Disclaimer: I don’t own either show, Emergency! or Combat!, but love both equally. This story is for fun, not profit and none is gained except the adulation of the readers.

A big Thank You to my beta readers ~ WhiteQueen ~ WQ, you have improved my story and I will be forever grateful and Miss Maquis ~ Maq ~ for her wonderful last minute touch. Thank you both!

Foreign language denoted with italics and < >

War

By

KT ~ KyngTygr

Katy S.

It was two a.m. when the alarm sounded. The dispatcher’s voice echoed around the empty bay as lights flickered on throughout the building.

“Station 23, Station 51, Station 110, Station 127, Battalion 8, factory fire, 6512 West Vermont, cross street Wyoming. Six, five, one, two West Vermont Street. Time out, 02:00.”

Captain Stanley wrote down the address, picked up the handset, and responded. “Station 51, KMG 365.” He handed Roy the paper and ran to his seat in the engine.

Johnny took the paper and wrote it down in the squad log book. “This is a big one,” he remarked.

“Yea, well, paint factories usually are,” Roy responded, pulling out of the station, as Johnny flipped the switch for lights and siren.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The forest seemed so dark. The young private, William G. Kirby, looked up into the sky, thinking of home. “My feet hurt,” he whispered to Billy Nelson in front of him.

“So? They always hurt, Kirby,” Billy whispered back over his shoulder.

“Ah, you don’t know,” Kirby responded with a quick wave of his hand.

Saunders cleared his throat at the front of the line.

“Sorry, Sarge.” The complaining private looked down at his feet and Doc’s soft voice behind him spoke.

“When we stop, I’ll take a quick look.”

“I don’t think so,” Kirby replied and cringed as he saw the silhouette of his sergeant stop and turn.

Kirby softly cleared his throat and continued on. When he got shoulder to shoulder with Saunders, the sergeant fell in step with him.

“What part of ‘silent recon’ do you have a problem with, Private?”

Kirby knew he was in deep when Saunders used that tone with him. “Sorry, Sarge.”

“Your big mouth could get us all killed if you keep this up. Now, if I hear your voice again, you will be digging your way home. Is that clear?”

Kirby could sense Saunders’ tension in the sentence. This was not the time to argue with the non-commissioned officer. He must have known something the rest of them didn’t. “Yes, Sarge, very clear.”

Saunders moved back up to his position at the front of the line. Ten minutes later, he raised his hand for an all stop.

The five men behind him moved up, as he squatted down to wait for Caje, whom he’d sent out on point. Everyone sipped from their canteens, and watched the trees, leery of the darkness beyond them.

The lithe, dark haired Cajun returned. He pulled his canteen from his hip and took a quick swig before reporting what he had found. “They’re all over the place up there, Sarge.” He sipped again. “I don’t see how we are going to get to the river that way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They could see the glow of the fire over the homes and businesses as they approached. Working their way through the parking lot, searching for the best approach, they saw that people were scattered around in small groups of ten or more watching the fire and smoke billow from the roof. Gage and DeSoto gasped, knowing they were going to have a long, hard night ahead of them. At first glance it didn’t appear that anyone was seriously injured, but looks could be deceiving.

This was not going to be pretty.

Roy parked, got out and retrieved his turnout from the compartment behind the cab. Johnny did the same. The two men met at the compartment containing their oxygen tanks and donned them. They joined the rest of their team beside Captain Stanley.

It fell to him to organize things, because they had arrived first, until the Battalion Chief got there. “John, Roy go check to make sure everyone is out.” The two paramedics nodded and did as instructed. “Chet, Marco let’s get a two and a half on that front wall.” They set to their task.

Cap pulled his handy talkie up to his mouth, “All station’s responding with 51, what’s your ETA?”

“Station 23, ETA six minutes.”

“Station 127, ETA ten minutes.”

“Station 110, ETA three minutes.”

“Battalion 8, ETA fifteen minutes.”

“Copy that. Dispatch, we need another alarm. Fire is large and spreading.”

“10-4, 51,” the dispatcher replied as tones for the second alarm sounded into the darkness.

Stanley ran over to his two paramedics who had set up a temporary triage by the squad. “Is everyone out?”

“The job foreman says everyone got out before the last explosion.” Roy explained, wrapping the arm of an injured worker.

“Good, when you two are done treating the injuries, grab a hose, position yourselves at the loading dock over there, and let’s make short work of this fire.”

“Yes sir,” the paramedics intoned together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air was still and foreboding, setting each hardened soldier on edge. The small squad of men moved quietly through the trees, noting each other’s placement in the dark.

Kirby brought up the rear, holding tightly to his Browning automatic rifle.

Doc had moved up beside the sergeant as they moved into position.

Saunders waved his men in close. As they gathered around their superior, Saunders began with a soft whisper, “One of Love Company’s squad has been pinned down and is being used as bait to lure the entire platoon out. The Germans don’t know about us moving into the area this morning, that’s why we were sent instead of a squad from Item Company.”

“How many men, Sarge?” Littlejohn asked, as he scanned the dark trees.

“From the report we received there are six and a medic. The last call in they received, Sergeant Neil reported that they had been surrounded and pinned down. Our objective is to try to get them out. Caje, how many did you see?”

Caje took a deep breath and squatted down and began drawing in the dirt with his finger. “There are two machine gun placements,” he poked his finger deeply into the dirt in two places, “here and here. Each with four men. I saw three scouts on the perimeter of the area, here,” he drew three lines around the indentations, “here, and here. I didn’t see the squad anywhere, but if I were to guess, I’d say they were right, here.” He stabbed his finger directly between the ‘machine gun placements’ that he had noted.

“How often do the scouts pass?” Saunders asked.

“Every ten minutes.”

Saunders rubbed the stubble on his chin, as an idea formed. He squatted down to Caje’s diagram. “Caje, I want you to take out this guy.” He x’d out one of Caje’s lines. “Kirby I want you to take out this guy,” he x’d out another line. “Nelson, I want you to take out the last guy,” he x’d out the final line. “Littlejohn, you wait here,” he pointed at a place between the two lines, “until Kirby and Nelson rejoin you. Doc and I will wait here,” he pointed directly opposite of Littlejohn’s position, “until Caje can join me. When everyone is in position we’ll use our grenades on the machine guns.” He looked down at his watch. “We’ll go at Oh three hundred.”

He looked each man in the eye. “That gives us forty five minutes. Kirby, Nelson, leave your guns with Littlejohn and use your knives. Caje leave your gun with me.” The four men left for their respective places.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heat radiated out in great waves. DeSoto and Gage trained their inch and a half hose on the flames that lapped up the water and turned it to steam.

Captain Stanley stepped up behind them, touching each of them on the shoulder. An explosion rocked the ground.

Paint cans came out of the building like huge fiery missiles. One hit Johnny, full force, in the middle of his chest, knocking him backwards, making him hit the ground hard, and throwing his helmet clear. His head impacted on the pavement with a sound that could be only described as a sickening thud.

“You okay, Roy?” Stanley asked.

“Yea,” DeSoto wiped his wet hands on his turnout pants.

“John, you okay?” Stanley asked as he looked toward his other paramedic.

Roy knelt next to his partner feeling for a pulse when Gage didn’t respond.

“Cap, Johnny’s got no pulse and he’s not breathing.”

The panic in the blue eyes and usually soft voice, made the Captain pause. Stanley looked around and saw Marco and Chet rising from the ground. ”Chet, Marco!” Stanley hollered. The two men ran over as Cap raised his HT. “Dispatch, this is 51. We have a code I at our location, please respond an ambulance.”

“10-4, 51.”

The four men moved the injured man over to the squad. Chet did compressions while Marco breathed into Johnny’s mouth. DeSoto applied the wires to send a strip to Rampart. He flipped open the bio-phone. “Rampart this is Squad 51.”

“Go ahead, 51,” Dixie McCall responded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caje joined his sergeant and medic, nodding that all had gone as planned.

Saunders looked at his watch. It was oh three hundred. He silently indicated to Doc to stay put.

Doc nodded understanding as the two men moved into a better position.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gage heard the explosions around him and cringed with each detonation. Every muscle in his body hurt.

“Cap?” he called. He knew he wouldn’t be heard over the noise. “ROY!” He shouted.

The heat from the building was gone, and he could feel the cool grass under him. Roy must have moved him away from the building. The explosions changed to gunfire. “What the …” he started to sit up when a huge man landed on top of him, knocking the breath from him.

“What’s wrong with you, Doc? Stay down!” Littlejohn ordered.

Did he just call me Doc?

The paramedic saw the large man’s outline in the dark. Gage rolled onto his belly and looked at the man who spoke. He was dumbfounded. The man was wearing a World War Two soldiers uniform and was firing into the darkness. He heard the bullets hitting the ground all around him.

Another young man crawled up beside Gage, dressed in the same attire. “You okay, Doc?” Nelson asked.

Gage’s mouth dropped open. Why do they keep calling me Doc? Should I know these men? Bullets strafed the ground in front of them and all three men put their faces into dirt. When Gage covered his head with his arm, his helmet didn’t feel ‘right’. He removed it, looking closely at the white background, with the four red crosses emblazoned in them.

“Trying to kill yourself there, Doc? Put that thing back on!” Littlejohn hollered.

Gage complied, immediately. He didn’t want to upset this guy.

“Billy, think you can get a grenade in now?” the big man asked.

“I’ll try.” Laying his M-1 next to him, the young soldier rolled onto his back and pulled the pineapple shaped weapon from under his shirt. Rolling back to his stomach he put his finger in the ring.

“I’ll cover, you throw,” Littlejohn ordered. The one called Billy nodded, pulled his knees and hands up under him. “NOW!” Both men got to their knees, one firing his weapon, the other pulling the pin and throwing with all his might. The two dropped in unison, covering their heads with their arms.

Gage felt the vibration of the explosion under him, then silence. The two men cautiously got up and moved forward.

The big man called out, “All clear, Sarge!”

“DOC,” Nelson yelled running back to where they had come from. “Kirby is hit!”

Gage was afraid to move. He slowly sat up on his knees and looked at himself. He wasn’t wearing his turnout gear; he was wearing a World War Two medic’s uniform.

Another man went flying past him wearing the same outfit, the bag in his hand almost hitting the young paramedic in the face. Gage turned and sat watching events unfold before his eyes.

A man with a French accent stepped up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, Doc?”

Gage looked up into another soldier’s dirty, weary face. He didn’t know how to respond.

“Looks like you were the lucky one in this squad.” The young man looked over the battlefield and crossed himself, bowing his head briefly. “Sarge.”

A man walked over from where the others were gathered. Gage saw the sergeant stripes as he neared. “Any others, Caje?” Saunders said as he neared.

“No, he’s the only one.”

“I’m Sergeant Saunders from King Company. What’s your name, Doc?”

“John Gage, but I’m not a Doc.”

“You wear the helmet, you’re a doc,” Saunders replied. “Are you wounded?”

Gage took a moment to check himself. “No, sir,” Gage responded back.

Saunders shook his head as he lowered it, placing a hand on his helmet. “How long have you been out here, Doc?”

“Not long, sir,” Gage said as he started to stand.

Caje stifled a snicker, he knew what was coming.

“I can tell,” Saunders said. “Never call a non-com sir.” He turned and went back to his other men.

Caje patted the medic’s shoulder, leaving his hand there.

“His bark is worse than his bite, don’t let it bother you.” Caje told him. They followed Saunders back to the others. “My name is Paul LeMay, but you can call me Caje.”

They joined the others. “Is he gonna be okay, Doc?” Nelson asked.

“He’ll be fine, Billy.” Doc sprinkled sulfa on the bullet wound in Kirby’s leg and tied a tourniquet on it. “A couple of days in the aid tent and he’ll be back to his old complaining self. Looks like the bullet didn’t hit anything vital.”

“We’ll be hearing about this battle for a while,” Littlejohn commented.

Caje began the introductions. “The young one over there is Billy Nelson. The big guy is Littlejohn, the wounded one is Kirby, and we just call our medic Doc.” Each man nodded at the mention of his name, except Kirby.

Saunders spoke, “Billy, you and Littlejohn make a litter. We’ve got a way to go and I don’t think Kirby is up for the trek.” Saunders looked at Caje. “Caje, you and I will do a quick recon up a head, make sure it’s clear.”

Billy and Littlejohn moved off to find something to make a litter. Saunders and Caje turned and disappeared into the dark.

Gage knelt down at the wounded man’s head and checked his carotid. “His pulse is rapid and thready.” He looked down at one of the pouches at his side, lots of bandages but no pen light. He checked the other pouch, scissors, medications, and more bandages. Stuff he was familiar with, but unused to carrying on his sides. “Anything I can do to help?” Gage asked.

“No, I think I’ve got the bleeding stopped.” Doc looked up at the young medic and saw blood trickling down the side of his face. “Here, let me take a look at that.” Doc stepped over to Gage’s side and removed the helmet. “You have yourself a real nice goose egg.” Doc reached into his bag, grabbed a bandage and another packet of sulfa.

“I’m okay, really.” Gage tried to reassure the medic. The one called Doc touched a sore spot and Gage flinched.

“Hurts, don’t it? I told you, you have a nasty bump on your head. I don’t think I got your name.” He finished his first aid treatment of the wound and Billy and Littlejohn returned with the makeshift litter.

“It’s Gage, John. You can call me Johnny.”

“Nice to meet you, Johnny Gage.”

The four men lifted Kirby onto the litter. Doc checked the tourniquet, satisfied it was doing the job it was meant to do.

Saunders returned. “Doc and Gage get Kirby. Littlejohn, Nelson, behind them. Let’s go.” He turned and headed in the direction that he’d just come from.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny couldn’t believe what he was doing. It was dark and he could barely see the outline of the sergeant in front of him.

“You okay, Gage?” Doc asked in a soft whisper.

“Yea,” he responded over his shoulder. “Your buddy Kirby is heavy.”

Doc’s smile could be heard in his response. “Why do you think I gave you that end?”

Johnny grinned into the darkness and shook his head. “I guess I should say thanks, then.”

“We’ll switch when Sarge calls for a stop,” Doc replied.

“Okay,” Johnny stated, as he shifted his grip to get a better hold on the litter. Five minutes later he saw the sergeant stop suddenly and wave his free hand. He felt the litter jerk to a stop in his hands and he stopped as well. The back end of the litter began to lower to the ground so he followed suit. He squatted down and checked Kirby’s carotid while Doc checked the tourniquet.

He heard movement from behind as Billy and Littlejohn moved up on either side of him to meet up with their superior. Saunders whispered something to the two privates and they moved on ahead.

He then came back to the two medics. “You two stay here, Caje sees something up ahead.” Saunders whispered and then moved off to join his other men. Doc nodded and sat down, Johnny mimicking his movement.

“Where are you from?” Johnny asked the medic.

“Shh,” the experienced medic got his feet up under him and squatted, staring into the shadows.

Johnny sensed the tension and watched the area the medic’s attention was drawn to. It sounded like footsteps on dry leaves. Gage froze, as he heard foreign voices from the darkness. He glanced over at Doc who waved him down to the ground. He did as instructed, laying flat on his belly with his nose to the dusty trail that they had taken.

<“Hande hoch,”> a deep voice ordered. Gage looked over at Doc, who started to stand with his hands in the air.

“We’re medics taking a wounded man back. Don’t shoot,” Doc explained.

<“Hande hoch,”> the voice shouted again. Doc turned to Gage.

“He wants you to stand with your hands up.”

Gage nodded, rising with his hands high. Four German soldiers moved out of the darkness toward them. One stepped up to Kirby and inspected the make-shift litter and checked for weapons. The other two soldiers searched the medics roughly, taking their rucksacks, while the one who spoke held a schmeisser trained on them.

The three soldiers returned to their sergeant’s side.

“What are you doing here at this time of night?” The German sergeant asked with a thick accent.

“We’re taking a wounded soldier back to our aid station,” Doc said.

“That does not explain your presence here.”

“We were part of the squad you obliterated back there,” Gage replied. “It’s taken us this long to get this far.”

The German soldier took a step and stood nose to nose with the taller American. “You still have not answered my question. Medics do not wander the forests at night looking for wounded soldiers. Where are the others?”

“There are no others,” Doc began. “We are the only ones left of our squad. The rest of them are lying back there,” he nodded his head in the direction that they had come from, “dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caje heard voices and motioned for the other three to get down. Saunders, Nelson, and Littlejohn crept up to the Cajun. Caje pointed at his ear, then at his mouth, indicating he’d heard something. Saunders nodded and motioned for Billy and Littlejohn to move around behind the Krauts. He motioned to Caje for him to move to the opposite side of the road. The four got set up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I was just there. I thought you might be headed back to your camp,” the German officer explained. “I wanted to see if your explanation met up with my assumption.” He turned and stepped back to his men. With a nod of his head the men raised their weapons. “I can not let you make it back to your lines.”

“WHAT?” Gage stepped forward. Doc grabbed John’s arm before he did something really stupid. Gage pulled away from the firm grip. “You can’t be serious. We’re medics, you can’t just shoot us.”

“Who says?”

“But we have no weapons and aren’t a threat to you.”

“Ah, but you are a threat to me. You repair other soldiers to fight another day. That I can not have.”

One of the trigger-happy German privates fired his weapon at the confrontational medic hitting him in the chest.

John Gage looked down at his chest in shock. The bullet had ripped through his rib cage.

“Roy,” he whispered as he fell to his knees. He held the wound, falling face first to the ground. He felt his heart slow as his blood seeped out into the dry earth beneath him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roy watched the monitor as John’s heart showed irregular beats. “Rampart, patient is in ventricular fibrillation.”

“51, four hundred watt seconds,” Brackett stated into the microphone, as he stared at the paper tape coming from the monitor.

“10-4, Rampart,” Roy tossed the phone down into the box and grabbed the paddles. Pushing the charge button, Roy listened to the power build up. He looked at the machine, then at Marco and Chet. “Clear,” as he placed the paddles on Gage’s chest, sending the current coursing through the heart muscle. “Rampart we have conversion. Ambulance is here and will transport immediately. ETA 15 minutes. Will transmit vitals in route.”

“10-4, 51.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saunders watched the gunfire. “Damn.” He stepped from behind the tree, his finger on the Thompson’s trigger.

“DOWN, DOC!” he shouted as his three other men began firing their M-1’s. Doc dove on top of Gage to protect the wounded medic. A bullet tore through his bicep, making it useless and causing him a moment of unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny heard the familiar noises of hospital activity and a soft conversation taking place. He remained still, listening to the two voices.

“When do I get to go home?”

“When the rest of us get to go home, soldier.”

What? Johnny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Gage turned his head and looked at the private lying on the cot beside him.

“Well, at least I get to spend time with an angel,” the injured soldier said, reaching a hand out to touch the soft skin of tenderness. The sweet nurse moved quickly away from the roaming hand, trying not to be obvious about her quick retreat.

“Aw, Kirby leave the girl alone,” Doc reprimanded. “She probably has a fella back home.”

“She’s a cutie,” Kirby responded.

“I’m sure you say that to all your nurses, private Kirby.” She smiled kindly. “Now get some sleep.” The nurse patted the soldier’s shoulder and left.

“Nice to see you awake, Gage,” Doc said, his arm bandaged and in a sling.

“I thought I was dead.”

“Fortune has smiled on you, Gage; nothing vital was hit. Littlejohn carried you back. It’s a good thing we weren’t that far from base camp.”

“You were hit, too?”

“Ah, it was just a through and through. Caje fixed it up for me.”

“I’m glad,” Gage replied, staring up at the dirty ceiling of the make-shift hospital. “I wanna go home,” he whispered.

“Well, I think this injury has clinched that,” Doc commented.

“Lucky guy,” Kirby said. “You wanna know how many times I’ve said that?”

“Probably as many times as the rest of us have,” Doc said, the sadness of home in his eyes. “Your transport home should be here soon, so why don’t you get some sleep.”

Gage nodded and closed his eyes, thinking of home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, Roy, let’s go get some coffee,” Dixie McCall, said slipping her arm through his. DeSoto nodded and opened the door to the hallway of Rampart General. “The orderly will get him settled in his room and then we’ll go up and check on him.” Dixie felt like she was pulling the paramedic toward the lounge. “He’ll be fine; you know Johnny.”

Roy smiled, “Yea, the boy has nine lives.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Someone was moving him. Gage felt the smooth movement of the wheels stop and he heard the ding of an elevator. A part of him was afraid to open his eyes. The ding sounded again and he heard the doors slide open. The wheels bounced over the threshold of the elevator and then the gurney stopped again.

Gage was going over the events that had brought him to this place. He shouldn’t have listened to Chet about that World War II movie. That’s what it was. He was experiencing the movie in his mind. They would put him in the psych ward for sure if he told any one. It was all just a horrible dream.

“Hold the door,” a voice shouted. “Thanks, sixth floor please.”

Gage couldn’t place the familiar voice. He opened his eyes and saw the elevator ceiling light. Turning his head to the right he saw the orderly and the wall. He turned his head to the left and saw an older gentlemen staring at the numbers as they crept ever slowly up. He was older, but it was him.

“Doc?” Gage whispered.

The gentleman’s head lowered at the soft sound. He hadn’t been called that in over forty years. He had come to Rampart to visit with his grandson and wasn’t expecting to run into anyone who knew him. When he looked at the young man on the gurney he inhaled sharply, losing the smile that had found its way to his face.

“John?” The elevator stopped on the cardiac floor and the orderly wheeled the paramedic out. Doc hesitated and the doors closed, carrying him upward. Nah, that had to be Gage’s son. Doc reasoned with himself. After all, that’s the only logical explanation that made any sense.

THE END