, trying to cut through the smoke. “Oh shit!” he yelled, he had just caught a flash of the reflective stripe on Chet’s coat.
“Hey, guys! I’m down here, in this vat! Hey, somebody!” Marco, Johnny, and Roy strained to see through the smoke at where Johnny was aiming his light. Sure enough, Chet was barely visible. It appeared he was sloshing around in some kind of liquid, and since they could hear him, they knew he had taken off his facemask.
“I’ll go get some rope and tell the Cap,” Roy said as he turned around and followed the hoseline back outside. Meanwhile, the bell on Marco’s Air-Pack began to ring, signaling that he only had about five minutes of air left in his tank.
“Marco, get out of here, I’ll stay with him until Roy gets back!” Johnny yelled to Marco, and motioned with his thumb. Marco nodded and followed the hose back.
“Hey! Is anybody gonna do anything to get me out of here?” Chet was really sounding panicked.
“Can’t that moron see my light?” Johnny wondered. He really didn’t want to take his mask off with all the smoke, but he knew he had to let Chet know that help was coming. Reluctantly, he took off his mask. Immediately, his nose was assaulted by a horrible smell. At first he feared toxic chemicals in the smoke, but quickly recognized the smell… “Hell, it smells like a wet dog!” Gage then grinned a big shit-eating grin as he realized that Chet’s worst nightmare had come true, he had fallen into a vat of chicken broth from the Finestkind Food Company! “Hang on, Chet, Roy has gone to get some rope so we can haul your ass out of there! Hey, ah how does that stuff taste anyway?”
“SCREW YOU GAGE! Just get me the F___ out of here! NOW!”
“Now, Chet, remember, patience is a virtue!” Gage was almost laughing now, except the smoke was making him cough too much. He put his mask back on, and proceeded to have a hearty laugh. “Probably better this way, he’d kill me if he heard me laughing like this,” he thought to himself. Below, Chet was coughing and cursing up a storm. Fortunately, the smoke was lifting considerably, testimony to the combined firefighting efforts of a 4-alarm complement.
Roy returned along with Captain Stanley and Marco (with a fresh tank). Roy handed Johnny the rope and a harness as he proceeded to tie-off the other end to the railing. Once they had a lifting system rigged, Johnny took his mask off again and yelled at the still cursing Chet.
“Hey, Chet, heads up, we’re gonna toss you a rope with a harness. Drop your Air-pack, and put the harness on. When you’re ready, give a yell and we’ll bring you up!”
“No shit, Gage, no, I thought I’d leave my tank on and go scuba diving in this shit! Just get that damn rope down here!” Johnny put his mask back on, and chuckled to himself as he lowered the rope and harness. Roy and the Capt. positioned themselves so they could haul Chet up.
“Okay, I’m ready, get me the hell out of here!” Chet yelled. As one, the trio pulled on the rope, and hauled Chet up out of his beloved broth. As soon as they could reach him, Johnny grabbed Chet’s hand and helped him the rest of the way onto the catwalk. Chet sat there soaked from head to toe in chicken broth. He was steamed.
Roy and the Capt. exchanged glances as Chet shook his head (sending broth flying every which way). Gage just grinned under his mask, and said, “Let’s get out of here!” Captain Stanley led the way, followed by Marco, Roy, Chet, and Johnny brought up the rear. Once outside, the Capt. turned to Chet.
“What the devil happened in there?”
“Well, Cap, we searched the 1st floor like you told us, when we came to a stairway. Since we hadn’t found anybody yet, I figured we’d just keep on going until we either found something, or ran out of hose. So there we are, on this metal grate flooring, crawling along, when this big explosion hits. Next thing I know, I’m in some kind of tank, bobbing around in some warm liquid. I was gonna keep my mask on, so I wouldn’t drown, but figured nobody would hear me yell if I did that, so I took it off. Right then it hit me, I was in a tank of that F------g chicken broth!” By now, Johnny was almost rolling on the ground with laughter. Captain Stanley shot him a menacing look, which caused Gage to try with great difficulty to stifle his amusement. Roy meanwhile was setting up the Biophone in case he needed to contact Rampart. Marco was sitting on the running board of the Engine shaking his head, and re-thinking his decision NOT to have chicken soup today.
“So, I take my mask off, and I start yelling, then I see Gage’s light, and then I hear the bastard laughing at me!”
“Cap! I didn’t laugh at him! I told him to sit tight and that help was coming! I laughed later after my mask was back on so he wouldn’t hear it!”
“Oh shut up, you twit!” Stanley commanded, “go on, Chet.”
“Thanks, Cap, anyway, so I hear Gage laughing, and I vow to myself that somehow, I’m gonna get even with him….”
“Even for what? I didn’t throw you in that vat for crimeny sakes! Hell I pulled you up even!”
“Allright, the two of you shut up, you’re both giving me a headache! Roy, do you need Chet for anything?”
“No, I don’t think I need to contact Rampart or anything, but I do think he should go in and at least get looked over, Johnny too since he also breathed in some of that smoke.” Gage shot Roy a very dirty look. He wasn’t especially fond of going to the hospital as a patient, and certainly not for breathing in a little smoke. He also was dreading the ride-in with Chet.
“Allright, DeSoto, you take Gage and Kelly in to Rampart, other companies are being released so I don’t think we’ll be needing the Squad. Brice and Bellingham can cover if we do.”
“Ah, Cap?”
“What is it now, Gage?”
“Ah, I was ah, just wondering, do you really want him sitting in the Squad in his ah, present condition?” Johnny took a half step back, not sure what the Cap would do in response. Stanley just looked at him, narrowed his eyes, and then took a deep breath. Pushing his helmet back, he rubbed his eyes, looked at Chet, then back at Johnny.
“Gage, you’ve got a point. Along with everything else today, I don’t need a Squad that smells like a wet dog…Chet, climb into that ambulance over there, and tell them to take you to Rampart, by order of Chief McConkee.”
“Chief McConkee?”
“Never mind! I’m not taking the heat for contaminating an ambulance, now get your ass in there, and get going!”
“Right, Cap,” Chet said as he hustled over to a waiting ambulance. As he explained his situation to the attendants, they looked over at the Cap, Johnny, Roy, and Marco. One shook his head, but it looked like Chet was pleading with him. Chet finally stepped into the back of the patient module, followed by an attendant that opened up the side window, as well as the windows on the rear doors. The attendant then rushed out, slammed the doors, and jumped in up front. The ambulance left at a high rate of speed, with the red lights and siren going. The Cap looked puzzled. Roy just shrugged his shoulders and spoke.
“I guess they want to keep the air moving on the way in…try to ventilate the box.” At that Gage almost fell on the ground laughing, Marco was trying so hard not to laugh that he had tears rolling down his cheeks. Even Roy was having a hard time containing his grin. Captain Stanley just shook his head and walked off. Mike Stoker looked over at the laughing trio, shook his head, and went back to his gages. Mike was happy again; he was working a Ward panel again, and loving every minute of it!
***
A few weeks later, A-shift was gathered in the kitchen enjoying their mid-morning coffee break when the doorbell rang. A UPS man was standing there with a rather cumbersome package addressed to “Fire Station 51, A-shift.” It was from Finestkind Foods, Inc. Captain Stanley signed for it, and hauled it to the table. The crew gathered around it in wonder. Chet looked at it, more puzzled than the others.
“What could they possibly be sending us?” he asked.
“Well boys, I think the invoice here answers that,” Captain Stanley said. “It says one case of Finestkind Homestyle Chicken Broth.” At that, Chet dropped into his chair, paleness coming to his face. The Capt. continued, “it also says here, ‘to Station 51 A-shift, we appreciate all you did to try and save our facility. We also were sorry to hear of the fireman that fell into our vat of broth. We are sure though, that he found it to be the most tasty broth in the world, and are therefore sending you this case with which to make your firehouse meals! Sincerely, the Finestkind Food Company’!” Chet….?”
The crew gathered around Chet, who had passed out on the floor. Even Henry had gotten off the couch to see what the excitement was about. His tongue waving finally revived Chet just as Johnny came rushing in with the drug box. Chet sat up, caught a whiff of Henry, saw the case of broth, and exclaimed “OH F----!” before he went out again!
Author’s note: I’ve been asked for a sequel to “Big Red Meets Her Demise,” and this is what I came up with…a tip of the broth-cup to Jane, “Heather,” and others for their encouragement on this one…. Also, I would like to acknowledge David Boucher’s Devil Wind Fire Wagons, from which I found some info for this tale. I also referred to The Southern California Fire Service Directory by Keith D. Cullom & Scott B. Miller for appropriate companies for this tale and especially for “Big Red’s Demise.”
"A Glimpse of the Past" ©1998 Chris Umscheid. "Emergency!" and its characters © Mark VII Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. This is a work of fiction, and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
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