Report From Rescue Company 1

by BRBrony9

Hot Zone

'Progress report for 10-60 box 7163. At this time, Division 3, Deputy Chief Misty Morning, reports a confirmed nerve agent release on the A/C/E subway line at 42nd St, Port Authority Bus Terminal station. At this time, she is putting entry teams from Rescue 1 and Squad 18 into operation, searching for the source of the release. Engine 44, Ladder 21 and Ladder 35 are about to make entry for patient rescue. PD Emergency Service Unit teams are going in for force protection. We have approximately forty patients at this time. Primary searches of the station are getting underway but will be extremely delayed due to the dangerous conditions. The bus terminal is being evacuated and we are coordinating with PD and Transit to evacuate both the Bus Terminal, the station, and the connected Celestia Square station. This incident is doubtful will hold, K.'

The message to the dispatcher went unheard by the teams of fireponies who had already entered the station, both because of the difficulty in getting signals through the earth and because they were on a different radio channel. The subway network had a system of radio repeaters through which signals could be boosted and relayed, and the repeater at the Bus Terminal had been activated to allow for continuous communications between the incident commanders and the entry teams who were braving the deadly atmosphere of the subterranean platforms.

Ember Blaze followed Captain Grey Spike, the large bulk of his yellow Hazmat suit impossible to miss even in the relatively dim light of the station concourse. The platforms themselves were much more brightly lit, but between them and their goal lay the turnstiles. The metal barriers designed to prevent fare dodging would be as effective as a minefield in keeping out a firepony in full chemical protective gear. There was no way a pony so attired could physically climb over the turnstile, and even if they scanned a valid ticket, the gap was not wide enough for them to squeeze through in their bulky suits. Luckily, all fire companies in the city carried subway keys, which could open the normally locked gates at the side of each turnstile normally designed for Transit staff to move wheelchair-bound passengers through to and from the platforms. Grey Spike had the key in hoof, and unlocked the gate, pushing it open. They had a way through, and the Captain took it, followed closely by Blaze and Flagstaff. The multi-gas detector was constantly monitored, but nothing else was being detected. Only the change in colour of the nerve agent detector paper to yellow indicated there was anything untoward in the air at all. That, and the victims.

As soon as Blaze stepped through onto the platform, he could see bodies. At any one time there could be hundreds of ponies waiting for a train on each platform, but by Celestia's mercy a train had just departed southbound moments before the apparent release of the nerve gas, taking many passengers with it who might otherwise have been exposed. Whether the gas and its carrier had been on board the train and had stepped off to set off their device, or whether they had been waiting on the platform and the perpetrator had simply gotten his or her timing a bit wrong, remained to be seen. It was even possible that they might still be in the station somewhere, maybe overcome by their own weapon or perhaps in possession of a suitable spell that could protect them against it.

That possibility, however remote, was why the police Emergency Service Unit, or ESU, had been called in. The ESU were multi-talented police officers, able to perform in a SWAT role to counter high-risk criminals or terrorists, but equally able to enact diving operations for water rescues and perform some extrications, for instance at car accidents, with their hydraulic tools. Their vehicles were rolling toolboxes, much like the Rescue Companies, but loaded with guns, ballistic shields and flashbang grenades as well as a more limited selection of ropes and cutting gear. There had been much friction between the police and fire departments when the ESU's role had been expanded to include some rescue operations, traditionally the sole preserve of the MFD, who did not take kindly to the police usurping their power and trespassing on their terrain. But that was mostly in the past, and while the more complex and technical rescues such as cave-ins and building collapses would see the fire department in command, it was widely accepted that the ESU could and did operate successfully at other incidents like SCUBA rescues and car accidents.

Their primary mission, however, was still to protect the citizens of Manehattan from armed felons and terrorists, and that was why they were making entry to the subway, clad in the slightly less restrictive form of Hazmat suits, that still provided complete vapour protection and a clean air supply, but permitted more freedom of movement and a better field of vision. They offered less security against gases as they lacked the additional outer layer, but they allowed the ESU members to bring their assault rifles into a hot zone, if there should be the possibility of criminal or hostile contacts. A bulletproof kevlar vest went over their forehooves and protected their upper torsos from any gunfire that might come their way. The same vests couldn't be worn over the bulkier firepony suits, but the idea was that they wouldn't come under fire anyway. A fireteam of four ponies were backing up each fire department entry team, one per platform, just in case the terrorist who had released the nerve gas might still be present, and the team assigned to Rescue 1 followed Grey Spike, Blaze and Flagstaff onto the southbound platform, weapons grasped in thick rubber gloves, not ideal, but still allowing enough dexterity to manipulate the hoof-triggers if they should be required to discharge their weapons to protect themselves or the fireponies.

Ember Blaze looked around the platform. There were bodies strewn across it, some contorted in confused and twisted shapes, others lain flat out prone as though they were on a mortuary slab already. At least two were draped half over the edge of the platform above the tracks, risking decapitation or disembowelment if a train should happen to pass through the station. Transit, however, were meant to be stopping all traffic on every line in the station, not just this one. Blaze hoped so; another train coming in could deliver several hundred passengers onto the platforms, and if they were unaware of the ongoing incident they could walk straight out into an invisible and deadly cloud of nerve gas. A few seconds' exposure would be enough to incapacitate or kill, and there were enough victims to deal with as it was.

But the victims were not Rescue 1's immediate concern. With Hazmat 1 still fighting its way through rush-hour traffic, its expertise and equipment were still not yet available at the scene. That left Rescue 1 and Squad 18 as the best-trained units available for the difficult task of entering the contaminated area, not to recover victims, but to search for and hopefully contain the source of the gas. They had orders from Chief Misty Morning not to tamper with any device they found until Hazmat and the police bomb squad could check it out; there was a strong possibility of an explosive charge being attached to it, some kind of booby trap, or a secondary device in the station designed to detonate and kill first responders who were trying to deal with the first incident. Just because this was clearly primarily a chemical incident didn't mean there couldn't be conventional explosives planted in the station too, prompting extreme caution. Their job was to locate and identify the source, not to mitigate it without the approval of the Hazmat officers and the bomb disposal technicians.

It was hard not to focus on the bodies. They were everywhere, stallions, mares, foals. Businessponies in suits, families of tourists in lurid shirts and sombreros, members of Transit staff. All of them were somepony's son, daughter, father or mother, and while every instinct of a firepony screamed to go and grab them and drag them to safety, that was not Rescue 1's job. That was the job of the Hazmat-Tech Engines, the ladders and the Hazmat-trained medics who were following up behind as part of a second wave of less well-equipped responders, not kitted out for dealing with the actual mitigation or containment of a Hazmat incident, but rather geared up for victim retrieval and rescue. Their task was to bring the casualties topside, to fresh and clear air and to medical assistance and decontamination areas, which were being set up on the streets above by dozens of other emergency workers. A major commitment of personnel would be vital to deal with the numbers of potential victims, especially if the gas spread through the stations before they could be fully evacuated by the police department.

That kind of large-scale thinking was best reserved for the Chiefs. Ember Blaze knew, despite every temptation, he had to stay on mission, and look for any sign of the device which had been used to release the nerve agent. It could have been a bomb, although no explosions had been reported by emergency calls or by Transit cameras. It could have been an aerosol dispersal device, a backpack with a spray nozzle like a gardener might use to apply insecticide. Or it could have been something as simple as opening a sealed vacuum flask and spilling a liquid solution onto the platform. Nothing could be ruled out until the truth had been discovered, and that was on their shoulders.

Blaze stuck close behind Grey Spike, who was still monitoring the multi-gas meter in case of any other contaminants that might affect their ability to safely operate in the subway. The fans had been shut down as ordered, meaning the air in the station was quickly growing stuffy and stagnant, even though it was not a particularly warm day above ground. That was just another obstacle for the fireponies to overcome, for the bulky Hazmat suits were not exactly conducive to radiating body heat away from the wearer, nor were they cooled internally like the actual space suits they drew their nickname from were. Blaze had only been underground for a couple of minutes, but already his visor was starting to fog up thanks to his perspiration, another problem that the level A Hazmat suits had in conjunction with their mobility problems. But it was the only way to guarantee safety against something like nerve gas, which did not need to enter the body through the mouth or nose, like some other chemicals, diseases and pathogens. It could penetrate the tiny pores of the skin with ease, meaning anything less than a completely encapsulating and airtight suit would not protect against the agent which had filled the subway station.

'Rescue 1 to Rescue 1 Irons,' Grey Spike spoke over the radio, addressing Blaze. 'Check those trash cans. Rescue 1 to Rescue 1 Can, check along the tracks. Look for anything suspicious, any aerosol cans or signs of an explosion.'

'Rescue 1 Irons, 10-4,' Blaze replied, with Flagstaff repeating the acknowledgement as she moved to the edge of the platform to look down in case the perpetrator had thrown the dispersal device down onto the train tracks in an attempt to hide it. Blaze did the same with the trash cans along the platform, first checking behind them and beneath them before removing the top to peer inside. The first one he looked at contained just the usual crap; empty fast food boxes and cups, tissues, used gum. The second one was the same, but when he came to the third can halfway down the platform, he spotted something unusual.

'Rescue 1 Irons to Rescue 1, I have a possible device in the trash can,' Blaze informed his Captain, who trotted over. The ESU officers with their assault rifles kept a tight tactical formation, scanning for threats, anything not wearing an MFD or MPD Hazmat suit. It was extremely unlikely that the perpetrator or perpetrators were still around, and if they were, they were most likely among the victims on the platform. It was possible that magic could protect against the nerve agent, but strangely there had been no volunteers willing to test that hypothesis out when the National Chemical & Biological Research Agency had first developed such a deadly concoction.

Inside the trash can when Blaze removed the lid, he had found a plastic shopping bag, unremarkable, just like the ones he had seen in the other cans. But this one clearly contained something hefty, and when he peeled back the bag, he had uncovered an unusual item. It was a black cylinder, perhaps twelve or fifteen inches in length. Duct tape was stuck to it in several places, and several wires connected to a small alarm clock, like those countless Manehattanites had on their bedside tables to wake them for work in the mornings. It was clearly a ramshackle construct, definitely not professional and certainly not stolen directly from the military's stockpiles. It wasn't a nerve gas shell or bomb that could be fired or dropped onto enemy positions, but rather was a home-made dispersal device, probably assembled in the terrorist's basement or garage. The top of the cylinder had open louvers like a shower head; perhaps it was a shower head. The device was simple enough to make for anyone with a decent mechanical bent or engineering skill that was more than just rudimentary. The real question was not where had the device come from, but where had the nerve agent itself come from? Where had the deadly gas which had lain low so many civilians, and Blaze's own brother, been sourced? And more importantly in the short term, was this the only device?