Report From Rescue Company 1

by BRBrony9

Staying In Control

Progress report for Manehattan 10-60 4th Alarm Box 0711, 57th Street and 11th Avenue. Division 3, Deputy Chief Misty Morning reports she has an aircraft down into multiple structures. We have five lines stretched and in operation, one tower ladder being set up. Primary searches of the aircraft are now underway. A patient count is in the process of being taken in conjunction with EMS. Searches of the buildings involved will be delayed but are underway, addresses to follow. Chief Misty Morning requests one additional tower ladder and one additional satellite company. This incident remains doubtful will hold, K.'

If the situation on the ground was confusing, the situation at the command post was almost crazed. Controlled chaos just about covered it. Everypony knew what they were doing, but they all lacked a key overall picture of exactly what was happening. They lacked the birds-eye view that a satellite might have been able to provide them. The air recon helicopter was on the way, which could relay video footage to the command post, but until then, the only aerial perspective the chiefs could get was from Pegasi flapping above the streets.

Deputy Chief Misty Morning was an experienced commander, but this was probably the most confusing and widespread incident she had been involved in, even more so than the recent gas attack. Clearly it was spread across several streets and numerous buildings, to say nothing of the aircraft itself, and it would take time and more reports from units to determine the full scale of it. Not that there was any shortage of reports coming in.

'Engine 40 to command, we have a victim in front of 250 West 58th, send EMS!'

'Ladder 35 to command, urgent! We have fire extending from the roof of 755 11th Avenue to exposure four! We need at least one line on the, uh...fifth floor of exposure four here, K!'

'Ladder 24, mayday mayday mayday! We have a collapse of the facade at 276 West 56th, possible civilians trapped!'

'Battalion 10 to all north sector units, be advised, EMS is establishing triage on West 58th at 11th Avenue. Bring all north sector victims to 58th and 11th for treatment.'

'Satellite 1 calling Battalion, uh...Satellite 1 calling Manehattan, does Division 3 have any special instructions for this unit, K?'

'Marine 1 to command, we are 10-84 with our fast boat, we have nothing showing at the river. Suggest that this is one and the same with your incident and we just have the one aircraft involved, K. Do you want the big boat to standby at 57th and the West River for water relay?'

'Car 6 calling Division 3 on the 800.'

'Hazmat Battalion calling Division 3 on the 800MHz, K.'

'Ladder 7 to command, we have eight victims, gathered in the lobby of 802 11th Avenue. Is there a safe route to EMS, K?'

Deputy Chief Misty Morning had to juggle all of these competing calls for attention, separating the most important calls from those that could wait a little longer to be answered. A mayday was the most vital, then an urgent signal, but her superior officer was also on the 800MHz radio. Car 6 was the Manehattan Borough Commander, Assistant Chief Honeysuckle, who would relieve Misty Morning as incident commander once she arrived at the scene. But she would have to wait.

'Command to Ladder 24, 10-4. Is there any further imminent danger of collapse there, K?' Misty Morning questioned.

'Ah, negative, Chief. Looks like the whole frontage came down,' came the reply. 'Building itself looks stable.'

'10-4 Ladder 24, I'm sending Squad 1 and Ladder 1 to assist with the searches. EMS is also assigned,' she informed the officer, before moving on to the next priority. 'Command calling Ladder 35?'

'Ladder 35!'

'Ladder 35, copy your urgent. I have no spare engines at this time but as soon as one rolls 84 I'll assign them to that exposure. Do you have an address for exposure 4?'

'757 11th Avenue, K, that's exposure 4!' the Lieutenant called. 'We have fire on the fifth floor here and we have no engine company on the scene! We have fire burning in three buildings here, all six story brownstones and we have no engine companies on scene!'

'10-4, Ladder 35. I'll get you two engines and a satellite. Set up your bucket for offensive operations, I'll assign another ladder to continue those searches.'

Now the dispatcher was calling. The command post was set up at the corner of 57th Street and 10th Avenue, close enough to the scene to smell the jet fuel and feel the acrid smoke wash across their faces, but far enough away to not be in danger. The staging area had been set as 10th Avenue and 56th Street, just south of the command post, on the basis that 10th Avenue traffic flowed south to north, and the majority of responding units, especially those from the Special Operations Battalion, would be coming in from the south or southeast. A string of vehicles were already present, but to add to the problems facing Misty Morning, some of them were needed elsewhere. At many incidents, vehicles parking at the staging area would remain there while their crews and necessary equipment walked to the scene so as not to clog up the street in front of the fire building or collapse site. But this was such a widespread event with multiple buildings involved, that engines were needed in many locations to hook up to hydrants or standpipes in order to extinguish fires, and ladders were needed not just to search damaged structures, but to provide access to upper floors and potentially to provide heavy-caliber water streams to fight major blazes such as the row of burning stores and the trio of brownstones Ladder 35 had reported. Those vehicles had to get into the scene and in front of the fire buildings as quickly as possible.

'Division 3 calling Car 6 on the 800MHz,' Misty Morning switched radios. Her white helmet was not the only one at the command post, as Battalions 8 and 11 had arrived. She had assigned the two stallions as staging area manager and resource unit leader respectively, with Battalion 6 being assigned as firefighting chief, Battalion 9 as south sector command, Battalion 10 as north sector command, and Battalion 2, still on the way to the scene, as patient coordinator. As each unit arrived, they parked up at the staging area unless given specific instructions to go elsewhere.

'Car 6 on the 800. We have Division 6 responding in as well, correct?' Chief Honeysuckle asked.

'10-4, Chief, Division 6 is en route,' Misty Morning replied.

'Alright, I'll be on scene in a couple of minutes. When I get there I want you to head over to 57th and 11th and take charge of the operations sector. I'll be IC until Car 3 arrives, and Division 6 will be at the command post with me as planning chief,' Honeysuckle ordered, a complex redistribution of roles but one which was vitally important. The scale of the incident meant that a Deputy Chief, a more senior rank, would be needed to oversee major sections of the incident. Once more senior officers such as Honeysuckle and eventually Chief of Department Starfire Storm arrived, they could be deployed to take over as sector commanders from Battalions 9 and 10.

'10-4, Chief,' Misty Morning replied. 'At this time we have approximately fifteen buildings involved with some degree of fire or damage. We're still trying to gauge the full extent of the incident and awaiting air recon.'

'10-4, Division 3. Do you have an approximate patient count at this time?' Honeysuckle inquired.

'Negative, uh...EMS is establishing triage now at 58th and 11th. I have their Captain here...standby, K.' Misty Morning turned to the EMS Captain, wearing his orange turnout gear that distinguished the paramedics from the fireponies. 'Captain, any word on patient numbers yet? Anything preliminary?'

The Captain, the EMS liaison at the command post, shook his head. 'Not really, Chief. We have a minimum of ten patients but that's gonna shoot up once they gain access to the jet and some of those buildings. We've set up a triage point and we have the MERVs coming in. We should think about commandeering a city bus or two for the walking wounded as well, in case we run out of space.'

'I'll let the transit liaison know...where is she?' Misty Morning looked around. There was no sign of anypony in the uniform of Manehattan Transit, who ran the buses and subways. 'Not here yet? Typical, just like their buses...' she muttered, before getting back on the radio. 'Division 3 calling Car 6, EMS says ten patients at this time but they expect the numbers to rise significantly. Do we have a passenger manifest from the airline yet? We can confirm it's a Royal Air Equestria EA-90 passenger jet, K.'

'Not at this time, Division 3,' Honeysuckle answered. 'HQ is in contact with the airport tower and they're gonna try and get one and send it over to us. If it's an EA-90 that can carry three hundred passengers or more, so I'd consider requesting additional EMS resources. What do you have right now? Do you have sufficient medical resources on scene there, Division 3?' she questioned, knowing there could be hundreds of patients needing treatment.

'EMS has a major incident plan in place,' Misty Morning replied. 'We have a disaster team coming from Meadowbrook, and I've special called an additional MERV and MRTU. EMS liaison is suggesting we get a couple of city buses here for the walking wounded and I agree with him, K.'

'10-4, I concur,' Honeysuckle answered. 'Grab a couple if you can. If there aren't any around then I'll make a call to OEM.'

'10-4,' Misty Morning responded. OEM was the city's Office of Emergency Management, a kind of umbrella agency above the emergency services that was designed to help coordinate responses to major incidents such as floods, terror attacks and other large scale scenarios that required unified and joined-up action from multiple agencies. This was a collapse and fire incident, both of which were among the key roles assigned to the MFD as their specialties, but there were other aspects that would have to be considered. Ponegen, the gas and electricity company, would have to send a coordinated response to cut power to damaged buildings in order to help control fires and make collapsed buildings safe. Transit might be required to shut down subway lines and redirect buses, as well as provide buses for housing walking wounded or evicted residents. The water company would be needed to shut down damaged mains, redirect the flow and ensure working hydrants. Housing would have to find places for the tenants of damaged buildings to stay while repairs were conducted, or perhaps more permanent homes if buildings were torn down. The mayor would need to be contacted, as well as the Princess and the national governement. Air safety investigators would have to be sent to the scene. Liaison with the airport and airline would be required in order to establish who was on board and what might have caused the incident.

There was a lot to do, but the wheels of bureaucracy were already creaking into action at a higher level, letting Misty Morning and the fireponies under her focus on the task at hoof; saving lives and protecting property. That was what they were best at, after all.

A ladder had been propped up against the end of the fuselage, where it had broken off from the nose section. The main body of the jet was relatively stable, and so Rescue 1 was able to clamber up the ladder and into the darkness. All the interior lights had gone out, save for illuminated reflective strips on the floor that were designed to lead ponies to an emergency exit, even if the cabin had filled with smoke. There were wisps of smoke inside, but nothing too severe, survivable for the passengers if, indeed, any had lived through the actual crash.

The helmet mounted flashlights of the fireponies cut through the dim interior of the cabin. The fuselage had snapped right at the mid galley, where economy class became business class. The curtains separating the galley from the cabin had come down, torn away and missing entirely. One of the lavatories had been ripped open, with blue sanitizing chemicals dripping from the septic tank. Cutlery and meal trays were strewn across the floor like the aftermath of a particularly rowdy party, though the galley itself had been torn apart by the separation of the main body and the nose. The bulkhead wall that divided the galley from the economy cabin had also been ripped away, explaining the bodies in the street; at least some of them were the flight attendants, who strapped in with their backs against that bulkhead in the hope that it was strong enough to keep them safe so they could direct the evacuation of the aircraft after a crash. That also explained why none of the passengers seemed to have disembarked yet, and why none of the emergency escape slides had been deployed, although that was probably partly down to the awkward tilt of the fuselage and where it had come to rest.

'Alright, Blaze, Flagstaff, take the starboard aisle. Oak Wood and High Line, port aisle. Fairway, you're with me. We'll coordinate with Ladder 25 and with EMS,' Grey Spike ordered. The fireponies fanned out, their flashlights shining through into the aisles beyond. Blaze positioned himself behind Flagstaff, who would be taking the lead on their side.

'Ready?' she asked him, and Blaze answered with a nod.

'Ready.'

'Alright, let's move.' Flagstaff set off into the fuselage, scanning back and forth with her flashlight. There were rows of seats, and it became apparent that the aircraft was not quite full to capacity. It was not far off, however, and there were ponies in the vast majority of seats. Some were trapped where seats had deformed or torn free, while others were slumped forward, suffering from clear physical trauma. The brace position was designed to protect the passengers as much as possible, though cynics would claim that the posture was just designed to snap their necks so that death would be instantaneous rather than lingering in agony or burning to death in a fireball. It was lucky that the belly tank of the aircraft had not ignited upon impact, or else all the passengers and crew would most likely be dead already. As it was, there were signs of life.

'Got one over here!' Flagstaff called. There were a trio of seats by the windows to their left, fully occupied, with two stallions and a mare. Luggage had spilled from the overhead lockers and now lay scattered all around them. One of the stallions had a gym bag in his lap. He, along with the mare, were both stirring. The stallion in the window seat, however, lay slumped against the mare in the middle seat. The skin of the fuselage had deformed where it had slammed into the two residential buildings, bowing inward and pressing against the stallion. A bloody mark on the plastic interior matched up with a patch of dark matted hair upon his head, showing where he had been slammed against the fuselage by the crash.

'Two victims alive...' Flagstaff informed Blaze as he brought up the rear. Across the aisle were more ponies, slumped forward in their seats, clearly having adopted the brace position as instructed, but to no avail. They were unmoving and appeared to not be breathing. Looking down the cabin, Blaze could see the same scene repeated in dozens of rows of seats. Each row had nine seats, three in the middle and three on each side. There were but a few empty seats. Some ponies were still, some were moving, some groaning, some sobbing. It was a contrast to the silence of the subway station during the chemical attack which brought back flashes of dark thoughts and fear, bodies everywhere, everything seeming so sterile, and the opposite here, the exact opposite, and yet still, bodies everywhere...

'Got one here,' Blaze announced, finding a sobbing foal. 'Got a couple...' His mother and father were both still breathing, though badly injured. The whole row behind, on the other hoof, appeared to be motionless and most likely already dead. There was a strange randomness to everything. Some ponies were clearly gone, while others in the same row were struggling to free their seatbelts and extricate themselves from the hellish metal tube that had clearly become a tomb for many. As they moved down the jet, it became clear that there were a significant number of survivors, though how many of those would live to reach hospital remained to be seen.

Oak Wood and High Line pushed on down the other aisle, encountering much the same conditions. There were ponies still alive, and there were ponies who were dead. They all had to be taken care of in one way or another. Blaze moved up with Flagstaff. There was s scrabbling noise ahead, coming from the rear galley. Flagstaff and Blaze reached the rear of the jet first. Beyond the two lavatories lay the rear doors. A flight attendant in a tattered and blodstained uniform was attempting to open them, desperation clear on her face. Evidently she had been trying for a while, to no avail; the starboard door was wedged in against the rubble of the building, and the port side door had been damaged and deformed in some way by the impact. The responsibility of her position was clearly laying heavily on her shoulders, written on her face. She was meant to be responsible for getting the passengers off of the plane, getting them to safety, a simple enough task after a regular emergency landing when the jet was on its wheels and the doors were undamaged, but not so much in this case.

'Hey, hey, ma'am!' Flagstaff approached the panicked mare. 'Ma'am, it's alright. We're here, ok? Help is here.'

The flight attendant turned to look, with relief in her eyes. 'Oh, thank Celestia...how...I thought were were going to ditch in the river?'

'Looks like you overshot,' Flagstaff replied. 'You made landfall . Come on, leave those doors. Leave them, you're not gonna get them open, they're damaged. Come on, this way. You can get out at the front.' Flagstaff tried to usher her away from the doors and out of the galley, back into the passenger cabin so they could take her out to the way they came in, currently the only safe exit. Ladder 25 were now making entry to the fuselage as well, having placed a second ladder so that they could evacuate passengers while also providing access for more fireponies and medics. With more than a few survivors, EMS would have their work cut out, and getting casualties out of the jet and to the triage area or to an ambulance would be tricky thanks to the fact that victims would have to be lowered down from the passenger to the street outside. it was certainly possible, but it would require a commitment of a number of fireponies to make sure each victim was safely moved down the ladders, either under their own steam or on a backboard for those who had suffered serious injuries.

The flight attendant stumbled back along the aisle, stepping carefully over luggage which had tumbled from the overhead lockers. She did now, at least, appear somewhat relieved once she saw that there were other survivors. Blaze and Flagstaff didn't have the her that her coworkers, perhaps her friends, the other flight attendants stationed toward the nose, were most likely dead, having been tossed free of the wreckage when the fuselage tore itself in half.

There were groans of pain and sobs of terror, but many ponies, seeing the familiar black and yellow uniforms of the fireponies, appeared calmed. It was comforting to know that rescuers were on the scene. They would all be ok. They would get out now. They had lived through the crash and the fireponies were going to rescue them all. But no emergency was ever quite so simple as those involved would hope.