Report From Rescue Company 1

by BRBrony9

Coming Up For Air

'Progress report for your 10-60, Box 7163. At this time, Car 3, Chief of Department Starfire Storm has a confirmed nerve agent release on the A/C/E subway line at 42nd Street, Port Authority Bus Terminal. Entry teams have located one suspected dispersal device and searches are continuing for any additional devices. At this time we have approximately fifty patients in the station and are in the process of removing them from the platforms for treatment and decontamination. In addition we are receiving numerous additional casualties from other subway lines and from the bus terminal complaining of symptoms. We currently have six confirmed black tags, five red tags, eleven yellow tags and thirty six green tags. Searches of the station will be delayed due to the hazardous conditions and the number of victims. Car 3 is requesting one additional MERV and two additional MRTUs to be special called to the scene, as well as two additional engine companies for first aid purposes due to the potential for large numbers of victims. Also special call an additional RAC unit and one additional CPC Ladder. At this time the incident remains doubtful, by orders of Chief of Department Starfire Storm, K.'

'10-4, Car 3. This report received at 18:02 hours, duration of your incident is now 27, twenty seven minutes, K.'

Hazmat 1 had finally been able to force its way through heavy midtown traffic to arrive at the bus terminal, where its expertly-trained crew had suited up and headed underground to assist the Rescue with their unsettling discovery. While Rescue 1 was trained well in hazardous material operations, Hazmat 1 was the premiere unit to deal with the actual mitigation of the release of a chemical or other dangerous substance. They had far more equipment for such operations, and with their arrival, responsibility for the safe removal of the device, in combination with the bomb squad, who had to determine if there were any secondary devices attached to it that might pose a threat.

Rescue 1 took a back seat, standing by to assist if needed with the transfer of equipment or setting up for the removal of the device. The chemical protective clothing Ladder Companies made steady progress removing the victims from the platform, but they had been exposed to the nerve agent for at least thirty minutes, gasping down clouds of the deadly vapour with each tortured breath. The chances were extremely slim that any of them would survive, but that was the dilemma of Hazmat operations- the rescuers, so used to charging into a fire and dragging choking victims to the safety of fresh air using only their standard bunker gear for protection, had to delay their efforts while the condition on the platform was monitored and until they could dress in the cumbersome environment suits that would keep them safe. Suddenly, Blaze found himself with nothing to do except stand by and wait for orders, which gave him plenty of time to worry. The sight of the bodies being removed one by one by the CPC companies and the Haz-Tech engine personnel, their cold, pallid faces gazing emptily at the ceiling, brought him out of his focus on the job, and reminded him of the painful truth that made his mouth dry- his own brother had been exposed to the same thing that had killed these ponies. His own brother could share their fate.

The stretcher burst through the doors of Meadowbrook Memorial Hospital's emergency department. One paramedic pumped a bag-valve oxygen mask. A nurse and an orderly helped to move the stretcher into the trauma bay, while the other paramedic rattled off a string of vital signs to the doctor who trotted alongside them. 'Male earth firepony, exposed to nerve agents. Tachycardic, pulse is 115. Sats are 90, BP is 140 over 100, GCS is 14. Antidote kit administered at the scene.'

The medical staff wheeled the stretcher into place, and the trauma team sprang into action, transferring the patient over to the bed, hooking up intravenous drips and an oxygen supply, connecting EKG leads to the victim's chest, preparing an additional supply of atropine in case his heart rate should drop again. It was a well-oiled ballet of concerted expert action, honed by countless trauma and cardiac victims, drug overdose cases and strokes, who would be wheeled into the busy hospital every single day. 'We have two more fireponies coming in,' the paramedic continued, 'same exposure, similar condition. You'd better activate your mass casualty plan if you haven't already, doc. They're probably gonna bring most of the civilians here.'

Ember Dawn stared up at the ceiling of the hospital, where bright lights shone down straight into his eyes. He was alive, and he was conscious; hadn't passed out, so far as he could remember. He just had memories of being unable to move, unable to will his body or his muscles to cooperate with the demands his brain was issuing. He had fallen, feeling his breathing and his pulse slowing; the heart and the diaphragm were both muscles, and their function was rapidly degraded by exposure to significant quantities of nerve agent, as a function of its effect on the transmission of the body's electrical impulses from the brain which drove every aspect of pony physiology and the maintenance of life itself. Luckily, the rapid administering of the antidote kit by the other members of his crew had certainly saved his life, temporarily at least. Dawn wasn't a doctor, and he didn't feel in any more control now than he had when he had been lying on the street. He felt scared, confused, worried about Striker and Lieutenant Coppertop. Were they alright? The paramedic had just said other fireponies were coming in, two of them. That had to be his crew. Similar condition, he had said...but Dawn didn't know what state he was in, other than being alive and awake.

'Dawn? Can you hear me?'

A face appeared above him, or rather, moved from his peripheral vision to hover right over his own. 'My name is Doctor Morpheus, can you hear me? Don't try to speak, just nod if you can,' he added. Dawn slowly nodded his head.

'Do you know what happened to you?' the doctor asked. 'Just nod or shake your head.' Dawn nodded again. He knew exactly what had happened.

'Alright, that's good. You're in Meadowbrook Memorial hospital and we're going to take care of you, alright?' Morpheus assured him, shining a pen light into each eye in turn. Dawn nodded again; there was nothing else he could do. His body felt weak, and even the effort of nodding his head made him feel like he was trying to swim through treacle. It was a concerning feeling, but one that was entirely to be expected after exposure to a nerve agent, as the doctor was quick to inform him.

'All of your vital signs are stable,' Morpheus explained. 'We're going to keep you hooked up to the EKG to monitor your heart, and keep you on oxygen to help your lungs recover from the exposure to the gas. There's no indication yet that there will be any long term damage or complications but obviously we'll need to keep an eye on everything. It's not often we get a patient exposed to an actual military grade nerve agent...well, anywhere in Equestria, really. Just relax. You're in good hooves. Don't try to move yet, your body will be weak. That's the effect of the gas on your nerves, temporarily weakening your control over your muscles. It'll wear off. You got the antidote in good time and we're giving you all the appropriate treatment to deal with the after effects.'

That helped calm Dawn down somewhat, though obviously it could not alleviate his fears entirely. No firepony wanted to be taken to the hospital, especially during such a major incident, and most especially not from an invisible foe that they could not have possibly been able to legislate against when they first arrived at the scene. There had been no indication of anything untoward; they had been called to a medical run, of the kind they attended perhaps half a dozen or more on a typical tour. Pony unconscious on the platform, the call had said. Most likely to either be a homeless pony trying to sleep, or a drunk or drug addict who had keeled over, but of course could be a heart attack, fainting spell, or stroke as well. But a nerve agent attack? Nothing had suggested that to them. There had been no calls of multiple ponies down, or of an explosion, or any kind of police activity, or of any mist, smoke or fumes in the station- at least, not when they had arrived and begun their descent down the stairs into the toxic atmosphere. Any warnings to the emergency phone number had come too late.

Another stretcher was wheeled in beside his bed and the same tried and tested formula was conducted by the trauma team to transfer the new arrival to a bed. 'Male firepony, Pegasus, exposed to nerve agents. Tachycardic, pulse 120, Sats 89, BP is 140 over 90, GCS 13. Antidote kit administered at the scene,' a different paramedic was informing a different doctor. Dawn knew it had to be Striker, but he found he couldn't force his head or neck to turn far enough to look at his friend, thanks to the effects of the gas. The doctor, Morpheus, had assured him that he would be alright, but after how long? How long would it take for this to wear off? Would it ever wear off? Would be be, if not quite paralysed, then at diminished capacity in a physical sense? Would he ever be able to return to work, to the job that he loved, the job that his father had raised him and the department had trained him to do?

It was far too early to answer any of those questions. Another stretcher was wheeled in, and a similar string of numbers read out. 'Antidote kit administered at the scene.' It must be the Lieutenant. Dawn closed his eyes; at least he could control that much. The lights above were bright, and shining right into his face. He knew there was nothing he could do but rest and do whatever the doctors told him. But his brother, and many other fireponies, were still down at 42nd Street, fighting the good fight as they did every day. The incident was over for Dawn, but not for the Manehattan Fire Department.

Ember Blaze climbed the stairs back to the surface, a slow task in the cumbersome Hazmat suit, one step at a time, making sure he had a firm hoofhold before advancing. He was heading for safety, but he wasn't there yet. Another problem with the Level A suits was that, due to the air tank being fitted inside the suit to ensure a completely impervious barrier between the firepony and the atmosphere outside, there was no way to replace the tank without removing the entire suit, and removing the suit meant that it had to be decontaminated before the firepony could take it off, lest he or she become a victim thanks to potential contamination from whatever harmful substance the suit had been designed to protect them from adhering to the outside of the suit. Likewise, this meant that whoever was doing the decontamination had to be suitably protected as well if the hazard could cause severe injury or death, tying up more personnel and equipment. Hazmat operations were extremely time and ponypower consuming as a result of the need to keep the clean zone clean and stop the spread of potentially deadly chemicals or pathogens to an area where there were unprotected fireponies, medics, police and civilians.

Thanks to the hot and draining working conditions in the subway and in the Hazmat suit, the MFD limited entry teams to a maximum of 20 minutes actual operating time, despite carrying air tanks that could last for one hour. Blaze still had plenty of air left; the 15 minute low air warning hadn't yet sounded, but he and the rest of Rescue 1 were being pulled out as a matter of routine. He might be sent back in, after proper decon and a rest, but for now, Blaze was leaving the hot zone. They had found the dispersal device, and turned it over to Hazmat and the bomb squad, who had determined there were no secondary bombs or other devices attached to it, or tucked away elsewhere in the trash can. The device had been secured inside an air-tight vacuum-sealed container, for transport to the National Biological & Chemical Research Agency labs, located out in the borough of Princess, for examination. The precise chemical composition of the gas would be analysed in great detail; the labs were experts at determining such things, and could use that fact to establish such things as the location from which some of the component chemicals were sourced- even, in conjunction with police or Royal Guard investigations, exactly which store or laboratory the chemicals had come from, which could prove vital in deciphering which individual or individuals were behind the terror attack which had shut down midtown and poisoned a station full of ponies.

The street above was a picture of orgainsed chaos now. There were no sirens; all of the units which had been summoned by the major emergency signal had arrived on scene already. The distinctive whir of a police helicopter, as well as several news choppers, echoed around the artificial canyons of midtown, ringed by skyscrapers and other tall buildings. There were dozens of emergency vehicles dotted around the intersection and down the avenue toward 40th Street, the designated staging area for the incident. Serried ranks of ambulances were stationed just west of the 42nd Street subway entrances, lined up on the north side of the bus terminal and awaiting patients. The MERVs and MRTUs, Major Emergency Response Vehicles and Mobile Respiratory Treatment Vehicles respectively, were treating many of the victims from the bus terminal itself who had managed to catch small doses of the gas as it seeped up from the subway, enough to induce minor to moderate symptoms but not enough to kill. The MRTUs were equipped with numerous oxygen feeds and masks, and could provide pure oxygen to the victims of a major fire who were suffering from smoke inhalation, or equally to the survivors of a nerve gas attack to help clear their lungs. The MERVs provided somewhere warm to treat any other injuries, or simply to house the walking wounded, those who didn't need immediate transport to the hospital. Decontamination pools had been set up along with showers. Hose lines were stretched to provide rapid and basic decontamination of survivors who needed immediate transport, and the decon shower unit, a large articulated truck with walk-through showers inside, had arrived after being raced up the Luna Drive with a police escort to provide mass decontamination for hundreds of ponies per hour.

Blaze made his way to the decon pool, guided by another firepony in protective gear, a splash-proof suit, boots, self-contained breathing apparatus, the next step down from the full space suit Blaze wore. Decon would be as tedious a process as being helped into the suit in the first place, but it was vital, especially today. As he stood in the inflatable pool of hypochlorite solution and water, raising each leg as instructed so the firepony could scrub his suit down with a broom coated in bleach and other cleansing agents, Blaze had time to reflect on the operation so far, and on the way it had started- with his own brother potentially succumbing to the gas after being unknowingly exposed. He still didn't know if Dawn had been one of those who had gone down into the subway, but he thought it was likely. He didn't feel the cold, hard grip of fear that would tell him that Dawn was dead, or at least, that he imagined he would feel, somehow, subconsciously, if he were to lose his brother. That gave him reason to hope, but until he was out of his suit, he would just have to wait and pray.