Report From Rescue Company 1

by BRBrony9

Dentist

'I've seen plenty of car crashes, but I don't think I've ever seen a pony almost drown from a hydrant,' Striker chuckled as the crew of Engine 25 dismounted from their rig. Deep Blue backed it into the station. 'What a way to go, huh? Dumb kids love to race up and down the avenues. Thinks it makes them cool. Don't tell me you used to do stuff like that, kiddo.'

'Me?' Dawn shook his head. 'No...my brother, on the other hoof...' he chuckled, giving a wave to Blaze as he climbed down from the Rescue.

'What's that? My ears are burning,' Blaze replied.

'Nothing. I was just telling Striker how you used to race that bike of yours up and down the Luna Drive. He says it makes you dumb,' Dawn pointed out.

'Can't be that dumb. I'm still here, aren't I?' Blaze answered with a grin, and all three stallions shared a laugh. After taking off their bunker gear, they headed through to the kitchen with most of the rest of the house. Breakfast had been cooking, and now that they were back, it was time to start it going again. Dark Flash and High Line set to work, and soon enough everypony had a plate of eggs and hay-sh browns. Fireponies lived for their meals, the highlight of every working day, and it was all but expected that the majority of fireponies would have at least one recipe they could contribute, be it chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, hayburgers for lunch, or Striker's aforementioned favourite of eggplant parmesan for dinner. Meal times were important, because they were focal points, when everypony in the firehouse could spend time together, getting to know each other, learning about their brothers and sisters. They were also an inevitable focal point for alarm calls.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion.'

Luckily for Dawn, he had just finished his breakfast, and he jumped up and galloped through. Striker, the housewatch pony, read out the ticket.

'Box 4523, West 56th and 11th, gas odour in the street. Engine goes second due!'

Dawn geared up, the doors opened, and off they went, siren screaming. Firebrand followed in his SUV, leaving the Rescue Company to pick at the remains of the breakfasts left behind by their unfortunate companions.

'I don't wanna go!' Sulfur Springs shouted. 'I told you, I'm not going!'

The young foal just wanted to enjoy his weekend. He wanted to play video games and go out to the park with his friends, but his mom kept insisting that they had to go to the dentist. Why couldn't she have booked an appointment on a school day?

'Come along, Sulfur!' his mother chided, shaking her head. 'You need to get a checkup. You'll get a lollypop if you do, and I'll buy you some ice cream. But the longer you stay in your room, the fewer scoops you'll get.'

'But mom! I hate the dentist!' Sulfur argued. 'She makes funny faces at me. I don't like her.'

'That's because she's trying to cheer you up,' his mother rolled her eyes. 'She knows that colts don't like getting their teeth examined, but it's important. Now come along. Open this door.'

'No!'

'Open this door, young stallion!'

'No! I'm not going to the stupid dentist! I hate her and I hate you!' Sulfur cried. 'I'm going to the park to play with my friends!'

'How are you going to go to the park without opening the door?' his mother questioned. 'Sulfur? Sulfur?'

She didn't get a reply from her son. Instead, she heard a thunk, and then a loud, terrified scream.

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

Blaze scrambled into his bunker gear.

'Box 5560, West 96th, between Columbine and Marestrom Avenues. Pony trapped!'

Up they went, on went the lights, and out went the Rescue, roaring north up 8th Avenue. They swung around Columbine Circle, one of the few traffic islands in the city. Grey Spike spoke into the radio.

'Rescue 1 to Manehattan. Got any more information on our box, K? What are we going in on?'

'Uh, Rescue 1, at this time all we have is somepony stuck,' the dispatcher replied. 'The caller was a little unclear. We'll try and get you more information, K.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4.' Grey Spike turned to his crew. 'Guess we're going in blind for now. Prep for a confined space rescue just in case.'

The rig thundered north, airhorn blaring, parting cars before them like nothing except Princess Celestia's golden chariot could ever hope to do. Blaze watched the streets roll by out of his window. His dad was right, every time he had told him the truth. Boys, there's nothing quite like riding the Rescue, he had told both brothers, on countless occasions.

'Manehattan calling Rescue 1, K.'

'Rescue 1,' Grey Spike replied.

'Rescue 1, we're getting more information for your box. It looks like an impalement, K.'

'Alright, 10-4. Any idea what they're impaled on?' the Captain asked.

'One caller states a fence, one states a metal grate of some kind, K,' the dispatcher explained, being interrupted by another call before Grey Spike could reply.

'Battalion 11 to Manehattan.'

'Go ahead, Battalion 11.'

'At box 5560, have the Rescue and the Squad continue in. We have a colt, approximately eight years old, impaled on a metal fence, K.'

'10-4 Battalion 11. Rescue, received?' the dispatcher asked.

'Rescue 1, 10-4, continuing in, K.' Grey Spike replaced the receiver. 'Alright, impalement it is. Prep the saws and cutting gear!'

In the back, inside the toolbox, Oak Wood and High Line set about readying the gear as the Rescue continued to scream down the avenue, turning onto the block. There were already several MFD units on scene, including Battalion 11, two ladders, and an engine. Fairway pulled the rig up to the side and they dismounted, grabbing tools they imagined would be necessary. Blaze followed the others to see what they were dealing with.

It was a gruesome sight, and one that would all but destroy any parent. A colt, a young, green earth pony, had somehow conspired to find a two-inch wide metal spike driven straight through his lower torso. The spear-shaped tip of the fence post protruded from him, as though he had gone to war with the Zebras some hundred years ago and been on the wrong side of an engagement. Luckily, his body had fallen such that he was propped up against the next spike in sequence, which rested against his back, or else his small frame may have slid down the fence post much farther. As it was, only some twelve inches of iron had passed completely through his body.

What was worse, he was still conscious, his screams and sobs audible even from within the cab once the engine was turned off. An ambulance was parked up, and paramedics were trying to treat him, but the foal's cries were pitiable. So were those of a black earth pony mare, presumably his mother, who stood nearby, being restrained by a police officer and a firepony, sobbing into a tissue or a handkerchief which she clutched in both forehooves.

Grey Spike bumped hooves with Chief Primrose, a stalwart yellow mare who commanded the 11th Battalion. 'What have we got, Chief?' he asked her.

'Colt fell three stories,' Primrose replied. 'Had some kind of argument with his mother. Didn't want to go to the dentist, apparently. Wanted to go play in the park, and decided the best way to get there was to shimmy down the drainpipe. Luckily for him he only managed to hit one spike on the way down.'

'What do the medics say?' Grey Spike questioned. 'Any chance of freeing him?'

'No,' Primrose shook her head. 'That fence post is wedged in there pretty good. I think we're going to have to cut the post, and transport him as he is. Let the surgeons deal with it. Take a look and let me know what you think, Captain.'

Grey Spike nodded and trotted over to investigate, while the rest of the company stood by waiting in case they were needed. He quickly returned to the Chief. 'Yeah, gonna have to cut the post. No way we can take that out at the scene. Hey, Blaze, High Line! Grab the circular saw and set up the hydraulic cutters in case we need 'em,' he ordered.

Blaze headed to the rear of the rig to collect the saw. He had taken it into the burning carrier, and he would carry it here, in case it would be necessary to use it. To free the poor foal, either a saw or the cutter might be called into action to snip the metal fence post so that he could be moved. Seeing such a young foal in such a deadly predicament made Blaze wince; he was reminded of his own brother at that age, and while he knew Dawn was an adult now, he couldn't help but feel the same brotherly responsibility that he had felt back then, especially now that Dawn had entered the very profession that he and their father had both chosen as their calling.

The medics managed to sedate the crying foal in order to help his rescuers. The last thing they needed was for him to be flailing about wildly as they tried to cut him loose. Promises of unlimited ice cream had apparently calmed him down enough for the paramedics to be able to inject him with the necessary drugs. Flagstaff was now called up to provide a protective magical barrier between Sulfur Springs and the point of incision, wherever it would be decided to cut the spike.

It was a delicate operation, and an equally delicate decision as to where to make the cut. They couldn't just take the whole fence post out of the ground; the poor colt's body would have to be supported during the removal and during the transport to the hospital. Currently, he was being supported both by the next fence post that rested against his back, and also by two members of Engine 74, the first arriving company, one of whom was using his magic to firmly hold the colt and prevent him from sliding. It wasn't possible to use magic to free him from his predicament, however.

Magic was certainly a great boon to Equestrian society, but mostly in the small things; being able to float a tea cup over to your lips without getting up, combing your mane while your hooves were busy with other tasks, carrying heavier loads than could be done physically. Magic was not some great panacea to all the world's ills. If it was, then technology would never have developed the way it had. There would have been no need. In this case, for example, pulling the spike free with magic would have had exactly the same negative effects as if it had been done with hoof power; it would have caused further internal damage, worsening the wound, and perhaps rupturing an artery or worsening existing bleeding, leading to the colt's premature death. It was too great a risk to try a removal without the expertise of surgeons, x-rays of the body, and careful planning.

'Alright, let's make the cut about twelve inches down,' Grey Spike ordered. Primrose nodded. That would give good balance, with roughly the same amount of metal protruding from both the front and back of the colt's body, hopefully making it easier to transport him. Primrose went over to the distraught mother. 'We're going to cut the spike so that we can load your son into the ambulance, ma'am. We're going to use a saw, but please don't be alarmed. These ponies are from the Rescue, they're the best in the business.'

The mother seemed less than convinced, especially when Blaze started up the saw to check it. She screamed and whimpered, and had to be restrained again by the police officer who tried her best to calm her down. Grey Spike made a mark on the metal spike with a pen, showing him where to cut. 'Alright. Blaze, make the cut here. Nice and slow. You two, make sure you've got the kid's full weight,' he added, addressing the two fireponies of Engine 74. They were supporting his body, and when the spike was cut through, they would be all that was stopping him from falling. Flagstaff moved in, using her magic to provide a shield between both the colt and the fireponies, who were not equipped for saw operations; their first actions upon arriving had been to hurry and support the colt's body. Unlike Blaze, they did not have eye shields or their turnout coats.

Blaze lowered his eye shield into place and, at Grey Spike's order, he started the cut, holding the blade horizontally against the vertical fence post. The saw whined and bit into the metal, sending sprays of sparks fountaining off to bounce across the sidewalk and the magic shield of Flagstaff. The tough aluminium-oxide teeth cut through the relatively soft iron of the post easily enough, and within a minute the spike had been cut. The fireponies supported the colt and the paramedics wheeled a stretcher in. Carefully, they placed the victim down, lying him on his side so that the spike protruding from his body did not interfere and allowed him to lie flat.

'Alright, Oak Wood, Flagstaff, ride in the bus,' Grey Spike ordered. 'The rest of us will follow on the rig.'

'We'll radio ahead,' one of the paramedics called, climbing into the cab of the ambulance. In the slang of the emergency services of Manehattan, an ambulance was known as a bus, partly for the obvious reason that it transported ponies, but also as a kind of inside joke in the sense that many patients, regular customers as the paramedics called them would treat it as a literal bus, claiming illness and demanding transport to a particular hospital, only to get out and wander off to their actual destination nearby.

The ambulance pulled out of the block with its siren wailing, with the colt's mother riding in the front passenger seat, and the second medic and the two Rescue fireponies in the back treating the victim. The Rescue would follow to the hospital in case the trauma team decided that their help would be needed to surgically remove the spike from the colt's body. That had happened on numerous previous occasions, particularly when the object with which a pony was impaled was too strong or too large for medical saws to cut through.

Whatever the outcome medically, it had been another successful operation for the MFD, and for Rescue 1. It was a heartbreaking scene to have to respond to, but every member of the company was hardened to such things through years of service. Calls involving foals were some of the worst that any firepony had to deal with, especially those with young siblings or worse, foals of their own. Blaze had no foals, but he did have a brother, and while Dawn was hardly little, he couldn't help but remember similar near-misses they had when they were foals. Bad falls from bikes, tumbles from walls, messing around in back alleys that turned out to be full of used drug needles, and any number of other scenarios where the potential for danger had been there. Somehow they had come through it all none the worse for wear, able to proudly put on the uniform of a Manehattan firepony and help other ponies through situations where they, or their foals, had not been quite so lucky.