Report From Rescue Company 1

Chapters

Roll Out!
Canterlot
First Worker
Below Deck
Progress
Showoff
Dentist
Drill
Inside
Cool, Clear Water
Into The Depths
Reward
Calm Before The Storm
Radio Gaga
Gilda
Fire & Water
Poneway Beach
Category 3
Aftermath
Steam And Speed
Cooldown
On And Off
Stuck
Date Night
Hold Your Nerve
Going Underground
Hot Zone
Coming Up For Air
Meadowbrook
The Address
Valet Parking
Back To Work
Push On
10-77
Whiteout
Clipped Wings
Move Fast
Staying In Control
Search And Clear
Complications
Beginnings
Driving Under The Influence
Blast From The Past
Another Day, Another Bit

Roll Out!

'Engine goes first due!'

Ember Dawn felt his heart beating rapidly. This was it. His first call. Please Celestia, let me not fuck this up.

The engine was a 1000 gallon-per-minute pumper, just three years old and with an onboard water tank with a capacity of 500 gallons. It carried hoses, extension ladders, medical gear, foam canisters, ropes and spare SCBA- self-contained breathing apparatus. Everything fireponies needed to get inside a building and extinguish a fire.

Lieutenant Coppertop, the commander of Engine 25 on this tour, beckoned him over. 'Let's go, probie! Mount up! You're riding as the backup!'

Dawn trotted to the side of the rig. He quickly clambered into his bunker gear, consisting of four boots, pants and a jacket, combined with his helmet and a flash hood that went beneath it to cover his head. The other ponies did the same; Coppertop, the steady and experienced earth pony officer. Dark Flash, the green unicorn mare who was riding as the nozzlepony. Striker, the Pegasus stallion, who was riding as the door control pony, and finally Deep Blue, the- appropriately- blue earth pony mare, who was the chauffeur. Together, the crew mounted up as the apparatus bay door went up. The engine chauffeur started the engine up. The chauffeur was so named because the first actual drivers in the MFD drove the first motorised vehicles, which were small and primitive cars assigned to chief officers. The name had stuck, and to the present day, anypony who drove a vehicle in the MFD was called a chauffeur.

Dawn settled into his seat for his first ever run as a firepony. The rig doors slammed shut. Everypony was on board. The firehouse door was open. The chauffeur set off, accelerating. The large yellow hose attached to the right side of the engine to vent exhaust gases- carbon dioxide, nitrous oxide and the like- out to the exterior of the building, pulled free of the rig, and the engine roared out into the street, siren starting to wail.

They were heading one block north, and then out to the west. Engine Company 25 drove out, followed by Battalion 9, Chief Firebrand in his sports utility vehicle. There was danger; there was an emergency, a few blocks to the northwest. Ponies were in danger, and Ember Dawn was ready to help, ready to assist them in any way he could.

The engine ploughed on, siren wailing, air horn blasting, anything to get ponies out of the way. They were first due- the first engine expected to arrive at the box, all other things being equal. The first due engine to a building fire would be expected to stretch a line to the fire floor, to try their damnedest to extinguish or contain the fire so that ladder companies could conduct thorough searches for any victims. Ember Dawn prepared himself for the worst. There might be a multiple dwelling, ablaze from base to tip, with hundreds of victims inside. It might be a massacre, a disaster of epic proportions. He braced himself to see death up close and personal.

He didn't see any death.

The engine and the chief pulled into the block, closely followed by Ladder 4. No smoke was showing; no fire was pushing from the building. Dawn disembarked from the engine. He was assigned as backup, the pony positioned right behind the nozzlepony, who controlled the hose. He would be responsible for supporting that pony, taking over if necessary.

It wasn't necessary. A quick check by Chief Firebrand and a talk with a resident revealed that the alarm had been accidental- a foal playing with matches had set off a smoke alarm, but there was no fire. The ladder company did a rapid search to make sure while the engine stood by, and it was confirmed.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan, K,' Firebrand spoke into his radio. '10-92 on this box. Battalion 9 is 10-8, all other units in the process, they will go 10-8 when they become available.'

A 10-92 was the MFD signal for a false alarm, officially listed as a Malicious False Alarm. but the reality of the cause could differ, yet still fall within the terms of the signal without having any actual negative intent. Here, for example, somepony had telephoned ir in as they had heard a smoke alarm sounding, though there had been no actual emergency.

The K at the end of a transmission was a holdover from the days of the telegraph signal. When the telegraph was used, decades earlier, for communication between firehouses and between a house and the dispatchers, the letter 'K' was used at the end of transmissions to signal that a message had been received and was awaiting reply. For whatever reasons- nostalgia, convenience- the tradition had continued on into the days of radio and immediate voice communications, so that any radio message anticipating a reply was appended with 'K' at the very end of the transmission. 10-8, meanwhile, signaled that the unit was available for another call if required.

'10-4, Battalion 9. 10-92 on the box.' The dispatcher replied over the radio. Ember Dawn found himself both breathing a sigh of relief, and one of frustration. His first call had been a bust, just a false alarm. He knew that, yes, such things were common in the MFD, or in any other city, but...his first ever call? Really? What would he have to tell his foals about his career, if he and his sweetheart, Rosebush Roulade, ever had any. Sweet Celestia, what he would have given for some kind of action, however trivial!

Instead he found himself climbing back on the rig, having done nothing at all of any note. The whole company had simply stood by in case their hoses were needed; they hadn't been. Back to the station they went, driving at regular pace through the busy traffic of midtown Manehattan, to return to their firehouse, having done nothing during their absence but waste fuel.

Ember Dawn climbed down from the engine. He was feeling alright, despite his disappointment. They had not operated at the scene, but at least that meant that nopony had been hurt, and nothing had been damaged or destroyed. Just a false alarm, an accidental call and a stern talking to for a young foal from the tough Chief Firebrand. Most likely the colt would never play with matches again, so at least some good had come from their wasted trip.

'Hey, first run under your belt, kiddo!' Striker, the sole Pegasus on the crew, grinned and gave him a slap on the back. 'No sweat, huh? Didn't even have to move more than ten feet!'

'Oh, uh, yeah, thanks...' Dawn nodded.

'Don't worry, they'll get tougher than that, just you wait and see,' Striker continued, flexing his black wings a few times after removing his bunker gear. Pegasi fireponies had specialised turnout gear with holes cut in it to allow them to deploy their wings if they needed to take flight, useful for searches and reaching the roof for ventilation. Equally they could tuck their wings back into the gear and pull a toggle on the front to close the openings, providing protection against the heat of a fire if they were required to enter the building.

'I bet they will, yeah,' Dawn replied. 'What was your first call like?'

'Mine?' Striker grinned. 'Oh, hey, I got you beat with that one. My first ever call? Medical run, right? So out we go, siren screaming. Stallion's lyin' on the ground, right? Heart attack, I think. Nope. Just some drunk-ass idiot took a fall. As we're checking him out, oh boy, you'd better believe he starts pissing all over us.' He chuckled. 'Had to take the engine out of service so we could decon our gear.'

'Oh wow...that's an...ignominious start to a career,' Dawn laughed. 'I guess every firepony has stories like that though.'

'Oh yeah. Don't worry, you'll get your fair share,' Striker grinned. 'I know they trained you well at the Academy, but I tell you what. just stick with me and I'll help ya out.'

'Sure...thanks, Striker,' Dawn smiled. 'I'll bear that in mind.'

'Oh, just one thing,' Striker replied. 'Do you know how to cook an eggplant parmesan?'

'Uh...no?' Dawn shrugged.

'Oh, bust! Hey guys, the proby can't cook!' Striker shouted across the apparatus floor. 'Nothin' good anyways!' He gave Dawn a nudge and a wink. 'Just bustin' your balls, kiddo. Anyways, welcome to Firehouse 25!'

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

Dawn looked around. Another run was coming in- but the computerised female voice did not call for his unit, only his brother's company.

'Rescue rolls out!' the housewatch pony called. 'Box 0715, Celestia Drive at East 70th Street, MVA with a pin!'

Dawn watched as Ember Blaze and the rest of the rescue crew galloped from the back rooms of the firehouse and to their rig, pulling on their bunker gear. Several of the crew clambered up into the open back door of the vehicle, into the walk-in equipment compartment. The rest mounted up in the cab, as the bay door rolled open. Off they went, siren wailing and the airhorn being absolutely hammered by the officer, scattering cars in their path as they swung north. Dawn smiled with pride. There, in the past, would go his father. There in the present went his brother. And there, in the future, would go he.

The borough of Manehattan was ringed by a relatively high-speed expressway network. On the west side adjoining the West River ran the Luna Drive, while on the east side, the Celestia Drive provided the same function of bringing vehicles around the island while staying free of the gridlock in the centre. Cars traveled fast on the Drives, which meant frequent accidents.

Rescue Company 1 had the responsibility of responding to the whole of the borough, with the exception of the very far north tip up near The Ponyx, on any incident that might require their services. The range was broad; train, plane and ship accidents, building collapses, car crashes with a pony trapped, cave-ins, high angle rescues. On and on the list went. The Rescue also responded to any working fires in its area of the borough, and as a special unit, could be called anywhere in the city if needs be.

Ember Blaze rode in the back of the cab, excited for his first run. Not his first run ever, of course, but his first with the Rescue Company he had longed to be part of. There was the same thrill of riding in the apparatus as always, but there was also something different about it now. This wasn't some lowly engine or ladder. This was the Rescue. It was THE Rescue, the best in the land, the first and oldest, and now he was part of it.

Captain Grey Spike commanded the company on this tour. He was a long-standing veteran, and Blaze remembered his father mentioning the unicorn stallion a few times in the past. The rig was being driven by Fairway, and the white earth pony stallion was widely considered one of the best chauffeurs in the whole department, which was exactly why he was driving the showpiece rig. In the back of the cab with Blaze, there was Flagstaff, a unicorn mare whose yellow coat and white mane made her look almost exactly like the reflective stripes on the fireponies' turnout gear. In the back rode the rest of the crew, two Pegasi stallions, Oak Wood and High Line, prepping the gear they might need on this call.

The rig pulled onto the Celestia Drive and headed north along the service lane. Traffic was almost at a standstill. The rig radio crackled, tuned in to the Manehattan dispatch frequency. 'Ladder 55 to Manehattan. Box 0715, we have a three-car accident with a confirmed pin. Have the Rescue continue in, K.'

'Alright fillies and gentlecolts!' Grey Spike growled. 'We have work to do on this one.'

The service lane allowed them to race north while traffic beside them was at a halt, and soon enough they came upon the scene of the accident. Other units were on scene already, one engine and one ladder on each side of the central divider. Two ambulances and a police highway car were parked up as well. Three cars were indeed involved in the crash; one was on its roof, another on its side, and the third was crumpled up against the barrier.

Fairway pulled up, and the fireponies climbed down. They were beckoned over by the Lieutenant of Ladder 55. 'Over here, Rescue! Cap, we have a female victim in the overturn, unresponsive. She's pinned in by the steering column. We have the car stablised but we can't get her out with our hydraulic gear. Gonna need yours for this one.'

Grey Spike nodded. 'Ok. High Line, Blaze, get the spreaders. Oak Wood, more cribbing. Flagstaff, shield for the victim.'

The crew sprang into action, and Blaze went with them, heading to the side of the rig with High Line, who opened one of the compartments. Inside lay the hydraulic tools, more powerful and versatile versions of those carried by ladder companies. There was a cutter, a drill, a ram and a set of spreaders, which could be used to push two objects away from each other through sheer, brute hydraulic force.

Blaze grabbed the tool, and lugged it over to the wreck. It was connected to the rig by a hydraulic hose, but a separate power source in the form of a small generator could be used if the tool had to be operated at a greater distance from the vehicle. It was heavy, but it was vital, and it was a very important piece of kit for the Rescue.

In the overturned car, a young brown mare was trapped, being crushed by the steering column and bleeding heavily from a head wound despite the bandages applied by paramedics who had stabilised her. One paramedic was in the back of the car, holding the mare's head in place to prevent further injury; there was not enough room to fit her with a collar for protection. Oak Wood had already added extra wooden cribbing to underneath the car in order to keep it stable during the extrication process.

Blaze had operated at many vehicle accidents when he had been working on ladder trucks, and he knew exactly what to do. So did the rest of the crew, and it was a well-oiled operation. Nothing less would be expected from the Rescue Company. Flagstaff raised a magic shield between the mare and the steering column to protect her in case of any sparks or flying debris. Blaze handed off the spreaders to High Line, who worked his way into the confined space of the car and positioned them. The tool went to work, expanding under hydraulic pressure and forcing the steering column up and away from the mare's trapped legs. Once that was done, the paramedics went in for additional treatment while High Line gave the spreaders back to Blaze.

At Grey Spike's direction, Blaze proceeded to cut away at the side of the car, popping the rear door and allowing Oak Wood to remove it entirely. Fairway then brought an air chisel from the rig, and used it to cut through the side post of the car that lay between the doors. Blaze then had the task of the delicate removal of the driver's door so that the victim could be freed. Once again Flagstaff provided a shield for protection, and Blaze went to work, popping the door open, and once it was removed, the paramedics were able to carefully remove the unfortunate victim with the assistance of other fireponies, placing her on a backboard and stretcher and taking her to one of the waiting ambulances. The Battalion Chief who had arrived on the scene approached the crew as they were packing up their gear.

'Alright, Rescue can take up. Nice job everypony.'

Ember Blaze couldn't help but grin to himself. Nice job, Rescue. Nice job, himself. He had started some small way down the path to proving himself worthy of a place on the company. It was only one call, yes, but it was a start. There would be more, no doubt. There would be more.

Canterlot

When it was launched some fifteen years ago, the ENS Canterlot had been the pride of the Navy. It had been the first of its class, the mightiest warship in the fleet. It was not Equestria's first aircraft carrier, but when it had been built, it was the largest vessel ever to be commissioned. It had relentlessly plied its trade around the globe ever since, dealing with brushfire wars in New Zebrica and the Dragon Badlands, delivering aircraft and ordnance wherever they were needed.

Now, after years of hard work at sea, the Canterlot was in dry dock in the Hooflyn Navy Yard, the same yard which had built her, for a major refurbishment and overhaul. There was a monumental amount of work needed on such a large vessel; the propellers needed refitting, miles of old wiring stripped out and replaced, rust scraped from a thousand places, corroded panels and gear swapped out for pristine new equipment. It was time consuming and ponypower-intensive, with many hundreds of workers needed to carry out the task.

The ship had been in dry dock for a month, and everything was going well, apart from the usual union trouble. Civilian ship workers shouldn't be working on a military vessel, they argued. Against contract, they said. Undermines the power of the unions, they claimed. It didn't stop the workers working, however- most of the time. Today was no different. Workers swarmed like bees over the ship. Pegasi floated alongside painting the hull or removing rust. On the main hangar deck, a cavernous space normally filled with aircraft and now filled with wood and metal scaffolding and supplies, ponies welded and scraped and hammered away.

Somewhere forward, near the front of the large compartment, welders were at work. Fountains of sparks arced out from their tools, spraying down to the steel deck below. Steel didn't burn, but rags and paper and wood most certainly did; especially if they were soaked in oil. There was a small pile of rags which had been used to wipe down the hydraulic pistons which raised and lowered the aircraft elevators. Through negligence or delay, they had not been cleared away, which placed them in the firing line of some of the sparks coming from the welding. It took little time for the rags to ignite, and less time for the fire to spread through the pile. Next to the pile were neatly stacked wooden pallets, and it was the work of mere moments for the fire to communicate to them as well.

Black, oily smoke rapidly billowed up, alerting nearby workers. One tried to combat the blaze with a portable extinguisher, but the fire had already gained headway and her efforts proved useless. The forepony in charge spotted the issue from the other end of the hangar bay; the smoke was hard to miss. He galloped to the compartment's internal phone and called the flight deck, where the restoration effort was being overseen from. His report of a fire down below was received, and immediately a call was made to base security. The Navy Yard had a small firefighting unit of its own, and both of their engines hurried to the scene. But by the time they arrived, the fire was going strong in the hangar, communicating to more debris and construction material, and the smoke was spreading fast. It was quickly noted that more help would be needed.

A call was made to the MFD, and units rolled out on the call of a working fire in a dry-docked vessel. A small fire, they figured. Just a precaution to call in city units. Maybe a little overhauling would be needed. Most likely routine. A first alarm assignment, four engines, three ladders, a squad company, Rescue 2 from Hooflyn, a couple of chiefs. Just a routine fire.

Ember Blaze stepped out of the shower, toweling down his mane. This was his second shift with the Rescue, and it still felt damn good to say that to himself. The first shift had seen him respond to another car wreck, one first-alarm working fire, and a ruptured gas main in the street. Routine calls, but ones on which the rescue was still assigned and could expect to perform some type of work, be it helping Hazmat seal the leaking gas pipe, securing and extricating a victim from the car, or conducting searches in the fire building.

Each twenty four hour shift was followed by forty eight hours leave, then another twenty four hours on duty, and then another two days off, a recognition of the tiring nature of firepony work, even on routine days. Mares and stallions were given plenty of time to rest up between shifts, as nopony knew when they might be called upon to make some heroic effort that demanded all of their strength.

Blaze headed out to the kitchen to grab a snack. Some tasty oatcakes had been brought in by Chief Firebrand's wife, Cherry Tree, who had spent most of the time in the firehouse scalding her husband for smoking his pipe at work, a vice, Blaze now realised, that seemed to be common among older fireponies. His father was not the only one.

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

The snack would have to wait. Blaze turned and galloped out to the rig, hearing the housewatch pony calling out. 'Hooflyn Box 0904, Navy Yard, special called for a ship fire!'

In came the rest of the crew, and they climbed up. Fairway started up the engine, and out they rolled, looping round to the next avenue and heading south, siren wailing, airhorn blaring. Captain Grey Spike spoke into the radio as they rolled for the Ponyburg Bridge to carry them over the East River. 'Rescue 1 to Manehattan, leaving your frequency, going to Hooflyn.' He switched channels and spoke again. 'Rescue Company 1 to Hooflyn. On your frequency responding to box 0904, K.'

'10-4, Rescue 1. You are to respond to the Navy Yard entrance on South Street, where you will be directed to the command post, K,' the dispatcher replied.

'Rescue 1, 10-4.' Grey Spike sat back in his seat, checking the data terminal mounted on the dashboard. The data terminal provided information about whatever incident the unit was responding to, and allowed them enter their own signals of acknowledgement, to conclude an incident, or to announce they were back in service. 'Alright everypony...ship fire,' he read off the details. 'Fire below deck in the...hangar bay?'

'Hangar bay, Cap?' Flagstaff called from the rear seats. 'Shit...it's not the Canterlot, is it?'

'Unless you know of another aircraft carrier docked there, then I would say it's a safe bet that yes, it is,' Grey Spike replied. 'Well, I gotta say this will be a first for me. Never set hoof onboard a carrier before.'

'Didn't you go last year when they had the Luna in town for Fleet Week, skipper?' Fairway asked, as he swung the rig around onto the approach road for the Ponyburg Bridge.

'Nope. The wife decided we needed to visit the grandkids that week, remember?' the Captain replied. 'Never did get a chance to see the old girl first hoof.'

'That's too bad, Cap. At least you'll get to see this one!' Flagstaff added, before the rig began to race across the bridge, and Grey Spike peered out of the windshield.

'What the hell have they got going on over there...?' he muttered. The reason for his outburst was clear. A great pall of smoke hung in the sky above the Navy Yard. It was rising up steadily, obscuring the ship from which it was emerging. The Hooflyn radio channel was busy as they made their way over the river.

'Division 15 to Hooflyn.'

'Go ahead Division 15.'

'For box 0904, by orders of Deputy Chief Cinnamon Swirl, transmit a fourth alarm. Special call one additional Rescue Company, one additional Battalion Chief, and two additional ladders above that alarm, K.'

'Jeez...this sounds like a bad one,' Flagstaff muttered beside Blaze. 'We'd better hope there's no bombs or any shit like that on board.'

'The ship's in for refit,' Grey Spike pointed out. 'Gotta figure the Navy would remove all ordnance beforehand...but don't take anything for granted down there. Flagstaff is right. This looks bad.'

Blaze peered out at the smoke billowing from the Navy Yard. He had been at some big fires, a few fifth alarms and even one that ultimately went to ten alarms, when a stubborn warehouse had simply refused to go out for nearly three days. But a ship fire? He had never fought one, not a major one at least. This would be something new for him, and while he had received some training in the concept- all fireponies in Manehattan did, since it was such a major port- conditions had contrived that there had been no major vessel fires during his career. At least, until now.

The Rescue made its way down from the bridge and screamed through the streets of Hooflyn until they reached the gates of the Navy Yard. There, members of the naval security patrol guided them in, and they got their first glimpse of the stricken vessel. Smoke was pouring from the port side of the carrier, which was the side facing away from the pier at which it was docked. That was merciful, but it was only a small mercy. The wind was carrying most of the smoke away from the pier, but there was still plenty of residual smoke hanging and swirling around the pier, above the mass of emergency responders who had already arrived on the fire scene.

Three tower ladders were set up alongside the ship, their buckets raised to the flight deck. Half a dozen aerials were also positioned, and fireponies could be seen climbing up, and also coming down with victims. A tangle of hoses criss-crossed the pier. More units were arriving in behind them, and they were directed in to a staging area.

'Alright everypony, let's go. Tool up for ladder work until we're told otherwise. I'm going to report in to the command post,' Grey Spike informed them. Blaze and the others got down from the rig and grabbed their tools, fastening up their SCBA packs and helping each other out; a well oiled unit. Rescue 2 was already on scene, arriving with the first alarm, and another Rescue was coming in to back them up. Special calling so many Rescue Companies could only mean one thing- ponies were trapped somewhere in that ship.

Captain Grey Spike trotted to the command post, set up at the base of the pier. Deputy Chief Cinnamon Swirl stood at the command board, a large display board fitted with magnetic strips which represented the units assigned to the incident, and could be moved around to indicate units being used in different roles and different locations on the fireground. 'Rescue 1 reporting in, Chief,' Grey Spike called.

'Alright, good,' Cinnamon Swirl replied, without looking up from his board. 'I want your crew in there ASAP. We have large numbers of workers trapped all over this ship. It's a real shitshow in there. Gear up for searches and take your power tools with you. We have confirmation of half a dozen workers who sealed themselves in the walk-in freezer in the galley, thinking it'd keep them safe from the smoke. Naturally they're unresponsive now and the door is locked from the inside. Take Ladder 110's aerial up to the galley deck and link up with Ladder 145. They'll guide you in as best they can.'

'You got it, Chief,' Grey Spike nodded. 'Do we have a layout of the vessel?'

'What do you think?' Cinnamon Swirl replied, with a dismissive shake of his head. 'Classified, they say. Damn Navy bureaucracy. We're sending ponies into hell and we don't even have a map! When this beast came into dry dock I sent a request to the Navy Yard for my first-due companies to get a tour for inspection. Refused out of hoof. Just do the best you can, Captain.'

'Will do, Chief.' Grey Spike hurried back to his crew. 'Let's go, Rescue! Irons and power tools, we're conducting searches and forcible entry to a walk-in freezer. Six ponies reported trapped. Hustle!'

Ember Blaze grabbed the battery-operated power saw, while the rest of the crew picked up the forcible entry gear; axes, ceiling hooks, a power drill, and Hoofigans. The primary multipurpose piece of kit for MFD fireponies was the Hoofigan Tool, or Hoofigan Bar; a combination of a tough metal claw at one end, and an equally tough adze and slim, tapered pick at the other, invented by a former officer of the department and now commonly used all across Equestria by fire departments for its versatility.

All around them, fireponies were gearing up, pulling on their air tanks and helmets, eyeing the ship warily. Most of them had at least some big fires under their belt, but this was something different. This wasn't even a building, though it could be compared to a high-rise office building laid on its side. This was a ship, and that came with its own set of unique problems.

The fire had been burning for less than thirty minutes, and ponies were still being brought down the ladders. Searches for victims were the primary responsibility of ladder companies, and the Rescues, when not needed for specific technical efforts such as rope rescues or collapse shoring, would usually be assigned to operate as a ladder company for all intents and purposes, when extra hooves were required to look for victims. In a ship the size of the Canterlot, that was very much the case.

Ember Blaze's heart was beating fast, as it always did at a fire scene. But there was more than just a little hint of anxiety this time. There was no doubt that this was a big fire; a big, big fire. Even that wasn't the whole reason for his concern. Part of his mind knew that, the bigger the fire got and the longer it burned, the more companies would be needed to contain it and to relieve spent units. If the fire got big enough, then there was every chance that Engine 25 could be called to the scene, and while it was one thing to imagine himself entering this burning hulk, it was something entirely different to imagine his baby brother being sent in at the head of a hoseline. Surely his first working fire would not be something of this scale. No doubt his company would be too far away to be called in, or the fire would be contained, or they would find themselves already operating at some other incident.

'Let's go, Rescue!' Grey Spike urged, and the crew trotted to the side of the ship. A line of ambulances off to their left marked the location of the triage station, and the coloured sheets laid out on the ground to indicate the severity of the injured- green for walking wounded, yellow for moderate injuries, red for life-threatening, and black for deceased- were full of coughing, crying ponies in workers' overalls and hard hats. How many more might remain inside, Blaze had no idea, but it was their immediate job to find half a dozen of them.

Ladder 110 was parked amidships, its aerial ladder raised up as high as it would go, the full extension of the 100-foot ladder just about able to reach the flight deck if needed. This particular aerial was positioned lower, on the galley deck, which was where Rescue was needed. The ladder's chauffeur sat at the controls and beckoned them on. The two Pegasi were able to fly straight up with the heavy gear, while the rest of the crew filed on one by one and began the climb up the ladder. Blaze held the power saw on his back, clipped to his gear by fastening straps to allow the carriage of heavier equipment alongside the air tank. He shuffled his way up the ladder behind the Captain and in front of Flagstaff and Fairway, who lugged the drill.

Smoke billowed from seemingly every ventilation louver and hatchway, every porthole and loose weld, every opening in the side of the ship. To their left and to their right, adjacent aerial ladders were being used to evacuate workers, a steady stream of ponies with reddened eyes and blackened faces being ushered onto the ladder by patient firefighters.

Blaze reached the top of the ladder and clambered on board the ship. Smoke oozed out of an open hatchway nearby. That was where they were going, he assumed. Members of Ladder Company 145, one of the second-alarm units, stood waiting for them. Depending on the number of actual victims they found, their assistance would be vital.

'Rescue 1? Alright, you guys ready?' The Captain of Ladder 145 asked, getting a nod from Grey Spike. 'Then in we go. We already went in and rigged a search rope, just hold onto it and we'll get to the freezer. We tried gettin' through with the saw but no dice. Hopefully your saw can make the difference.' The Rescues carried more powerful saws with stronger tungsten-carbide and diamond blades, which might prove the only way of cutting through the thick steel hinges of the freezer door. The Rescue had to get into action, and help their brothers and sisters in the monumental task of clearing the ship of civilians. They were in the business of saving lives, and at Hooflyn box 0904, business was booming.

First Worker

The group of fireponies in firehouse 25 clustered around the walkie-talkie in the kitchen, tuned to the Hooflyn dispatch frequency. 'It's not looking good over there,' Lieutenant Coppertop muttered. 'A fifth alarm inside a half hour?'

'This is nuts. An aircraft carrier on fire? The hell is the Navy playing at?' Striker questioned. 'I'm glad I'm not on a Hooflyn company today.'

'Well don't hold your breath,' Chief Firebrand muttered. 'There might be plenty of work for Manehattan companies over there, too. Depends if they can get it under control.'

Ember Dawn munched on an oatcake, partly from hunger, partly from nerves. Surely Engine 25 weren't going to get called over to this fire? So far today they had responded to a pair of medical runs for cardiac symptoms, and a single-vehicle auto accident with no injuries. Routine, standard, normal. Not an aircraft carrier on fire. That wasn't normal.

'Car 3 to Hooflyn.'

The radio crackled. Car 3 was the callsign of the Chief of Department, the highest ranking uniformed officer in the MFD, a unicorn mare by the name of Starfire Storm, who had responded to the scene to take command once the scale of the incident had become clear. Her aide and chauffeur was now speaking into the radio.

'Go ahead, Car 3.'

'Progress report for Hooflyn Box 0904. At this time, Car 3 has fire on the lower decks of a 1000-foot by 300-foot dry-docked aircraft carrier. We have twelve lines stretched into the vessel, all in operation. Three tower ladders are set up for equipment transfer and evacuation. Primary searches throughout the vessel are underway, they will be heavily delayed due to the size and layout of the ship. At this time we have a total of ninety-two 10-45s, codes to follow. We still have approximately one thousand workers unaccounted for. By orders of Chief of Department Starfire Storm, transmit a sixth alarm on this box, K.'

'Ninety two 10-45s?' Deep Blue muttered. A 10-45 was the radio code for a fire-related injury to a civilian, either from burns or smoke inhalation.

'Forget that. A thousand workers unaccounted for?' Striker shook his head in disbelief. 'That's fucking nuts. A thousand?'

Beep-Boop.

'Engine.'

'Shit, here we go...!' Striker grunted, leaping from his chair. Dawn's heart nearly froze in his chest as he jumped up as well.

'Engine goes!' Dark Flash, acting as the housewatch pony, shouted out across the apparatus floor. 'Relocation to Hooflyn, Engine 94's quarters!'

Dawn relaxed a little. A relocation was treated as an emergency in terms of running with lights and sirens on, but it was not a call to the scene of the carrier fire. When resources in any specific borough or geographic area were severely depleted by a major incident or a particularly high number of minor calls, units from elsewhere in the city would be relocated in to occupy the vacant firehouses and ensure continued coverage of the affected area. That's all it was; they were moving to another firehouse to cover for Engine 94.

They mounted up, and they rolled out, siren wailing, heading down to the Ponyburg Bridge. The huge plume of smoke from the fire was visible as they turned onto the roadway, drawing a mixture of mutters and grunts of disbelief from the crew. The aircraft carrier was vaguely discernible through the haze, wreathed in the products of the combustion which was ongoing inside it.

Dawn's heart picked up again, as he knew his brother was down there somewhere. He uttered a brief, silent prayer to Celestia for Blaze to be alright, to survive the incident and come out unscathed. His brother was tough, resourceful, physically strong, everything needed from a member of the Rescue Company. But he was still a pony, and ponies could get hurt.

'Engine 25 to Manehattan, leaving your frequency, going to Hooflyn,' Coppertop spoke into the radio. He changed frequencies, in time to hear the tail end of another progress report from the scene. '...searches are still ongoing on all decks. At this time we have a total of one hundred and twelve 10-45s. EMS has determined that of those, we have a total of ninety code 4s, eight code 3s, and fourteen code 1s.'

'Fourteen dead...' Dark Flash shook her head sadly.

'We still have approximately one thousand workers unaccounted for. By orders of Chief of Department Starfire Storm, transmit a seventh alarm, and special call three additional ladder companies and one additional rescue, K.'

'10-4, Car 3.' There was a loud and long alert tone. 'Hooflyn announcing a seventh alarm has been transmitted for box 0904, the Hooflyn Navy Yard, for a fire on board an aircraft carrier. Hooflyn announcing a seventh alarm transmitted for box 0904, Hooflyn Navy Yard, fire is on board an aircraft carrier. Time is 11:40 hours, dispatcher 210.'

Dawn shook his head in disbelief. A seventh alarm fire on his second tour on the job? When his father joined the department, there was nothing officially beyond a fifth alarm; the fifth was as high as the signals went. Anything beyond that would have to come as special calls for individual units, or in extreme cases, a 'Borough Call,' when units from another borough would be summoned to a particular location in that borough in order to assemble and then respond into the major incident. The process was streamlined in modern times thanks to computer-aided dispatch, and now the number of alarms called could theoretically rise from five to ten to twenty to thirty and into infinity, until the entire department was at the scene. At least Engine 25 had not been assigned.

'Engine 25 to Hooflyn, on your frequency responding to relocation,' Coppertop spoke into the radio during a lull in traffic. He received an immediate response,

'Engine 25, what is your current location, K?'

'Engine 25 to Hooflyn, we are on the Ponyburg Bridge,' he replied. There was a momentary pause with an open mic; ponies could be heard speaking hurriedly in the background, the hubbub of a very busy dispatch communications office.

'Alright Engine 25, you're being redirected,' the dispatcher answered back after a moment. 'Take in the 7th alarm, box 0904. Respond to South Street and report to the staging area, K.'

Dawn's heart both sank and raced at the same time. They were being redirected to the fire; his first fire. His first fire ever.

Striker, sitting beside him, gave him a nudge in the ribs. 'Hey, kiddo. Forget that false alarm the other day. This, THIS is what you tell your foals about.'

Dawn nodded slowly. This wasn't his first run, but it was his first worker- his first working fire. This was what his foals would ask him about. This was what they would want to know. Daddy, daddy, daddy was a firepony! What was your first fire, daddy?

He thought of Rosebush Roulade. They had met at college when he had been studying for his degree in Fire Sciences, following in the hoofsteps of his brother. She had been there in the student union's nightclub one evening, and so had he, and there had been many drinks, and he had found himself in bed with the red-and-pink Pegasus mare, waking up the next morning hardly remembering a damn thing. What he did remember was that he wanted more of her, and he thanked Celestia every day that more of her was exactly what he managed to get. Over the following years, they had dated and wooed each other, until their college years were done. He graduated with a degree in Fire Sciences, and she had hers in Economics, and now they lived in a loft in the borough of Princess.

He had to smile a little at his luck, and also his misfortune. He loved Rosebush, he loved, or thought he loved, firefighting. But this was no ordinary fire, and his brother was there, and maybe he loved him more than he loved Rosebush, and if he didn't, then...it didn't matter. He loved them both, and he loved his dad, and he had to make his dad proud of him. He had to make them all proud of him.

'Engine 25, 10-4. Responding to the 7th alarm,' Lieutenant Coppertop replied to the order. Once they were off the bridge, they headed down to the surface streets and along toward the Navy Yard. They headed in through the gate, into the interior of the yard, where dozens of emergency vehicles were parked up. There were engines with coiled hoses spilling out, trucks with their ladders raised high, ambulances with their rear doors open to take patients, the Mask Service Unit refilling air bottles, and there were the Rescues- Rescue 2, Rescue 4- and Rescue 1, Dawn could see. Nopony was in the rig. Nopony was around the rig. That meant his brother was in there somewhere, in the ship, in the fire and the smoke and the hell of this burning vessel.

He knew that Blaze had been in many fires before, as a member of truck and engine companies, but this felt to him somehow different. This was a big fire, a huge fire, and maybe it was no more dangerous to an individual firepony than a fire in a private house or a laundrette. But it certainly seemed that way.

The engine came to a halt and the crew dismounted. Dawn followed, and he adjusted his SCBA and his helmet in preparation for going into the fire.

'Hey, 25!' somepony called. Dawn looked around, to see another firepony in full gear and wearing a grin. 'Got a probie on this call? Good luck with that!'

'Not just a probie, this is his first worker!' Striker replied with a cheery grin. Nothing seemed to dissuade him from possessing such a facial expression.

'Oh, seriously?' the other firepony laughed. 'Well Celestia be damned. Hey, probie! Good luck, kid! This is a hell of a debut for you!'

Dawn closed his eyes for a moment. The other pony may laugh, but deprecation of fellow fireponies was a common trait amongst members of any fire department. It was a coping mechanism, one with which outsiders may well find no affiliation, and may well find offensive in terms of the teasing and hazing applied to members. But it was considered a broadly important means of integrating new members into the important synergy needed to form a good team of fireponies. No matter what some outsiders may think of it, hazing in the fire department was alive and well. It was a way of dealing with the stress of the situation and the very real danger they were about to walk into.

Coppertop returned from the command post. 'Alright, 25! We're relieving Engine 243 on their line. Hangar deck. Gear up, check your masks and bottles. Keep your eye on your air meters, especially you, probie. You're the backup, so you stick like glue to Striker, ok?'

'Got it, sir!' Dawn nodded. He gave his equipment a once over, and then did the same again and again, partly to be absolutely sure and partly to distract himself from the fact that this was his first working fire, and as the other firepony had said, it was a hell of a debut.

'Don't worry, kiddo,' Striker gave him a nudge. 'Stick with me and you'll make it home to...what was her name, you said? Rosebud Rub?'

'Rosebush Roulade,' Dawn replied. 'You ever seen a fire like this before?'

'Not exactly,' Striker replied, as Engine 25 headed for the ship. 'This is a first, probably for everypony here.'

The engine crew were guided up one of the ladders to the hangar deck. Dawn made his way up. Smoke was billowing out from the hatchway that led inside. 'Alright, follow this line in!' Coppertop called. 'Set your radios on Fireground 1. Masks on, check your meters, don't get separated. Keep one hoof on the line at all times. Look out for your brothers and sisters. Good luck, Celestia protects.'

Striker led the way. He was riding as the nozzlepony, and would be operating the hose when they reached and relieved Engine 243. As backup, Dawn was right behind him, ready to take over if needed, and if not, to ensure the line was functional; straightening out kinks, making sure the hose wasn't caught on doorways or obstacles, and making sure it wasn't damaged. It was the assignment most fireponies didn't want, because it lacked the glamour of the nozzlepony beating back the flames with his precision sprays of water, but it still exposed them to the same dangers. As a result, it was the assignment usually assigned to a probie.

Dawn followed Striker in after affixing his mask. He was no longer breathing fresh, natural air, but instead air from his back-mounted cylinder. The tank was supposed to last 45 minutes, giving breathing air for three quarters of an hour. But under the strenuous conditions of a fire, with heavy physical exertion, heat and stress, the true operating time was usually about half of that, sometimes even less.

The smoke, even just inside the entrance, was thick. It poured out at them; it was like walking through a blizzard with a blindfold on. Their masks protected their faces from the irritating particulates, kept the smoke from their lungs and kept them breathing, but it didn't help them see any more than a few feet ahead at best. Dawn kept a hoof on the line as instructed, and the other on Striker's rump. Dark Flash followed behind, doing the same to him to keep on track and keep the unit safely together.

The companionway was narrow and heavily charged with smoke, but the hoseline already laid by Engine 243 led them to where they needed to go. The corridor ended and they found themselves in the hangar deck, and in contrast, it was like emerging into a huge subterranean cave. It was still smoke-filled, but here, most of the smoke had risen to the ceiling, which was some twenty feet above the floor. Normally filled with aircraft, the hangar instead was loaded with construction materials and supplies for the refit. There were planks of wood, spools of wire, scaffolding, generators, lights, crates and barrels, mobile cranes. There were even individual buildings, small wooden huts constructed to store particular supplies or to act as rest areas for the workers. Most things there were flammable, and much of it was burning, having spread from the initial spot where the fire had started. Flames were in full command of the far end of the hangar, a wall of heat and fire, an inferno contained within the steel hull of the carrier.

Eight hose lines were deployed on the hangar deck, water pouring out and spraying the blaze, a deluge to try and quench the flames. Everything that could burn was burning, and the 2-1/2 inch diameter hoses could only do so much against the flames. If this blaze was burning in a building, it would have been surrounded by tower ladders and deck guns and hosed down with high-caliber streams. But this was not a building; it was a ship, and all of that smoke and heat had nowhere to go. Whenever one of the hose streams splashed on the steel structure, the water flashed into a cloud of steam. The walls and ceiling and floor of the hangar bay were hot enough to cause the effect, as the heat had been building and building with no reliable way of dissipating. While some of the smoke had found outlets to the exterior through vents and hatchways, there was simply too much of it for the area to be reliably vented, and so much of the rest of the vessel was charged with the stuff, filling companionways and compartments and contributing much to the panic among the large numbers of workers.

There was no doubt that this was a potential disaster in the making. All the ingredients were present; heavy fire, thick and plentiful smoke, difficulty in accessing the fire, the confusing layout of the ship, large number of missing and trapped workers. Hooflyn Box 0904 could turn into a massacre.

Below Deck

'Progress report for Hooflyn 7th Alarm, Box 0904. Car 3 has a fire on board a 1000ft-by-300ft dry-docked aircraft carrier. We have fifteen lines stretched and in operation. Four tower ladders are set up for transporting supplies and personnel. Primary searches are still ongoing on all decks. At this time we have a total of two hundred and fifty six 10-45s, codes will follow. We have heavy fire on the hangar deck, not yet darkening down. Fire is still doubtful, K.'

Rescue 1 pushed deeper into the interior of the Canterlot. They had a definitive task to carry out, and if there was one thing that could define the Rescue Companies of the MFD, it was the determination to get the job done. The search rope laid by Ladder 145 guided them through the corridors and to the door that led to the galley freezer. Their helmet mounted torches cut through the darkness; the power had gone out as a result of the fire, or perhaps the decks where work was not being conducted had been disconnected from the grid by the construction crews. The smoke hung fairly thickly at the top of the passageway, but it was not enough to interfere with the operation.

'Alright, this it the spot,' the Captain of 145 informed the Rescue, his voice muffled by his mask but still audible. They directed their flashlights toward the door, revealing deep scoring marks on the hinges where the Ladder Company had tried to cut through with their saw, with no effect. Grey Spike tried the door just in case, but it wouldn't budge. It was thick steel, designed to hold the internal temperature at a suitably low level in which to store frozen food. Normally it could be opened from the outside, but it also had an interior handle so that anypony who found themselves trapped inside through negligence or accident could get themselves out, and not find that they were trapped inside a sub-zero environment with no protective gear. Evidently, either one of the ponies who had taken refuge inside had locked the door in the mistaken belief it would help keep the smoke out, or something, a body, a crate or a shelving rack, had fallen against the door mechanism and was jamming it.

'We tried to cut the hinges but our saw blade busted,' the Ladder officer added. 'Better give it a try with yours, Captain.'

'Right.' Grey Spike nodded. 'Flagstaff, any chance of shifting it with telekinesis?'

'I'll try it, Cap,' she replied, standing by the door. Her horn glowed where it protruded from between her mask and her helmet, and the door groaned and creaked as her magic tried to manipulate it, either to open it or to pull it free of its hinges. But the door was sturdy and heavy, and Flagstaff's horn stopped glowing. 'No good, Cap. I can't shift it,' she replied.

'Then we'll get to work with the saw,' Grey Spike replied. 'Blaze, make the cuts. Take out those hinges. Fairway, spot for him.'

'Yes, Cap!' Blaze replied, getting the saw down from his back and preparing it for use. Fairway moved in to keep an eye on proceedings and prevent any dangerous conditions from occurring during the operation. The power saw would give off sparks and would also emit fumes, as it was petrol-driven, powered by a gasoline reserve. The Rescue had other special saws for when air quality had to be maintained or when sparks would be a fire hazard, but that wasn't the case here. The hallway was already full of smoke, and it was made of metal, with no furnishings; there was nothing that could burn.

Blaze started up the saw, almost deafening in the confined space of the narrow passageway despite their helmets and protective hoods. He positioned it, and Fairway gave a nod that everything looked good. Blaze began to cut, pressing the rapidly-spinning saw blade against the thick upper hinge of the door with an almighty screech as the diamond-tipped blade began to slice through. Sparks poured from the cutting site as the other fireponies looked on, waiting.

'Rescue 1 to Command, we are at the freezer door, attempting to make entry with the saw, K,' Grey Spike spoke into his radio, relaying their efforts to the command post outside. Their radios had been busy with messages from other companies and sector commanders, keeping the chiefs in charge informed of exactly what was going on inside the ship. There were several hundred fireponies operating, some involved in rescues, some in fighting the blaze. All of them were in possession of facts unavailable directly to the chiefs outside; the exact conditions they were facing in the interior of the burning ship.

Blaze kept the saw firmly in position, and the blade cut through the hinge soon enough. He moved it down to the lower hinge, getting another approving nod from Fairway, and started the second cut. It ate up precious seconds, as anypony trapped inside the freezer must have been completely out of air, given the state of the passageway and the smoke that rolled through it. But maybe there was a chance for them, if they could be extricated. Maybe the medics could do something, save one or two of them, with medicine or with magic.

The hinge gave way, and Blaze and Fairway backed up. The other fireponies had kept a safe distance throughout the operation, and it was just as well, for with a brief telekinetic tug from Flagstaff, the door fell outward into the passageway with a loud clang. They were through.

'Oak Wood, High Line, get in there!' Grey Spike ordered. The Captain of Ladder 145 send his ponies in as well. Blaze peered in through the doorway, his torch playing across the scene. There were ponies in there; bodies? Or were they alive, clinging to life despite everything? The fireponies checked them.

'Six casualties, Cap!' Oak Wood called. 'We'll get them out.'

'Right! Bring them out,' Grey Spike confirmed. The fireponies picked up the poor, unconscious victims. Workers, who had sought refuge from the smoke and the fire. Seeking salvation, they perhaps had sealed their fate. They were carried on the backs of the fireponies, and they reversed their course, back down the search rope. Blaze took the saw and followed them out to the exterior of the ship, back into the light and the air.

The victims went down the ladders to the triage area, but the Rescue Company's job was not over. 'Check your air meters!' Grey Spike ordered, as Blaze ripped his mask off. He checked his gauge; he had 25 minutes left, according to the readout. 'Anypony under ten minutes, go get a fresh cylinder from the rig,' the Captain added. 'We're going back in. Command says the forward paint lockers and the anchor room have not been searched yet. We'll check them.'

Blaze was fine for the air requirement. So were the rest of the crew, and once those who had carried victims returned up the ladder, they were ready to head back in once again. There were large numbers of workers who were still unaccounted for. They may be in a safe area, some may have already left the ship. But others may be trapped by the flames, or overcome by smoke in some remote compartment. The fireponies' job would not be done until the fire was out and every single compartment and passageway had been thoroughly searched, from the bilge to the flight deck and from the anchor room to the stern rail.

Once they were ready, Rescue 1 and Ladder 145 re-entered the ship, and re-entered the smoke. As they headed forward, the smoke became thicker and hotter. They must be directly over the fire. The deck underhoof felt very warm, even through their boots. The fire itself was reported to have started on the hangar deck, which was the next deck down. Whether any progress had been made on containing and controlling it, Ember Blaze didn't know, but either way residual heat in the metal structure of the ship would linger for many hours, if not days, after extinguishment. Watch lines would have to be kept ready during the long overhaul process, and perhaps, the grim task of removing hundreds of bodies.

How many of those who could still be saved would actually survive depended now on the timely actions of the Rescue and the dozen or so truck companies that were assigned to searches. Workers could be anywhere below deck, trapped behind doors, unconscious in the passageways, on ladders or slumped again bulkheads. In the half-light provided only by their torches, it would be very difficult to see any further. Illumination from magic would have the same problem; the smoke would prevent seeing anything beyond it.

It was for situations just such as this that each Rescue and each Ladder Company were issued a thermal imaging camera. This hoof-held gadget could penetrate the smoke and haze using infra-red radiation, allowing the firepony carrying it to essentially see that which nopony else could. It could be used to search heavily charged rooms for bodies, or to detect hidden fire in walls, ceilings or other recesses by identifying the heat signature that caused changes in the temperature of surrounding surfaces. It was a fairly recent, but very welcome, addition to the fireponies' arsenal of technology.

Grey Spike carried the Rescue's thermal camera, as it was normally assigned to the officer. He scanned it from side to side whenever they entered a new compartment or passageway. Twice it encountered a body, distinguishable against the background by virtue of being, perversely, cooler than its surroundings. In normal circumstances that would be a bad sign, and indicate that the pony was sure to be dead, if its body temperature had dropped significantly. But this fire had not been burning for long enough for dead ponies to have started cooling; instead it was by virtue of the fact that the floor upon which they were standing, and the bodies were lying, was heated significantly by the energy of the intense blaze burning beneath them.

The bodies were removed down the search rope to the open air by the Ladder Company in the hopes that EMS could save them. Meanwhile, the Rescue pushed on. The anchor room was right at the front of the vessel, and as they progressed on the hull began to narrow, by virtue of it coming to a point at the bow. At a branch in the passageway, a sign was just readable on the wall; two arrows, one pointing right and one straight ahead, indicated the paint lockers and for'ard anchor room, respectively.

'Alright, we split up here,' Grey Spike ordered. 'Oak Wood, High Line, with me. We'll check the paint lockers. Flagstaff, High Line, Blaze, check the anchor room. We only need a primary search, then meet back here.'

'Got it, Cap!' Flagstaff nodded. While she was just a firepony like the others, she was considered to be the second in command of this particular shift, by virtue of her longer service, experience, and unicorn abilities. If the Rescue was forced to split its resources at any operation, then she would generally be in charge of whoever Grey Spike was not directly supervising.

Flagstaff led the way, her helmet torch and glowing horn lighting the passageway and helping guide the others. Blaze followed behind her. Search work was something he was familiar with from his time spent in several Ladder Companies during his career. It was tedious, but it was rewarding, every time a victim was found and removed to the hospital; assuming they survived, at least.

The trio of fireponies reached the anchor room. Flagstaff checked the door with her hoof; it was cool. No fire beyond it. She spun the wheel to open the door, pushing on it and stepping through, over the high coaming and into the compartment beyond. Blaze followed, and High Line brought up the rear.

The anchor room was fairly large, containing the windlasses for the two for'ard anchors, great metal beasts that let slip with a feral roar of chain through the hawse-holes whenever they were released. Despite the vast bulk of the ENS Canterlot, the two bow anchors, together with the two stern anchors, were enough to hold the ship in place when necessary. The chamber was a relatively good place to try and escape the smoke, since it had several direct openings to the exterior of the ship in the form of the hawsers through which the anchor chains ran. Whether any of the workers knew that was a different matter; these were not sailors on board, trained and knowledgeable in the layout of their vessel. They were workers; welders, pipefitters, riggers, electricians, carpenters. They did not have damage control stations to go to like the crew would. Their reactions in an emergency would be just as unpredictable as any other civilian.

'Primary search! Let's work through this compartment,' Flagstaff ordered. She turned the brightness of her illumination magic up as high as she could manage, and Blaze and Fairway set off in search. The compartment was thick with smoke, which was flowing toward the openings provided by the hawsers. Blaze went to the left, Fairway to the right, while Flagstaff held position near the door in case either of them got into trouble or found a victim.

Blaze kept one hoof on the wall of the compartment. That was the best way to navigate a compartment or a room that you could not see all of; it kept you oriented, and you could always follow the wall back to the exit in an emergency. With his other hooves, Blaze felt around for a body, for any sign of a pony. He kept on moving, feeling the anchor chains, metal, some equipment. His boots made it hard to determine sometimes exactly what he was touching; it lacked the tactile feeling of his bare hoof pressing against something directly.

He approached a small source of light; it must be the hawse-hole. He felt out with his hoof, and touched something. Not metal; something soft. He turned his torch onto the area, and quickly activated his radio, speaking into the microphone fitted to the inside of his mask.

'Rescue 1 Roof to Rescue 1 OV. I have a victim, left side of the anchor room!'

'Rescue 1 OV to Rescue 1 Roof, can you bring the victim to the door?' Flagstaff asked in reply.

'Rescue 1 OV, 10-4, bringing him out!' Blaze answered. He felt around for the pony's hooves. 'Hey, can you hear me? Fire department! We're gonna get you out of here, ok?' He spoke even though he didn't know if the pony could hear him, or even if he or she was still alive. Clearly the victim had been trying to breathe through the hole, get some fresh air in from outside, but that might not have been enough. The smoke had been drawn straight to the hawse-holes as a natural venting point, and even with their face pressed against the opening, there might not have been enough air to sustain life.

Blaze hoisted the pony onto his back in a standard firepony's carry, and felt his way back along the wall to the hatchway. Flagstaff was waiting, and the light from her magic revealed the victim to be a stallion, a black unicorn with youthful features. Clearly his magic had not been enough to get him out of the situation; only a few unicorns were strong enough to learn teleportation magic, the most sure-fire way of extricating oneself from a dangerous situation.

Fairway rejoined the others a moment later, having looped around the room and between the windlasses. 'No sign of any other victims!' he called out.

'Rescue 1 OV to Rescue 1, primary search of the anchor room is complete and negative with the exception of one 10-45. We're bringing him out now,' Flagstaff informed their Captain over the radio, getting a curt 10-4 by way of acknowledgment. The trio headed back to the junction in the passageway, where they were able to pick up the search rope. At Flagstaff's direction, Blaze followed the rope back all the way to the exit, and to fresh air, just as the five-minute warning began to sound on his air pack. Once outside, he ripped off his mask.

'Got a victim here!' he called out, and the two ponies stationed at the top of the aerial ladder made their way over to him to help him get the victim onto the ladder so he could be taken down to the medics below. Blaze climbed up and, assisted by the two ponies, he slowly backed down to the pier below. His focus was wholly on the victim and getting him safely down. No time to spare looking around, taking in the view, looking at the scale of the incident.

Once down, he picked up the unicorn again and trotted quickly to the triage area. A dozen ambulances were lined up, taking turns to load up two or three or sometimes four patients for removal to a hospital. Another five vehicles were parked up, their crews providing triage along with several supervisors' cars, a medical logistics unit, and the two converted buses assigned to each borough, the MERV and the MRTU; the Major Emergency Response Vehicle, capable of housing several dozen walking wounded or those with moderate injuries, and the Mobile Respiratory Treatment Unit, which could provide oxygen therapy to some forty civilians or, if needed, fireponies. Even as he approached the medical sector, another MRTU was pulling in, this time number 4 from the neighbouring borough of Princess. That was hardly surprising, given the report of how many workers were on board the ship. There could well be hundreds of ponies suffering from smoke inhalation.

'Got a victim here!' he called, and two paramedics trotted over. One listened carefully for the unicorn's vital signs, checking his pulse and breathing.

'Put him over there,' the paramedic ordered, gesturing with a hoof to an area with several dozen prostrate ponies.

'Over there?' Blaze asked, hesitating.

'Over there,' she nodded. 'Black tag.'

Progress

'Progress report for your 7th Alarm at Box 0904. At this time, Car 3, Chief of Department Starfire Storm, has a fire on the hangar deck of a 1000ft-by-300ft dry-docked aircraft carrier. We have eighteen lines stretched and in operation. Four tower ladders are set up for transporting equipment and personnel. Fire is on the hangar deck, with extension to the galley deck and the machinery deck. We have a heavy smoke condition throughout the vessel. Primary searches are underway but will be heavily delayed. At this time, we have a total of two hundred ninety seven 10-45s. EMS is working on the codes for them. Fire is still doubtful. By orders of Chief of Department Starfire Storm, special call one additional Squad Company, two additional Ladder Companies, two additional Battalion Chiefs, and the second Tactical Support Unit, K.'

Ember Blaze laid the unicorn down on the large black sheet. Black did not mean dead, necessarily; technically, under triage conditions, it meant sufficiently likely to die even with medical intervention that resources cannot be wasted on treating the victim. In cold, hard facts, it meant that those unfortunates would simply be left to expire whenever Celestia called for them, at whatever point their injuries would prove naturally fatal. To tie up expert doctors or nurses or paramedics on attempting to treat such cases would be at best futile, and at worst, criminally negligent, if there were other victims whose lives could be saved with their help, but which would almost certainly be lost without it.

It was the calculus of triage, and it was among the most unpalatable aspects of any firepony's job. Blaze fully understood the reasoning behind it, and the necessity of the system. Medical resources were limited, just like any other aspect of emergency response. There were only so many medics on scene. They had to do the best they could for the greatest number. Anypony marked as red tagged had critical injuries, but they were injuries which the medics had deemed were treatable with on-scene resources to a level where the patient could be transported to hospital with the expectation that they would reach it alive. That was the key to triage; treating and transporting somepony barely clinging to life, who would require the attentions of several ambulance crews to stabilise enough to even move onto a stretcher, not to mention a trauma team at the hospital, only to most likely die anyway, was a terrible waste of resources.

At a smaller incident, like a car accident with three or four victims, additional ambulances could be called for without putting too much of a strain on resources. But this fire was producing prodigious numbers of injured ponies. Some merely needed a couple of minutes' oxygen therapy, or a simple bandage or dressing. Others would have needed immediate admission to an intensive care unit to have even the smallest chance of survival. They were the black tags; some still clinically alive, but on the verge of death. All the medics could do was administer pain medication and move on to treat those who were treatable.

Blaze saw a small group of fireponies nearby, helmet off, turnout coats undone or removed, sweat pouring from their bodies, sitting dazed or bleary-eyed and resting against the side of an ambulance. He was tempted to go and join them, for he suddenly felt the fatigue of the operation. But it wasn't over, and he knew he had more left to give, if it was needed. He returned to the Rescue rig for another air bottle, swapping it out and heading back up the ladder to the galley deck.

There he found the rest of his unit. The paint lockers had proven empty, no other victims. He had to wait for those who had not swapped out tanks before to go and collect fresh bottles of air before getting their next assignment. More compartments needed searching; they were going in once again.

Ember Dawn followed the hose, his sweaty hooves moving along it as though he were playing out a rope for somepony else to grab hold of. This was crazy; this was insane. Wasn't it? Or was this simply what he had signed up for? No. No firepony signed up expecting to be in the bowels of a burning aircraft carrier, on their second day on the job, faced with a hellscape such as this. It was like the videos he had seen of the forest fires way out in the west of Equestria, where a fire front simply ripped through a section of woodland, towering flames leaping from tree to tree, an unstoppable juggernaut even in the face of fire breaks, bulldozers, deck guns, heavy hoses, helicopters and even converted airliners that unleashed deluges of water or fire-retardant spray onto the fire. That was what this was; it was a forest fire, contained inside a huge steel shell, and he was right in the middle of it.

The flames still had control of the far end of the hangar bay, burning through the intricate web of scaffolding, storage sheds and supply crates. Eventually, of course, it would expend all of its fuel and burn itself out, but by that stage the ship would be a write-off, and hundreds of ponies would be dead, succumbing to the fumes and smoke. The fire had to be controlled, and that was what the hoses were trying to achieve. Each was manned by two fireponies, doing the best they could, but the water output was simply not adequate to fight such a large fire. Deck guns and tower ladders were out of the equation due to the nature of the fire; it was indoors, not exposed to the elements, and unless somepony could teleport a fire engine inside the hangar, they could not be brought to bear.

Even with the larger-calibre 2-1/2 inch hoses, and even with a dozen of them, it was a steady slog against the wall of fire. Dawn stayed with Striker, as they were the nozzle team. In such an open environment as the large hangar deck, there was no need for a door control pony. The chauffeur, Deep Blue, was not operating the engine from which the hose was being supplied. Coppertop could keep charge over them, but the only ponies actively doing anything from Engine 25 would be Striker and his backup, Ember Dawn.

The duo moved in, replacing the ponies of Engine 243. Even through their masks they looked exhausted; the heat from the fire, all contained inside the hull, was severely debilitating, even more so than in any building fire except a high-rise tower, which suffered from similar ventilation problems, long stretches, and difficulty of access. There was simply nowhere for the heat to go; in a normal structure fire, the roof, the windows, or both would be opened up to draw heat and smoke away from the advancing hose lines. There was no such option here.

Striker took the nozzle and set to work. 'You ready, kiddo?' he shouted.

'Y-yeah!' Dawn replied with a nod that looked more determined than he felt. He gave Striker a tap on the shoulder, and the Pegasus opened up the hose, which writhed and bucked for a moment as the water burst from the brass tip. Striker didn't bother with the usual procedure of aiming at the floor for a moment to ensure a positive water flow; he had just seen the ponies of Engine 243 playing their stream with no issue. Instead he aimed directly for the seat of the blaze, joining the other hoses as they sprayed water, the primary currency of the fire department.

Manehattan was lucky because it had a limitless supply of water. Even if the city water mains were to be damaged in some way, salt water could be drafted from the harbour or either the West or East rivers by fireboats and engines, and pumped wherever it was needed for firefighting; though not an ideal solution because salt water would corrode fittings and cause potentially greater damaged in the process of extinguishing a fire, if the alternative was to let a building burn down, then salt water would most certainly be used.

Dawn checked the hose behind him to make sure it was still intact and functioning. It was. He then checked his air meter, and checked again just to be sure. The last thing he wanted was to suffocate on his first working fire. He knew that his brother was somewhere at the scene, and that spurred him on to overcome his fear at the flames, the heat, the smoke, the scale of the incident. He had been through smoke training at the Academy, of course, crawling into burning containers to rescue dummy ponies, but that was all ultimately a controlled environment. An instructor sat constantly watching the cameras from the control room, ready to hit the stop button at a moment's notice, opening a dozen vents, activating fans, cutting the flames, if the cadet should get into difficulty. This? This was real life.

Ultimately, however, and luckily for the fireponies, while conditions were grueling and tiring, there was little imminent danger to them. In any other building burning with such intensity, it was entirely likely that the roof would collapse, or an upper floor would come crashing down onto a lower one. The Canterlot would not do that. It was made of metal, and while, with a high enough heat, the metal could melt, even then it would only drip down upon them. That would be enough to cause severe burns, of course, but it would not mean instant death. Even if such melting occurred, hose lines could be repositioned, There would be time; it would not be an instantaneous collapse, as could happen in a building.

Dawn found that, the longer he spent on the fireground with nothing bad happening, the stronger he felt, mentally if not physically. He grew more confident that he, Ember Dawn, could truly withstand the rigours of the fireground. He could take the stress and the potential danger, for this was no training exercise. This was a real, working fire, and one that seemed to astound even some of the veterans in its scale and scope. He kept a close watch on the hose. There were no problems, no kinks or bends. Everything was working just fine.

Striker played the hose back and forth across the blaze that was consuming so much construction material. Slowly, very slowly, but equally surely, the onslaught by the Manehattan Fire Department told true. Slowly, the fire began to darken down, fade just a little, just slightly. It was a positive sign. It meant the fire was being cooled, contained. Water continued to pour in, an endless stream playing through the hoses from the pumps of a dozen engines.

Another half hour passed, and Dawn's air tank was nearing empty. So was Striker's, and together they called for relief. Engine 220 came in to replace them, and they headed for the exit, the same way they had entered the ship. Together, they made their way out, and together, they stripped off their masks and breathed in lungfuls of fresh, clean air.

'Hey...I tell you what,' Striker spoke. 'Damn good job in there, kiddo. Damn good job. A steady hoof on the tiller, that was just what was needed. You did good, Dawn.' He slapped him on the back appreciatively.

'Thanks...' Dawn smiled. That was his first worker, then. His first fire, one of the largest the department had seen in a good long while. They would be going back in, of course, once they had refreshed, and replaced their air tanks at the Mask Service Unit. But even if he dropped dead of a heart attack right then and there, Ember Dawn could truthfully say that he had given a good account of himself, done the best he could have hoped for. He hadn't broken down in tears of fear, he hadn't turned and fled. He had been there to support and back up his fellow fireponies, which was exactly what he was expected to do. He was proud of himself. He knew his brother would be, too.

Rescue 1 went back into the smoke, doing the job they had been trained for. As the fire darkened down and the smoke changed colour gradually from black to grey to white, they continued the search, finding and recovering another half dozen victims. Once their air was out, they headed back to the pier, tired, streaked with soot, covered in sweat, but knowing they had done a good job.

Two RAC units, Recuperation and Care vehicles, were at the scene, along with several ambulances devoted entirely to helping fireponies. The RAC units carried ice boxes, cold towels, blankets, simple snacks, sports drinks, water and juice, as well as the facilities for making hot drinks if the weather was cold. Everything exhausted fireponies needed to help them recover their strength after a grueling ten-round contest against a stubborn fire. The members of Rescue 1 were directed there; they had done their bit, played their part well in the whole huge symphony.

Blaze grabbed a bottle of sports drink, throwing a cold towel around his neck. He had removed his bunker jacket and helmet, wearing just his pants and the t-shirt that went under the jacket. He would have taken everything else off, but he was too tired. The conditions inside the ship had been extremely draining, thanks to the amount of heat and smoke that had been retained inside. At a normal fire, much of it would have been able to vent out through natural holes in the building. But the Canterlot, like every other Navy warship, was designed to seal up, to be airtight if necessary, as a protection against potential enemy nuclear, biological or chemical attacks. The only openings were those made by fireponies, or those that just happened to be in open condition, like hatchway doors and ventilation ducts. It made for punishing conditions for fireponies, but even more punishing for the workers, who had no protective gear. That was why hundreds of them now sat in the triage area and in half a dozen borough hospitals. It was also why the black sheet now held over fifty corpses, awaiting the arrival of the city medical examiner's mortuary wagons.

Blaze slumped down, slurping the orange-flavoured sports drink, finally cooling off. The ship, gradually, was cooling off as well. He sat and watched the smoke oozing out from every open hatch, fireponies scrambling up and down a dozen ladders. The fire would not be completely out for some time, but it was heading in the right direction, he could tell.

'Hey, Rescue. I see your firehouse buddies are here. That's a long way for 'em to come!' somepony commented. 'Must be a big fire to get the la-di-da midtown mob down here in Hooflyn!' There were a few chuckles of good humour in reply, but Blaze looked around. What did he mean? Firehouse buddies?

His eyes scanned half a dozen engines, and then he saw it. Engine 25. 25 was here, parked up. His brother was here, and he hadn't even known it. Seized by new energy, he stood and went in search again, this time not for a victim, but for his brother.

He found Dawn on the other side of the rig, resting, his back propped up against the front wheel. It took Dawn a few seconds to recognise the pony who appeared in front of him, but when he did, his reaction was immediate. He stood, half-smiled, then grinned, and then hugged Blaze tightly. They slapped each other on the back, laughed, shared a few moments of silent reflection and understanding. Now, Dawn knew. He knew what his dad had been, and what his brother was. He truly understood now, what it meant and what it took. For he was a firepony now, just like them.

'Final progress report for Hooflyn 8th Alarm, Box 0904. Car 3, Chief of Department Starfire Storm, reports she had a fire in a 1000ft-by-300ft dry-docked aircraft carrier. At this time, all fire on board is extinguished. Overhaul operations are underway. We have four watch lines in operation in case of flare-up. Secondary searches are complete throughout the vessel. EMS reports a total of eight-hundred-seventy-three 10-45s. Six hundred and ninety are green tags, one hundred and eleven are yellow tags, twenty are red tags, and we have fifty two black tags. By orders of Chief of Department Starfire Storm, place this fire under control, K.'

'10-4 Car 3, fire is under control. Duration of your incident was twelve hours, six minutes.'

Showoff

'The ENS Canterlot, once the pride of the Eastern Fleet, is now little more than a burned out shell of its former self, a vacant building in the heart of the Hooflyn Naval Yard. Hundreds of fireponies fought the flames for more than twelve hours before the incident was declared under control. The Navy Department says a thorough investigation will be mounted to find the cause of this devastating fire, which claimed the lives of more than fifty ponies and injured nearly a thousand more. For WMTN news, I'm Camera Obscura.'

'In other news, the radical New Lunar Republic terror group faces renewed calls from international bodies to surrender its weapons and end its campaign of...'

Ember Dawn turned off the TV. It was the morning after the day before, and he didn't want to wake Rosebush; she was still asleep, and that piece was the only story he cared about hearing. He had been there- oh yes, he had been into the bowels of hell and returned to tell the tale, returned to his marefriend like the veritable symbol of stallionhood that the male firepony always represented in popular culture. He had wanted to prove it, by making love to her, but the moment his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep. The extent of his exhaustion had not struck him until he had returned home at the end of his shift. He had slept like a foal in the hooves of his mare, a dreamless sleep.

Dawn was lucky in the sense that the MFD had decided that every unit of the day's shift which had conducted interior work at the carrier fire would be released early and replaced by members from the next shift who had been called in to standby in case the fire continued to escalate. As a result, he had made it home not long before midnight. He had not exerted himself to an extreme degree, but, he realised upon waking, it had been the stress and worry of the whole incident which had tired him out so much. He had been worried about his own safety, of course, and of the safety of everypony else. He had been worried about not messing up, not making a complete disaster of his firefighting debut, of not doing anything that would jeopardise a fellow firepony. Above all that, he had been worried for his brother, but he knew that he didn't need to be.

Ember Blaze was a professional, and had been firefighting for years; seven, in fact. Yes, he was Dawn's brother, but he was also a firepony, and only now did Dawn truthfully realise what that meant. He had been through all the training, the lectures, the smoke and fire and climbing ladders, pulling hose lines, lugging them up stairs, rolling them up again, rope rescues, foam operations, basic hazmat training, medical courses...everything needed to be an effective firepony. The training at the Academy had given him renewed respect for both his brother and his father, and for everypony who had ever donned the helmet and answered the call. The fire had scared him, of course, but not to the extent that he lost control or voided his bowels or ran away screaming. Just to the level where he knew it was a danger, and treated it with the respect it deserved, and that was the mark of a good firepony.

Dawn sat cradling his cup of coffee. It wasn't early; nearly 9am, which would be the time for him to start his shift if he were working. But he had 48 hours off to rest up and recover after the fire. That was the benefit of the system implemented by the MFD; 24 hours on, 48 off. It helped fireponies be ready for their tour of duty, during which they would need to be ready for anything. An incident of the scale of the carrier fire could happen at any time, and even if nothing of that magnitude should develop, it was always possible that some great feat of strength or personal courage would be needed, even on a routine shift.

The coffee was warm, but cooling steadily, just like the fire he had worked. He could still see it, towering flames filling the hangar bay, but controlled eventually by stubborn determination. The fireponies weren't going to let it get away from them, and they hadn't. He smiled. He was part of that family now, the one his brother had been a member of for seven years, and his father for many more than that.

'Hey, babe...'

Dawn looked around and smiled again. Rosebush Roulade was awake, rubbing at her bleary eyes with a hoof as she entered the kitchen. She was yawning, but even having just woken up, with a messy pink mane and a sense of vulnerability to her, she was still beautiful to him. More beautiful, perhaps.

'Hey...sorry, did I wake you up? I just wanted to check the news,' Dawn replied, but Rosebush shook her head.

'Nah. I gotta be up soon anyway. I have to get to work by eleven.'

Despite her degree in Economics, Rosebush had been the victim of an economic downturn and a poor job market, and found herself working as a mere part-time bank teller. That was why Dawn's job was so important to the couple- he worked for the city, and Manehattan was good to its municipal employees, paying them a decent and steady wage, and giving them good pension benefits.

Dawn leaned back so Rosebush could plant a kiss on his lips. 'Right...maybe you should become a firepony too. You get two days off for every one that you work,' he teased her gently.

'Nah. Firepony, me?' She shook her head. 'Call me old fashioned, but I like the idea of leaving that job to the big, strapping stallion of the family.'

Dawn grinned. 'Hey, you'd like some of the mares on the job, I think. There are two on the engine with me.'

'Well don't you go getting any ideas,' Rosebush wagged her hoof at him. 'They're co-workers, not eye candy.'

'Hey!' Dawn placed a hoof on his chest to show his semi-mock offence. 'I'm not looking at them like that! But you'd better not look at Striker. He's just your type.'

'Oh yeah? Is he a handsome young firepony with big muscles and a big...ego?' Rosebush smirked. 'You'd better watch out then, he might take your place.'

'I wanna take his place. He's the nozzlepony,' Dawn replied. 'You know, the one who gets to control the hose, put the fire out.'

'What is it with stallions and their hoses?' Rosebush chuckled. 'I thought you just liked to play with them until water squirts out of them...'

Dawn rolled his eyes at her innuendos, but he had to laugh too. She made him laugh. She made him laugh all the time; that was part of why he loved her so much. 'I thought you had some breakfast to make?'

'Yeah, yeah.' She grinned at him, before heading to the fridge to gather ingredients for her breakfast. 'You just enjoy your time off, babe. You earned it. I'll see you this evening.'

'I'll just put my hooves up for a bit,' Dawn replied. 'I'll probably be right here when you get back.'

'Oh yeah. You're mister lazypones when you're not working,' Rosebush chuckled. 'Don't work too hard while I'm gone. Another aircraft carrier might catch fire.'

Ember Blaze scrubbed away at the chauffeur's door of the Rescue Company's rig. Two days had passed since the carrier fire, and so he was on shift once more, at work in Firehouse 25. Cleaning the vehicles was a thankless task, but necessary, to ensure both good mechanical working order and also a good image with the public. A dirty fire truck suggested a lack of care and pride in appearance, and that, by somewhat circuitous logic, could suggest to ponies that the Manehattan Fire Department didn't care about its mission of saving lives, either.

The previous two days had passed uneventfully in terms of the city's incident log. One second alarm had been recorded in the Ponyx, but apart from that, everything had been relatively routine. That often seemed to happen in the wake of major incidents. Blaze had noticed that over the years. Partly it was coincidence, for sure, but perhaps sometimes it was also ponies taking a little more care over fire safety when they saw exactly what a big fire could do. Over fifty dead in a blaze would make even the most ambivalent pony sit up and take notice.

Blaze was happy enough to perform the necessary task. He was very proud of his job; he was proud of his company. He was very proud indeed to be part of the Rescue family. His father had been the huge influence, of course. Blaze Beater had been a member of the Special Operations Battalion for the majority of his long and storied career, a minor legend in departmental terms, which meant that he and his brother had a lot to live up to. Of course, it also helped in sway behind the scenes with various officials and staff chiefs, which was why Ember Dawn's first assignment had been to Engine 25, the company that just so happened to be quartered with Rescue 1, thus enabling both brothers to work together.

His dad had his sly ways, Blaze mused. He was glad; he liked having Dawn around, partly because it meant he could keep a brotherly eye on him, and partly because, he knew, the friendly competition between them would only be stimulated by their proximity, and that could drive them both to be better fireponies. Alternatively, it could lead to them trying to show off, to one-up each other in the course of their duties, and that could be dangerous.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion. Rescue.'

Ember tossed the washcloth aside and jumped into his gear. Striker was on housewatch for the tour, and he sang out.

'10th Ave and 45th Street! Motor vehicle accident with entrapment! Engine first due. Everypony goes!'

Sirens wailed through the canyons of midtown Manehattan. It was hardly an unfamiliar sound, and most ponies scarcely turned their heads as the engine and the chief's car rolled by. The Rescue, however, always turned heads, whether folks recognised it or not, and that was down to one simple reason.

The officer, Grey Spike in this case, was in charge of sounding the rig's air horn and sirens while the chauffeur was busy weaving through traffic, and the Rescues, all five of them, simply did not stop announcing their presence. The only time a Rescue responded without making any noise was if they were called to provide an escort for a firepony's funeral. Any other run they went on would see the officer leaning on the air horn, loud, deep bellows of sound that would cut through engine noise and the sound of music on car radios. The combination of the wailing siren and the almost continuous air horn with the precision driving and high speed lent a sense of urgency to the Rescue Company that no other fire vehicle could hope to possess.

Engine 25 was the first unit to arrive at the scene, pulling over to the side of the road. There was a single car, upside down. That was not unusual. What was unusual was that water was pouring out of it.

'What the...' Dawn muttered, as he climbed down from the rig.

'Shit...' Coppertop grunted, waving down Firebrand as he got out of his vehicle. 'Chief! Car's upside down on top of a hydrant!'

'Alright 25, see if you can shut that hydrant down!' Firebrand replied, placing his helmet squarely on his head as the Rescue crew climbed down. 'Rescue, stabilise the vehicle and crack that driver side door if you can.'

A pony hurried over to them, looking frantic. 'He's still in there!' she shouted. 'I-in the car! I saw the whole thing. He was going way too fast and somepony stepped out into traffic, so he swerved to avoid her. He musta hit...I dunno, a mailbox or a delivery cart or something.' She gestured to a short trail of debris leading up to the intersection where the car now lay. 'Whatever he hit flipped him up. You gotta get him out of there, he's gonna drown!'

'We're working on it, ma'am. Please step back and let them do their jobs,' Firebrand addressed her. He did a quick once-around of the car to check for issues. Water was filling the front of the cabin. The hydrant itself had sheared off from the force of the impact. Dawn, Dark Flash and Deep Blue tried to get under the car to shut it down with the hydrant key, but the car itself prevented them from doing so. The Rescue crew crabbed cribbing and wooden chocks, sliding them in place to keep the car stable as Blaze and Oak Wood got to work on the driver's door with their Hoofigans, trying to pry it open so they could pull the driver out. They could see the unfortunate victim; a young stallion, no doubt trying to show off with his new ride. He was the only pony in the car, and he wasn't moving.

A pair of police cruisers rolled up onto the scene at the same time as the first-due Ladder Company. Firebrand directed the ladder crew to stand by with their hydraulic gear in case they were needed to get the door open. Blaze and Oak Wood worked vigorously on the door, which was bent out of true by the crash. They wrenched it free, and Oak ducked in to try and grab the driver. Yanking somepony from a car wreck without any kind of neck or spinal protection in any other circumstance was an invitation to cause paralysis, but this was one of the few occasions when it was necessary; if they didn't get him out, he would drown.

Oak used a seat belt cutter, a simple gadget designed for exactly that purpose, to cut the lap and shoulder belts, and with Blaze's help, he pulled the hapless pony out of the crash, laying him on the sidewalk. He wasn't breathing, but an ambulance was just arriving at the junction. The paramedics hurried over with a stretcher and a backboard.

'He's not breathing,' Oak informed them. 'No pulse.'

The medics got to work on the victim, as a small crowd of onlookers were kept at bay by the police. Both unicorns, the medics used magic as well as technology to stabilise him, to bring him back from the brink of death. Magic was magic, of course, but it had its limitations. It couldn't bring the dead to life; at least, none of the legal magic that ponies could actually learn could. What it could do was work in conjunction with CPR and intravenous drugs to act as a kind of artificial heart, to force blood to pump around the body in order to keep other vital organs, especially the brain, from suffering from a lack of oxygen while the physical medical aid attempted to restart the heart itself. It could only keep that up for a short time, however, before carbon dioxide concentration in the blood rose to dangerous levels. If the lungs were not working, if the patient was not breathing and respiring properly, then continuing to forcibly circulate the blood would soon poison the rest of the body anyway.

It was a delicate task, but more ponies had been saved by a combination of magic and medicine than by medicine alone. That was why it was mandated, though not always achievable, that every city ambulance would run with at least one unicorn crewpony on board. Here, there were two, and that proved its worth after a couple of minutes.

'Got a pulse,' one commented.

'He's breathing,' confirmed the other, applying oxygen through a bag valve mask. 'Alright, let's get him loaded up.' A couple of the fireponies assisted the medics getting the patient onto a backboard and adding a neck brace before placing him on the stretcher and into the ambulance, to be whisked away to the nearest trauma centre.

The car was still blocking the hydrant, but a police Emergency Service Unit- an ESU truck, part mini-rescue and part tactical response team, was on scene, and was able to pull the car off of the accident spot using a tow chain. Dawn and Deep Blue were able to shut down the hydrant, and the MFD's role at the incident was over. The scene would be turned over to the police to conduct a crash investigation and remove the wreck, and to the Department of Environmental Protection to fix the hydrant. Thanks to the ponies of Rescue 1 and Engine 25, another pony had been given a potential second chance from their mistakes.

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.

Drill

While the Rescue had been away, Engine 25 had responded to a single run of its own- a medical call, which turned out to be a homeless pony sleeping on a bench. He shooed them away with a rolled up newspaper, and they returned to quarters, where Lieutenant Coppertop ordered them to conduct a drill.

Unit drills were very common, a way of both passing time when nothing else was happening and of honing and refining the training every firepony received at the Academy. Some skills they had learned might never be put to the test in a real emergency throughout their entire careers, but it could be the downfall of an entire operation if, just one time, they were called upon to perform some esoteric function and found they had forgotten all about it.

The drill- or evolution, in firepony speak- that Coppertop selected was a simple one, the most basic function, in fact, of the Engine Company. It was merely the stretching of lines of hose in the rear courtyard of the firehouse. That was what an engine was for, after all. They stretched hoses, they extinguished the fire. It was a prudent decision to check on how the new probie would fit in with such operations. The fire he had operated at, the carrier, had not seen Engine 25 stretch a line themselves. Instead they had taken over control of one which had already been laid by another company. Ember Dawn had not stretched a line in anger, and that was how he now found himself doing just that, over and over again, while the other members of the company performed their part in the drill, getting the nozzle ready and supporting the deployment of the hose until they were ordered to start again.

It was tedious, but it was vital. After all, they were practising their very reason for existing as a company. On scene, an engine might well be called upon to perform any number of other tasks, but ultimately, this was what the very first engines had been formed for several hundred years ago, when the hose was made from simple leather instead of layered rubber and plastics as it was now. Dawn was happy to carry out the task. He knew that it was obviously a form of hazing to have the new pony lugging the hose every time, considering that he was not the only pony who would ever ride as the backup. But it was a reasonable form of hazing; his fellows wanted to know they could count on him, and so did Coppertop. Yes, he had performed well at his first fire, but, though the scale of the fire had been vast, his role in stopping it had been very minor. In a smaller fire, a first alarm where Engine 25 was first-due to the scene, the first hose line to be stretched could well stop the fire, save the building, save lives, all by itself, provided it were correctly placed, manned, and operated. That was what the drill was all about. Making sure that Dawn, and by extension, Engine 25 when he was riding with them, could perform that task effectively. And so they ran it again, and again, and again.

The members of Rescue 1 clambered aboard their vehicle. They had been out of service for over three hours because of the last call; when they arrived at the hospital, the colt, Sulfur Springs, was rushed to the trauma room. Doctors checked him over. His liver had been punctured by the metal spike, and while several blood vessels had been ruptured, no major artery had been damaged. A quick x-ray series had been examined by the on-call trauma surgeon, who determined that most of the liver could be saved with prompt removal of the fence post. He would need help, though, and so Rescue 1 had been drafted in. The operating room had been set up while Grey Spike discussed tactics with the surgeon and his team. It was decided in short order that the end of the spike protruding from Sulfur's back should be cut as close to the body as possible. The spike could then be delicately extracted from the front, minimising the amount of metal that would have to be pulled through the colt's body and thus the possibility for affecting his bowels, bladder, spleen or any one of half a dozen other organs.

The circular saw was out of the question; the operating theatre was a sterile room, and using a gasoline-powered tool that pumped out fumes and sparks when surrounded by highly flammable concentrated oxygen and other substances was not exactly a sensible course of action. Grey Spike had ordered Flagstaff to help the surgeons with a magic shield if needed, much as she had done at the scene, and High Line would use the sparkless reciprocal saw, a small hoof-held device that was very similar to the kind of device the surgeon himself might use to cut through bone, but with even stronger blades that could slice through metal as well. The rest of the crew would standby with portable extinguishers outside the operating room in case anything went wrong- though sparkless in theory, the saw had been known on rare occasions to produce them when cutting certain types of metal. Iron was not, so far as anypony knew, among those, but Grey Spike deemed it prudent to be safe rather than sorry.

High Line and Flagstaff had scrubbed up just like the medical team, after stripping off their gear, and they had gone into the theatre. Everything had gone well; the metal had been cut, nothing had caught fire or exploded, and with great care, the surgeon had removed the metal from Sulfur Springs, repaired what internal damage he could, and sewn him back up again. Now he lay in the intensive care unit, with his mother by his side. He had, the surgeon told the Company, an excellent chance of survival and a very healthy- pardon the pun, he had added- chance of a full recovery.

It gave every member of the crew pride. They had helped in no small way toward that, and while everypony did their job because they knew ponies needed their help, it was nice to get some kind of reward at the end of an operation, even if it was just a feeble thank you from somepony for saving their pet cat, or a quick call from the hospital to say that yes, that burn victim pulled through after all.

'Rescue 1 to Manehattan, we are taking up from Meadowbrook Memorial Hospital. We are 10-8, K,' Grey Spike informed the dispatcher. They were 10-8; back in service and available for calls if needed. In their absence, calls in the borough of Manehattan that required a Rescue Company would have had to be covered by one of the other Rescues, which could, depending on their location, take up to three or four times longer to arrive at the scene. It was a frustration for the dispatchers, who tried their best to maintain coverage, when they lost any company for such a length of time, but the specialised Rescues were even more valuable because of the range of services they could provide which others could not.

The journey back down to the firehouse passed with some casual conversation between the members. Flagstaff asked Blaze all about his family. She didn't remember his father personally, but she had certainly heard some stories about him during her three years on the Rescue. Blaze was happy to talk about Blaze Beater, and hoped that his dad was happy to talk about his son, both of his sons, whenever he met up with his former brothers-in-arms at one of the many firepony reunions he attended.

Back at the firehouse, Blaze found his brother packing away hose at the end of a long drill session. He grinned at him and called out as he dismounted. 'Hey, probie! Make sure that hose is rolled up nice and tight!'

Dawn made a rude gesture in reply, which made Blaze and Striker, who was watching from the housewatch desk, burst out laughing. Blaze shot Striker a grin and headed to the kitchen.

'Hey, where the hell were you guys?' Striker asked him. 'You've been gone for, like, the whole shift. You missed your brother doing about a hundred hose lays.'

'Oh yeah?' Blaze chuckled. 'We were at the hospital. Kid decided he'd rather impale himself on a metal fence than go have his teeth pulled. Had to give the surgeons an assist.'

Striker whistled. 'Oh yeah, I hate the dentist too, but c'mon, kid. Really? Damn...is he gonna make it?'

'Surgeon seemed hopeful, yeah,' Blaze replied. 'We cut the metal down as much as we could and he was able to get it out. Poor kid. HIs mother was hysterical. Kept saying she'd killed her son because she tried to insist he went to the dentist. She's with him now, anyway. He's on the road to recovery, hopefully.'

'That's great. Well, relatively, all things considered,' Striker mused. 'Only in Manehattan, huh?'

'Only in Manehattan,' Blaze chuckled. Having lived in the city all his life, just like Striker, he knew exactly what was meant by that innocuous little phrase. It didn't mean that strange and outlandish incidents couldn't happen in other cities; they did. It just meant that if you took a sample of the top twenty oddest fire calls, police calls, medical runs, or simply bizarre occurrences that had been witnessed on the streets of each other city in Equestria, then there was a good chance that every single one of them had happened in Manehattan at some point, or would in the future. It was the nature of living in such a teeming metropolis, which had creatures of all kinds as residents and tourists, land use ranging from scrubland to chemical industry to mega-high rises, and services from spas, nightclubs and brothels to museums, convention centres and movie studios. If something could happen somewhere in the world, chances are it would happen in Manehattan.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion.'

This time, the evening meal had already been consumed and cleared away, much to everypony's delight, before the alarm sounded. 'Box 7046, West 51st between 10th and 11th Avenues, structural fire!' Striker shouted. 'Engine goes first due!'

Dawn, who had been playing cards in the lounge with Dark Flash, Fairway and Blaze, leaped up along with the rest of the engine crew, and hurried out to their rig. It was getting dark outside. The nights were starting to creep in, and the chill of autumn was already noticeable in the night. Worse would follow in the coming weeks as the nights grew longer and longer, but for now, there was a pleasant enough warmth to the air as they climbed up into the rig and set off into the twilight.

'Manehattan calling Battalion 9?'

'Battalion 9, K.'

'Looks like they're reporting fire on the second floor at this time, ponies trapped on the third floor. Battalion 9, received?'

'Battalion 9, 10-4.' Chief Firebrand replied from his car, following behind the engine and driven by his aide, a firepony mare by the name of Pumpkin Punch.

'Manehattan calling Ladder 4, received?' The dispatcher checked in with Ladder 4, the first-due truck company, and received a similar reply.

'Engine 25, received?'

'Engine 25, 10-4,' Coppertop replied into the radio. 'We might have work, everypony get ready.' Dawn tightened his straps and checked his helmet and air tank. He wanted to be ready to leap straight into action if needed, but there was always the possibility that what was reported over the phone as a life-or-death deadly disaster unfolding before the caller's very eyes was either a prank or a drunken illusion, or somewhere in between, perhaps a misunderstanding or a language barrier. 'Yak burning! Building burning! Yak not stand it any longer!' could turn out to simply be a disgruntled member of that species calling the emergency number to try and report that the thermostat in its tenement building was turned up higher than it would like.

As the engine rounded the corner onto the block, however, it became clear that was not the case here. Coppertop grabbed the radio. 'Engine 25 to Manehattan, urgent.'

'Unit with the urgent, go ahead, K.'

'Engine 25 to Manehattan, 10-75 the box, K,' Coppertop called. Signal 10-75; a working fire.

Flames were pouring freely from the second floor window of a six-storey brick structure, a multiple dwelling with numerous apartments, and thus numerous creatures living within it. Deep Blue pulled the rig straight past the fire building before coming to a halt with a hiss of air brakes. The crew bailed out, jumping down to the street. To an onlooker, it may have seemed odd; why had she driven right past the burning building? It was right there!

The reality was that Deep Blue had done exactly what was needed. The street was narrow, and like all cross-streets in the borough of Manehattan, it was one way traffic only. While later-arriving units could certainly be directed by radio to enter the block against traffic if needed, the first-due companies would arrive from the same direction, and it was not the engine that needed to be in front of the fire building- it was the truck. The trucks were responsible for searching the building for victims, and often, that meant raising the aerial ladders, either to rescue victims who were waving from the windows or to allow fireponies to quickly access an upper floor. To do that effectively, the ladder had to be in front of the fire building. There was another reason for the Engine to pull beyond the building as well, and that was that the Engine held only a limited amount of water. It had an on-board booster tank, but it held only 500 gallons, enough for a couple of minutes' water from a hose line. Anything more than a simple car or trash fire would need additional resources, and so the Engine had to pull up near a fire hydrant so that it could connect to it and pump water directly from the city's mains supply.

Firebrand's SUV pulled into the block and over to the side, finding a spot among parked vehicles, leaving room for Ladder 4, which roared into the block a moment later, coming to a halt in the correct spot right in front of the burning building. The crew piled out as Coppertop issued orders. 'Alright, let's hustle! Blue, get hooked up to that hydrant. Striker, Dawn, stretch a line to the front door. Flash, standby for entry.'

Everypony leaped to it. Dawn felt his heart pumping just as it had at the carrier, only this was a subtly different feeling. Then, it had been one of shock, of being overwhelmed by the scale of a huge ship burning seemingly from stem to stern, and hundreds of ponies being led to safety. Now, it was one of duty and responsibility. This was a working fire in his company's first-due area. Striker was the nozzlepony of the first arriving engine, and he was the backup. Their job was to put out that fire; as simple as that.

Together with Striker, Dawn pulled the hose. He checked it for kinks or damage, finding none. They were good to go. He put his mask on as the truck raised its aerial ladder to the second floor. A second engine pulled into the block, but they could go to hell; this was Engine 25's fire to fight. This was his fire.

Inside

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

Blaze stood. He had been relaxing in his chair, the game of poker having been interrupted by the departure of the Engine on a run. Now it was their turn. He ran to the rig, geared up, and climbed aboard.

'10-75 for box 7046,' Grey Spike announced, after checking the data terminal on the dashboard. 'Looks like the engine caught a worker this time. Alright, let's roll out!' he ordered. Fairway was happy to oblige, swinging the Rescue onto the avenue with a blast of air horn as several taxis were forced to stop short to allow them to depart the station. It was only a short trip around to the location of the fire, just a couple of avenues away and two streets north of the firehouse. No wonder Blaze had only had time to sit and relax for a minute before the alarm had come in. The radio, tuned to the Manehattan frequency, gave an indication of what they were driving into, as the voice of Pumpkin Punch could be heard.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan.'

'Battalion 9, K.'

'For Box 7046, at this time, we have fire on the second story of a six-story 50ft-by-50ft brick occupied multiple dwelling. Exposure 1 is a street, Exposure 2 is a similar attached, Exposure 3 is unknown, Exposure 4 is a similar detached. We have one line stretched, not yet in operation. Primary searches on the fire floor are in progress. Fire is doubtful will hold, go with the All Hooves, K.'

An All Hooves signal meant that every company assigned on the report of a working fire- four Engines, three Ladders, the Rescue, a Squad, two Battalion chiefs- would be put to work at the incident. It also mandated the response of the Division Chief, the next highest ranking officer, and a RAC Unit, for the recuperation and care of fireponies at the scene. 'We got work, fillies and gentlecolts!' Grey Spike announced to the crew as the Rescue rolled onto 10th Avenue and turned north, pulling up just short of the junction with the block on which the fire had broken out. There was no pressing need for the Rescue to enter the block, and generally it was better to leave the path clear for more Engines and Ladders which might be needed closer to the fire building. Blaze and the others climbed down, and Grey Spike trotted around the corner to the command post.

Blaze grabbed his tools, a Hoofigan and an axe, and joined the others in heading around the corner. The city block was already busy, with two engines and two ladders on the scene. Another ladder turned into the block; the third-due ladder was assigned as the HOOF Truck. HOOF stood for Helpers Of Other Fireponies, a rather torturous acronym that some bureaucrat somewhere no doubt signed off on because it made a pony-related word and sounded good on marketing campaigns. Other departments used more prosaic terms such as RIT- Rapid Intervention Team- and FAST- Firepony Assist & Search Team- to define the same role. The HOOF Truck's sole responsibility at a fire or other incident was to go into the scene if fellow fireponies needed help to get themselves to safety. A firepony might suffer a fall or other injury and be unable to move themselves, or they might find themselves trapped under a collapse. They might run out of air and pass out, or they might become lost in the confusing layout of some warehouse or hotel. In any of those cases, the HOOF Truck's crew had the task of rescuing any firepony who might need assistance.

The HOOF Truck pulled into the block, followed rapidly by another engine. Blaze knew that his brother was riding as the backup on Engine 25; that meant he would be on that single hose line, just behind Striker. He peered up ahead to the burning building. Be safe, little brother.

'Alright, make entry! Let's go!'

The front door of the building was already open, residents having used it for evacuation as the fire broke out on the second floor. Striker led the way, and Ember Dawn followed, into the gloom and the darkness of the interior. Dark Flash kept control of the front door, making sure it was chocked open and didn't close on and damage the hose line. Coppertop followed them inside.

The hallway was heavily charged with smoke. Ventilation of the roof or the upper stories had not yet taken place, and so there was nowhere for it all to go, meaning it hung in their path like a blanket. The stairs, however, were just ahead, and Striker found them easily enough. Up they went, lugging the hose along with them. It was cumbersome, but it was necessary, vital if they were to have any effect. They had to put water on the fire.

A fire escape in the alley on the Exposure 4 side- the right side of the building, when looking at it from the street- had allowed most occupants to escape, but if any were still trapped, it was not Engine 25's job to focus on them. There were Ladder Companies on scene, and they were the ones responsible for conducting rescues. At least it meant nopony was blocking their path by trying to escape down the interior stairs. They reached the second floor.

'Engine 25 Nozzle to Engine 25 Chauffeur. Charge the line!' Striker called into his helmet-mounted microphone.

'Engine 25 Chauffeur, 10-4!' Deep Blue replied over the radio. A couple of moments later, the flaccid hose became engorged with water as she let the vital liquid flow into it in preparation. Striker, Dawn and Coppertop approached the door to the fire apartment. With fire venting out of the window, the possibility of a backdraft- the sudden, rapid ignition of superheated gases upon the introduction of fresh oxygen, from opening a door for example- was essentially zero. Coppertop stood by and received nods from both ponies, before trying the door handle with a gloved hoof. It opened, and they gazed into hell.

'Engine 25 Nozzle to Engine 25 Chauffeur. Start water!' Striker shouted.

'Engine 25 Chauffeur, 10-4!'

The engine's pump started up, getting water flowing. Striker opened the nozzle, spraying the floor for a few moments to make sure the hose was functioning properly. He then aimed it up and the ceiling, spraying water across the burning gases that had accumulated there. The room was well ablaze, and Striker then set about working the stream over the heaviest concentration of fire. Dawn kept hold of the line behind him, making sure it didn't kink around the doorway as they made entry, Striker kneeling on the mid-joint of his hind legs and shuffling forward. It wasn't particularly dignified, but it was the correct way to enter a burning room, giving maximum control over the hose line, keeping low where the air was cooler, and allowing him to better check for potential obstacles in his path- holes in the floor where the boards had burned through, for example.

The fire had not been burning for that long, however, and together, Striker and Dawn made good progress inside the fire apartment, washing down everything that was burning, spraying water around the room and out of the window. The smoke that was pouring from the building changed from black to grey, indicating to those watching that the fireponies had managed to get water onto the fire and were in the process of cooling it down, and hopefully extinguishing it.

Dawn took deep breaths from his air tank. The room was red hot, making him sweat profusely, but that was a good thing. It was when he stopped sweating that he had to worry, for that would mean that he had become so dehydrated that there was no moisture left in his body for him to sweat out. That could, and did, happen at longer duration fires, but they had only been inside the burning building for a few minutes. Dawn found that he was not afraid, but instead quite happy. Perhaps that was a side effect of his first ever fire being such a big one, but he felt that this was a good test for him. He had stretched the hose line as required, thanks to the drills earlier in the shift, no doubt. He had not hesitated to enter the building, and he had not hesitated to enter the fire apartment, either. He was surrounded by flames, burning to his left, right, and front, but with Striker ahead of him and the experienced and level-headed Lieutenant Coppertop behind, he knew he was in the company of very capable fireponies, and he felt like they were the ones in control, not the fire. They, the fireponies, had a good handle on it. They would bring it under control soon enough.

Striker washed down the worst pockets of fire, spraying them with a deluge of water, forced into the hose line by the powerful centrifugal pump on board Engine 25. A steady flow was vital to ensure that there was enough pressure to actually extinguish the flames, and that was the job of Deep Blue, the chauffeur, to provide. She manned the pump control panel on the rig in the street outside, keeping the flow pressure and the pump temperature within manageable limits so that the fireponies inside could do what was needed to put the fire out.

Dawn moved the line forward, continually checking to make sure it hadn't snagged on the door frame, as Striker pushed deeper into the room. Members of Ladder 4 were with them now, to conduct a quick primary search of the fire apartment once conditions permitted them to access it with some degree of relative safety. They would be looking for bodies, potential victims of the red devil that menaced the residents of Manehattan every day. But the fact that the apartment door had been closed, but unlocked, suggested that it was possible the resident had been savvy enough with regards to fire safety to have left the apartment, closed the door behind them to contain the fire, but left it unlocked so that the fireponies could gain access without having to waste time with forcible entry.

This was confirmed over the radio a minute later as the truck was searching the three-room apartment, when Chief Firebrand radioed that the owner of the apartment was outside and had called in the fire by cellphone. Nobody else lived with him. The ponies of Ladder 4 conducted their search anyway, just in case, but came up empty-hoofed. Nopony was home, and the search was negative. During their efforts, Striker continued to hose down the fire until it was all just smouldering. The truck ponies opened up the walls with their Hoofigans and hooks, checking for any extension where the fire might have made its way into hidden voids or pipe chases. They did the same with the ceiling, and Striker washed down any hotspots inside. Dawn kept position with him, making sure that nopony stepped on or damaged the hose with their tools as they came and went from the apartment.

Chief Firebrand transmitted the Probably WIll Hold signal, meaning that it was likely the incident could be contained with the units currently assigned, just ten minutes after the alarm had come in, and just as Division Chief Misty Morning pulled up at the scene. The dark blue-and-green unicorn mare trotted down the block to the command post.

'Chief Firebrand,' she nodded to him. 'I'll be assuming command from here on out.'

'Chief Misty Morning,' Firebrand returned her nod. 'You can take up if you'd rather. I just placed the fire at probably will hold.' That signal meant that, under the department regulations, the Division Chief could remain in service and not attend the fire, at their discretion- and clearly Misty Morning had used her discretion to decide to continue in anyway.

'I heard,' Misty Morning replied. 'But since I was here already I thought I would take control myself,' she replied, rather coldly. Firebrand nodded.

'Very well, Chief...the fire is knocked down on the second floor. Primary searches are complete and negative, secondaries underway. One line stretched and operated. Fire apartment is 2A as in Apple.'

Misty Morning nodded and checked out the command board, her white mane mostly hidden under her equally white Chief's helmet with gold frontpiece, Deputy Chief, Division 3 emblazoned upon it. Firebrand permitted himself a single roll of the eyes before returning to the task at hoof. He wouldn't say Misty Morning was a hardass, per se, but merely a stickler for the rules and a Chief who wanted everything done by the book. If the regulations said she was permitted to still respond in after the fire had gone probably will hold, then by Celestia, you could be sure she was going to do exactly that, merely because she could. It was a chance for her to exert her authority, which was something she enjoyed doing. What was worse was that she was not merely some blowhard who would crumble when responsibility was actually placed on her shoulders; she was a damn fine Chief when she wasn't being quite so strict, wasn't riding everypony's backs. She had a long career, first in Ladders and then in the SOB, the Special Operations Battalion, where she had risen to Captain of the Hazardous Materials Company before being promoted to Battalion Chief, and then again three years ago to her current rank and assignment.

There was no denying that she had earned her place, but so had Battalion Chief Firebrand. He had been in the department even longer than she had, which raised the question of why he was still one rank lower than her. The answer was simple; he had been offered promotion several times, had even completed the tests required on one occasion, but he had still chosen to stay as a Battalion Chief, not because he doubted his own abilities, but because he loved his district. He loved his companies, and he loved his fireponies. Firebrand had been in command of the 9th Battalion for eight years, and before that he had served both in Rescue 1 and Ladder 4, companies located within that geographic area. He had hardly left midtown in his whole career, save for a brief stint down in Stallion Island when a similarly hardass Chief to Misty Morning had sent him off to one of the slowest companies in the city for some perceived minor indiscretion. He had been happy to serve down there, where they were lucky to get more than half a dozen runs in a 24-hour shift, and he had been equally happy to serve in midtown Manehattan, where calls were frequent and varied.

Firebrand had long told himself, and his wife, Cherry Tree, that he would apply for that promotion to Deputy Chief, with the intention of taking it this time, when he reached 30 years of service with the MFD. But that deadline had come, and it had gone, and he had not made his application. The extra money would help, yes, but his two daughters had moved out years earlier, and he only had to support himself and his wife now, and a Battalion Chief still made good money, considering it was a city job.

The truth was that Firebrand was content being where he was. He was happy to be a Battalion Chief, because it kept him on the frontline, like a proper firepony. Division Chiefs and above spent most of their time driving a desk or filling out various forms of administrative paperwork, and there was enough of that at Battalion level. The last thing he needed was more forms to complete. Firebrand was a firepony, and that, fundamentally, was why he had refused promotion. He wanted to be in the thick of it with the ponies who laid it all on the line every shift, because he had been in their boots and he had the utmost, absolute respect for every one of them.

Dawn and Striker left the fire building, having done their job and extinguished the blaze. Misty Morning, exercising her prerogative again, called the dispatcher to let them know the fire was under control. It would have been more usual for her aide to make the call while she focused on the final stage of the operation, but that was Misty Morning. Control was key.

Firebrand trotted over to his nozzle team, the first-due line which had put the fire out in short order. 'Well done, boys,' he acknowledged them with a nod. Striker returned the gesture, being used to it, but Firebrand stopped beside Dawn. 'Well done, probie,' he added, putting a hoof on his shoulder. 'You're doing good. Keep this up and I tell you what, you'll be as big a credit to your old pa as your brother is.'

'Thanks, Chief...' Dawn headed off to pack up the hose in conjunction with the rest of his company. A big, fat smile was plastered on his face. He had done good, and he was happy.

Cool, Clear Water

A city the size of Manehattan required a considerable amount of water to furnish the needs of its many citizens. A reliable supply had to be maintained, lest there be shortages, which had happened with a semi-frequent regularity during the centuries of its existence, from a small hamlet to the present metropolis. Though the city was surrounded by water, with rivers and bays all around, that was all salt water. The supply of fresh water had to come from many miles to the north, in the foothills of the Foal Mountains, and some hundred and fifty years earlier, an aqueduct had been built to channel water to the city.

As Manehattan grew, that supply proved inadequate, and so two giant pipes, underground tunnels running from the northern reservoirs and into the city, had been built over the course of decades, and it was these two pipes that now provided the majority of the city's supply for drinking, washing, sanitation, and, indeed, firefighting. But the city was not done growing, and nor was its thirst, and so a third, modern tunnel network was being constructed, to bring even more water down to Manehattan.

It was a vastly complex project, one of the largest pieces of construction undertaken in the city's history, with thousands of ponies working at various points throughout Manehattan and along the route of the tunnel that ran some sixty miles from the reservoir in the north. The main tunnel terminated in the borough of Princess, but branches were being built to feed the other boroughs. One such tunnel connected over to the west side of Manehattan borough.

At a construction site at 11th Avenue between 46th and 47th Streets, much work was underway. A wide shaft some thirty feet in diameter had been sunk down five hundred feet into the bedrock, a long and tedious process given the toughness of the schist upon which much of the borough rested. That was how and why there were so many tall buildings and skyscrapers in Manehattan- the thick crust of hardened schist was able to support the downward pressure of so much mass. Other areas in between midtown and downtown were not, as other rock types abounded there, which was why there were two distinct island of tall buildings in the borough.

Brick Bowl, the forepony, kept a watchful eye on proceedings. It was a complex operation, but a necessary one for the continued future growth of the city and its water supply. The shaft was going to be used to continue the boring of a connecting tunnel slightly west, into the West River, and then south to its eventual destination of the borough of Stallion Island, to provide water for the more distant parts of the city. The horizontal tunnel had already reached this point, pushed out by boring machines from the borough of Princess, but the nearest supply shaft was all the way back across the East River in that borough. A new shaft needed to be dug close to the West River in order to proceed any further with the digging.

That was what was happening now. Brick Bowl's ponies were well advanced in the process of lowering a kind of metal sheath into the shaft, a circular armature that would ring the vertical tunnel and be steadily filled with cement, between the metal and the bare rock, to line the shaft and provide it with sufficient strength and protection to be used for regular operation. The top part of the shaft had already been lined with cement, which was now curing, and the chemical reaction as it cooled produced copious amounts of fog-like steam, which meant Brick couldn't see down the full length of the shaft- not that he could have anyway, because no flashlight could throw its light five hundred feet down. That was why he had to rely on the sensors fitted which relayed information to his tablet computer, and also to the team of ponies insid ethe shaft itself. It was hard work, because the metal armature weighed a hell of a lot. As a result, three powerful winches had been set up, welded to the metal decking and securely fastened to the ground at street level. Together, the winches played out the heavy cables that had all but completed their task of dropping the sheath into place.

'Ten feet!' Brick Bowl called, peering over the edge and into the abyss of the tunnel. He glanced at the depth readings that were registering on his tablet computer screen. 'Five feet...just a little more! Steady now.' The winches played out more cable at a slow pace. The metal sheath was nearly at the bottom of the shaft. There were eight ponies down in the tunnel, helping to guide it and make sure it fitted into place correctly. 'Two feet...easy...' Brick Bowl muttered into the walkie-talkie he carried in his other hoof. 'One foot...alright, hold her there! How's it looking at the bottom?'

'It's looking good down here!' came the reply from Persimmon Lights, one of the tunnel workers, or sand hogs as they were known, wearing the name as a badge of honour. Some mining and tunneling jobs employed Diamond Dogs to shoulder much of the manual labour, but this was an all-pony operation.

'Alright, lower away, nice and slow, another six inches!' Brick Bowl ordered to the winch operators. 'That's it...down...'

'We're about six inches above now!' Persimmon called over the walkie-talkie. The metal frame had almost touched the base of the tunnel.

'Alright, shut down winches! We'll take a final site assessment from the shaft team before we finish lowering.' Brick ordered, and the operators complied. The heavy contraptions went silent, or at least two of them did. One of the winches began to groan and clang. Brick looked around with a confused expression.

'The hell's going on with that?' he called to the operator.

'I dunno, boss!' she replied, shrugging. 'Everything was working just fine. It shut down ok. I don't know what's making all that...noise...' Her eyes suddenly widened. 'Shit, get back! Hey, get back! It's coming loose!' She scrambled down from the controls. The winch, weighing several tons and the size of a small van, was attached to the metal decking with half a dozen hefty metal bolts. Now, under the strain of holding up the metal sleeve as it was lowered, the bolts were starting to come loose.

'Son of a...' Brick muttered, before shouting into his walkie-talkie. 'Hey, shaft team, watch out! We might have movement of the sleeve!' he warned. The winch continued to pull free, and with a ping of shearing metal, it ripped away from its restraints. The tension in its cables was released, and the heavy winch gear went sailing over the lip of the shaft and down, down, down into the depths below. There was the repeated clang of metal striking metal, and then a thud and splash as the winch dropped into the partially flooded tunnel at the bottom of the shaft.

'Shit...!' Brick breathed. 'Shit, shit, shit...'

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion. Rescue.'

'Everypony goes!' Ember Dawn shouted. It was a fortnight since his first shift, and this was his first turn as housewatch pony. He would still ride with the company, but when they were not out on a run he was responsible for greeting any visitors, keeping notes in the firehouse log about any runs the Battalion or Rescue received, and all the other administrative minutiae required in the running of a fire station that was not performed by the Chief. It also meant he was responsible for calling out the alarms as they came in, which meant he finally got to shout the words he had always had a quiet desire to bellow, because to him, they both reminded him of his father, and just sounded cool, a fitting tribute to the nature of the job; Everypony goes.

'Box 0614, 11th Ave between 46th and 47th. Construction accident!' Dawn called, before hurrying to the rig and pulling on his gear. The rest of the firehouse followed suit, and together, they rolled out of the doors, sirens blaring, cutting through the heavy noon-day traffic. To reach the site, they would have to loop around, heading across to 11th Avenue and then south down it for three blocks. The borough radio dispatcher was giving more details as they rounded the corner onto the avenue.

'Manehattan to Battalion 9, K?'

'Battalion 9, go.'

'Battalion 9, we're giving you the major technical response on this box. Reported to be some kind of machinery incident at the water tunnel construction project, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Chief Firebrand replied. The dispatcher read out the list of units assigned, as the first-due Engine pulled up outside the fence of the construction site. The Rescue pulled in behind. A frantic pony was there to greet them.

'Hey, Chief!' he called. 'You'd better come talk to my supervisor, hurry!' He tried to usher Grey Spike into the site, but he shook his head.

'Hold up, buddy. I'm not the Chief. This is the Chief.' Firebrand stepped out of his SUV and affixed his white helmet to his head before trotting over.

'What have we got?' he asked.

'Oh, jeez, it's bad, I think. I dunno the details but...you'd better talk to the forepony.' He trotted inside quickly, and Firebrand followed, with instructions for the incoming units to prepare for some form of technical rescue.

Brick Bowl was pacing anxiously near the lip of the open shaft. 'Chief! Thank Celestia. We got a real mess here...' he muttered.

'What happened?' Firebrand questioned, noting the scoring marks on the metal decking nearby. Clearly something had dragged across them.

'We were lowering the form...like, a metal sheath you pour cement into, to line the shaft?' Brick explained. 'We almost got it done, all of a sudden, one of the winches just comes loose, goes flying into the shaft. We got eight ponies down there. I think when it fell, it must have damaged the elevator, too. Can't get them out that way. I dunno their condition but there's some damage down there for sure. We got a rescue team in there now, from the tunneling company? They're doing what they can but...we need your help, Chief. I dunno what the situation is down there, but I know we got ponies trapped.'

'Alright,' Firebrand nodded. 'How far down does the shaft go?' he asked.

'Five hundred feet,' came the reply that startled the Chief.

'Five hundred...well, alright...we're gonna have to work together on this one,' he added. 'Let me talk to dispatch.' He turned and spoke into his walkie-talkie. 'Battalion 9 to Manehattan, urgent.'

'Go ahead Battalion 9.'

'For Box 0614, transmit the 10-60. We have a machinery collapse at a tunnel worksite with eight ponies believed trapped down a five-hundred foot shaft, K.'

'10-4, Battalion 9.' There was the sound of the alert tones, playing over every active radio tuned to the borough frequency. '10-60 has been transmitted for Box 0614, 11th Avenue between 46th Street and 47th Street, for multiple ponies trapped in a shaft.' The dispatcher repeated the message, alerting all units in the borough that something serious was going on. A signal 10-60 meant a major incident or emergency, anything that might require either a large amount of ponypower, a lot of specialist resources, affect a large area, or all three. It was reserved for incidents such as plane crashes, major derailments, explosions, complete collapses of buildings, or any particularly dangerous or specialised incident, and saw numerous additional units assigned to the scene, even above those already responding as part of the technical rescue matrix. The incident at the water tunnel met the definition handsomely.

'Battalion 9, on the 10-60, you're getting Engine 26, Engine 65, Ladder 9. Squad 1. Engine 44 will be your Haz-Tech engine. Engine 3 will be your communications unit, RAC 1, and Division 3, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand acknowledged, having made rapid notes with a pen and paper of which units were to respond in. They were just the additional units; a significant number of companies had already been assigned to the incident based on the initial report of a construction accident, and the 10-60 signal brought in a whole bunch more specialised vehicles and trained personel.

'Rescue! Bring ropes and hoof tools,' Firebrand ordered. 'Standby to set up for a rope relay and possible rescue operation. Engine 25, you'll be the first aid unit. Get your medical gear.'

Everypony set to work as more units arrived. Firebrand went over to the edge of the shaft to take a look for himself. There was a surprising amount of steam or smoke rising up, heavily obscuring his vision. 'What's causing the steam?' he asked. 'Is there anything hazardous down there we need to know about?'

'No, no, Chief,' Brick replied with a shake of his head. 'It's from the chemical reaction. Curing cement gives off heat, so it creates steam. There's nothing dangerous down there. We removed all of the explosives we used for blasting before we lowered the sheath.'

'Is the air breathable?' Firebrand questioned.

'Yeah, yeah.' Brick nodded. 'We have our own team down there now. They have masks but they don't need 'em. Neither will you guys.'

'How did they get down there if the elevator is out?' Firebrand asked. 'Pegasi?'

'No, we used the squirrel cage,' Brick replied, elaborating once he saw the curious look from the Chief. 'It's just a metal cage. See there, that crane, those cables?' He gestured. A mobile crane was in operation, and cables descended from its boom into the shaft. 'It lowered them down. If they find anypony down there, they'll bring them to the surface.'

'Alright. We have medics standing by,' Firebrand assured the forepony. 'I need to get a team down there to check it out.'

'I don't know how far your ropes stretch, Chief, but you definitely ain't gonna get ladders down there,' Brick pointed out. 'Five hundred feet to the bottom. I'd say you gotta send Pegasi down, or wait for the squirrel cage to come back up. We can help you load a team onto it and lower them down.'

'Alright, we'll do both of those things,' Firebrand replied with a nod. 'You said there are eight ponies down there? Eight workers?'

'Yeah, yeah. Eight of them,' Brick nodded. 'If the elevator's busted then there's no way they're getting out without help. None of them are Pegasi. All earth ponies, proper sandhogs.'

'Don't worry, we'll get them all out,' Firebrand replied. More units were arriving on scene, which included Division 3. Deputy Chief Misty Morning trotted into the construction site, giving him a nod.

'Chief. Eight ponies trapped down a shaft?'

'Correct, Chief,' Firebrand nodded. 'Right over there. This is the forepony.' Brick Bowl quickly filled in the new incident commander, advising her of the situation and the problems they might face.

'Alright, Chief Firebrand, you'll be in charge of shaft operations,' Misty Morning informed him. 'I'll have Battalion 6 take command of surface staging when they arrive. We need to get a team down into that shaft.'

'Yes ma'am,' Firebrand replied. 'Rescue 1 is already gearing up for it,' he informed her.

'I'll have them backed up by Ladder 7 when they get on scene,' she replied. 'I want you to ride that cage down with them and give me a proper status report.'

'Copy that, Chief.' Firebrand trotted back to his SUV to get his emergency life-saving rope and his SCBA. The forepony had said the atmosphere was safe, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Ladder Company 7 arrived at the scene with their second vehicle, a small van loaded up with extra gear and equipment. They were trained to a certain degree in specialist rescue activities, such as rope and trench rescues, though not as extensively as the Squads or Rescues. Nevertheless, they were well prepared to support the descent into the shaft.

When Firebrand and the ponies of Rescue 1 reached the shaft, the squirrel cage had returned to the surface. It was a metal cage some ten feet high and of a similar diameter, like an elevator car roaming free in the wild, suspended from cables attached to the crane. Three ponies in protective gear stepped out, and brought three disheveled workers with them. The civilian rescue team had done a good job, extracting three ponies from the shaft, but that still left five more down there somewhere.

Firebrand and Rescue 1 entered the cage, replacing the civilian team. Once they were ready and the cage door was closed, a signal was given, and the crane operator began to lower away. Ember Dawn watched pensively from the triage area as his brother and six other fireponies headed down into the shaft, into the bowels of the earth. Into the unknown.

Into The Depths

The squirrel cage was steadily lowered away by the crane operator, into the mouth of the shaft. Two Pegasi from Ladder 7 and two from Squad 18 flapped down carefully alongside the cage, to provide additional ponypower in the rescue operations, and also to help guide the cage around potential obstacles. Everypony wore their air tanks and had their masks at the ready position; they could be pulled into place at a moment's notice in case of adverse conditions. One of the Pegasi carried a multi-gas detector, and Oak Wood monitored an explosimeter. The forepony and the civilian rescue team had informed the fireponies that conditions in the shaft were not dangerous to life and health, and there were no explosives or chemicals present, but an abundance of caution was always vital in the fire service. The oxygen concentration and the presence of any hazardous gases had to be monitored at all times when in a confined space, especially when that confined space dropped five hundred feet into the bowels of the earth.

Many times would-be rescuers, especially civilians who were untrained and unprotected, would go in to a ship's hold or the interior of a storage tank or container to try and help a fallen worker, thinking they had succumbed to a heart attack or had taken a fall, only to find that the concentration of some toxic gas was high enough, or the oxygen content of the air low enough, to knock them out in the same way as the pony they were trying to save. Despite their training, the same condition could still affect fireponies, but in this case the evidence was clear enough that conditions were survivable with no danger to health, at least at the moment. The fact that things could change at a moment's notice meant that it was important to be prepared.

As the cage dropped lower, it passed through the mist, thick and cloying fog being given off by the waste heat of the reaction from setting cement. Ember Blaze looked around, trying to peer through it to locate any sign of the surviving workers. They came down lower, and lower, and lower. The descent seemed to last for eternity, taking them farther from the source of light and the only indication of the surface. They were deep now, deeper than the subway lines and utility tunnels that fed the city with its various vital services.

'You're at 200ft down.' Chief Firebrand carried a walkie talkie that linked with the construction company's own radio net, as well as his fire department issue radio, keeping them in contact with the surface. The crane operator was lowering them steadily and monitoring the radio, giving them depth updates. As the steam cleared for a moment, the Pegasi were able to see the elevator through the fog. Firebrand called for a halt, and the cage stopped moving. The Pegasi flapped over to the elevator car. Several of the lifting cables had been mangled, and the front of the car itself had been crushed by something, presumably the falling winch. The Pegasi searched the car, but found it empty. Nopony was in there.

Firebrand ordered the descent to resume. At 250ft down they passed the maintenance catwalk where the civilian rescue team had located and extracted the trio of rescuers. But there were five others who needed help, and the squirrel cage continued down. The Pegasi gave the cage an occasional nudge from the outside when it threatened to get caught on protruding rebar. From time to time, damage was visible as a result of the tumbling winch, which had clearly bounced off of several points as it plummeted down.

'400ft down,' the crane operator informed them over the crackly radio link. The lower they got, the less reliable the communications became, but then there was a shout from one of the Pegasi. 'Hey, I hear something! Fire department, call out!'

'We're over here! Hey, over here!' came a reply from below the fog. The cage continued on for a few more feet, and then they found themselves below the level where the cement had been applied, and thus below the fog. Now they could finally see, albeit to a limited degree. Their flashlights cut across the gloom and revealed another catwalk that ringed the shaft. Three ponies were crouching upon it, unable to climb up any farther for two reasons. The ladder above them had been smashed by the falling debris, and now hung precariously out into the void, torn away from the rock wall it had been bolted into. The other thing keeping them in place was that one of the stallions had an obviously broken hind leg, twisted out at an unnatural angle. The two other workers were supporting him, keeping him warm with their high visibility jackets.

'Cage to surface, stop stop stop,' Firebrand ordered, and the cage halted. 'Alright, Swing right...' The crane rotated, moving the cage slowly toward the catwalk. 'A little more...stop, stop, stop!' The cage was now resting against the edge of the catwalk so that rescue of the trapped ponies could be effected, but the injured stallion called out to the fireponies.

'Not us, forget about us! Down there!' He tried to gesture, but couldn't from his sedentary position. One of the other ponies pointed down.

'Down there! He's hanging from the pipe!'

Firebrand ordered the Pegasi to search below, and they quickly flapped down below the cage. There, another twenty or thirty feet lower down, they found another stallion, evidently having been knocked from the catwalk and now clinging to a damaged section of piping like a sloth holding onto a tree branch, all four limbs wrapped around the pipe which, like the ladder above them, was hanging out over the hundred foot drop to the bottom of the shaft. The pipe formed part of a pumping system which was meant to allow the construction company to keep the horizontal tunnel free of water as much as possible.

The Pegasi surrounded him and quickly took firm hold of him, assuring him that he would be fine and inducing him to let go of the pipe. 'We'll get him to the surface, Chief!' the two Pegasi from Ladder 7 called, both holding firmly on to the stallion and taking him up together. Firebrand nodded. 'That makes seven...where's the eighth?' He turned to the trio of fireponies on the catwalk. 'Do any of you know where your colleague is? We've rescued four ponies, and you make a total of seven. I was told there were eight workers down here.'

'Yeah!' They all nodded. 'Persimmon is down there. She was right at the bottom of the shaft!' one of them explained. 'She was guiding the lowering of the cement form into position. We tried calling out to her but we haven't heard anything. She had the walkie-talkie on her, that's why we weren't able to call the surface for help.'

Firebrand nodded. He activated the construction company's walkie-talkie and spoke into it. 'Persimmon, this is the fire department. Can you hear me?'

The connection with the surface, even during the regular operation of the tunnel, was patchy at best, but from most of the way down the shaft the signal to Persimmon's radio would be much clearer. If she was able to activate hers, then they would know she was alive. But there was no reply. Firebrand tried again several times. He then tried holding down the transmit button for a few seconds. If her radio was switched on and intact, which it most likely was given that she had been using it to communicate with the forepony during the lowering process, then it was possible that Firebrand or one of the other fireponies would be able to hear the sound of the open carrier being broadcast from Persimmon's walkie-talkie, and use it like a beacon to guide them down to her. Again, there was no sound from below.

'Alright. Let's get these guys moved,' Firebrand ordered. 'We'll get them to the surface and then come back down. You two, get those two up,' he added to the two Pegasi from Squad 18, gesturing for them to move the uninjured victims. 'Bring down a splint, too. We'll get you loaded on, buddy,' he addressed the injured pony. He couldn't be carried with his injured leg safely; the best way to get him out would be to splint the leg and move him up in the cage. The fireponies of Rescue 1 moved out onto the catwalk to create room for the victims. Firebrand didn't want too many ponies on the catwalk, as its integrity was in doubt, but somepony had to help the injured worker move. Oak Wood and High Line were assigned the task, as they were Pegasi and could take to their wings if necessary. They stepped out gingerly, testing the metal under their hooves and clipping their emergency life-saving ropes onto the metal handrail, which was separately fastened with sturdy bolts to the rock wall of the unfinished shaft. They then tied the other ends around the injured pony, so that, if the catwalk were to give way, he would be held in place by the ropes until they could grab him. Normally the life saving rope was reserved for extricating a firepony from a roof or window when threatened by fire conditions and having no other way out, but in this particular instance, attaching themselves to the railing would have actually caused potential danger; if High Line and Oak Wood were attached to their ropes and the catwalk collapsed, they would have a limited reach before the ropes reached full extension, meaning they might not be able to successfully grab and rescue the worker should he start to fall. The end of the catwalk had been carried away by the falling winch, where it had dropped onto the pipe below and knocked it loose, which was how the other worker had found himself in his precarious position.

Oak Wood and High Line checked over the injured pony, looking for any other serious injuries but finding nothing other than a couple of minor scrapes. His leg was the issue, and it was clearly broken. Neither of them were paramedics, though they were trained in first aid like any other firepony, and both agreed that the best thing to do was wait for the splint, get it on, and load him onto the squirrel cage for transport to the surface. The four Pegasi returned after a couple of minutes, with the splint for the victim, and he was packaged up, grunting in pain but enduring his predicament. Room was made for him in the middle of the cage, and he was carried on.

'Cage to surface, lift us up,' Firebrand ordered once the door was secured. 'You six take a flight down to the bottom of the tunnel and get searching for the last victim.' The Cage went up, and the Pegasi went down, accompanied by High Line and Oak Wood. Firebrand tried to relay a progress report to the surface, but found that his department radio just crackled with interference. The rest of the Rescue accompanied the worker to the surface, where the crane operator swung the cage onto solid ground once more. Paramedics were waiting to treat and transport the victim, and Firebrand stepped off of the cage.

The construction site was abuzz with activity. Fireponies and medics swarmed over the area, the avenue outside the gate clogged with apparatus. Most of the units assigned on the 10-60 signal had arrived while the Rescue had been operating underground, including their counterparts from Rescue 2 in Hooflyn, which had responded along with their collapse rig, a second vehicle filled with lumber, cribbing and other tools for dealing with major collapses or cave-ins. Every Rescue had one in their quarters, but it took time to crew it and start it up, especially if the Rescue was not in quarters at the time. That was why the first Rescue assigned would usually respond by themselves in order to get specialist resources on the scene as quickly as possible, and the second Rescue assigned for a major incident would bring their collapse unit.

Ember Blaze found his brother, and exchanged a nod and a smile to show that he was alright. Dawn and his company were now standing around uselessly; Firebrand had assigned them as a first aid unit, but there were now enough paramedics on scene to deal with all of the victims themselves, leaving Engine 25 idle. Chief Misty Morning approached Firebrand.

'That's seven. Eighth victim still down there?' she asked, and he nodded.

'The other workers confirmed it. They said one worker, Persimmon, was right at the base of the shaft when the winch fell. I tried contacting her on the construction company radio and using an open carrier, but I got nothing back. I have Pegasi from the Rescue, Squad 18 and Ladder 7 conducting a search. I'll take the rest of Rescue back down, with your permission.'

'Very good. Carry on, Chief,' she replied curtly with a nod. 'If you need any more resources down there, let me know.'

'Will do, Chief,' Firebrand replied. He headed back to the cage and climbed on board. 'Alright, there's still one victim down there. We need to find her,' he informed the Rescue. A brief word to the crane operator, and they were swung out over the hole again, beginning their second trip into the depths. This time at the four hundred foot mark, they continued on instead of stopping. The lower they got, the darker it got, as the light from the surface receded still farther. Looking down through the metal grille that formed the floor of the cage, the flashlights of the searching Pegasi could be seen, sweeping the shaft and the tunnel that it connected to.

'Battalion 9 to Rescue Irons. How's it look down there, Oak?' Firebrand asked over the radio. Irons referred to the riding position of Oak Wood on this tour; the Rescue named positions in the same way as a Ladder Company would. meaning a full crew consisted of the Officer, Chauffeur, and four other positions. There was the Irons, so named because they carried the forcible entry tools at a fire; the OV, or Outside Vent, whose task at a blaze was to ventilate the building from the exterior; the Roof pony, who did the same thing but from the place that his assignment name implied; and the Can, who carried a large pressurised water extinguisher which shared the same nickname and would be used to extinguish small fires or contain larger ones until a hose line could be stretched.

'Rescue Irons to Battalion 9. Searches are underway. We've cleared the shaft and it's negative there. We're checking the tunnel now, Chief,' Oak Wood replied.

'Battalion 9, 10-4. We're almost down with you,' Firebrand replied.

'10-4, Chief. Be advised there's about, uh...I'd estimate ten feet of water at the bottom of the tunnel, K,' Oak Wood informed them. 'We may need to set up for a dive operation.'

'Alright, 10-4...' Firebrand switched radios as they were nearing the bottom of the shaft. 'Cage to surface, stop stop stop.'

The cage continued to move, and he repeated his call. 'Cage to surface, stop stop stop...' Still nothing.

'Can't they hear us?' Flagstaff questioned with a frown. 'Hey, if they keep lowering away we're gonna go straight into that water, Chief!'

'Cage to surface, stop, stop, stop!' Firebrand repeated, slowly and deliberately, while the cage continued to descend. If the cage went into the water...firepony turnout gear was not buoyant, and a pony weighed down with their gear and air tank could not swim. Their masks were not rated for underwater operations, although, theoretically, they could do so down to a depth of perhaps twelve feet before the external pressure overcame the relatively weak diaphragm. While fireponies worked with water every day, falling into it was not something they ever wanted to do.

Luckily, this time the signal got through, and the cage slowed to a halt a few feet above the surface, just above a catwalk that ran along the side of the tunnel. The Pegasi were continuing their search, scanning from side to side and moving in a regular pattern, looking for Persimmon. Firebrand and the Rescue joined them. The tunnel stretched far to the east, into Hooflyn eventually, but it was not a river. It did not have a tidal flow, and it was unlikely that Persimmon had been washed away. The other end of the tunnel terminated in a wall of solid rock which had yet to be blasted. She had to be somewhere in the area of the base of the shaft, and the whole area appeared to be clear.

The remains of the winch which had dropped all the way from the surface lay below the water, a big hunk of metal with strands of cabling hanging loosely, draped from protuberances near the bottom of the shaft where they had caught during the fall. The water was dirty, tainted with various construction debris, but the Rescue had brought along their thermal imaging camera in case anypony was trapped out of view. Blaze scanned the tunnel with it, from the end all the way up to the winch, and there, he saw something that stood out against the cool water and concrete.

'Chief! I have something,' he called, and Firebrand trotted over to check it out, nodding and getting on his radio, though unsure if Misty Morning could receive his signal from such a significant depth.

'Battalion 9 to command. We have located the final victim, K.'

Blaze shook his head sadly. This was no longer a rescue. It was a recovery.

Reward

It was a fine autumn day, and Rescue Company 1 was parked up on the apron of the firehouse, undergoing a thorough scrub and washdown from its crew. The Engine was out on Building Inspection, or BI, a routine investigation of structures in their first-due response area for any defects or breaches of the fire safety regulations, as well as to note down any unusual conditions or features that would warrant recording in the MFD's dispatch system; things like the presence of hazardous chemicals in a workshop, security bars on windows, extra locks on doors or solar panels on rooftops which could affect the required procedures during a fire or emergency. Another tedious but necessary part of the job, it was conducted by Engines and Ladders in the morning of each weekday, interrupted only if the unit received a call.

The Rescue had seen a relatively quiet shift so far, though it had only begun less than two hours ago. A single call had come in for a run to the Luna Drive for an overturned car, but they had quickly been cancelled once a unit arrived on scene and found there was no entrapment. As a result, Captain Grey Spike had the crew cleaning their rig, stopping occasionally to pose for photos with eager tourists or locals who recognised the most famous fire truck in town. As they worked, however, they received another visitor, this time one that Ember Blaze recognised when he happened to glance up from the door he was waxing.

'Hey! Hey, buddy!' He grinned. 'How are you doing? Hey, everypony, we have a young visitor!'

Blaze and the rest of the crew trotted over, for they were being visited by none other than Sulfur Springs, now riding in a wheelchair pushed by his mother. The young colt they had helped to save after he fell onto the fence outside his apartment building appeared in good spirits, though still unable to walk.

'Hey kid! How are ya feeling, huh? Better, I hope,' Flagstaff smiled and tousled his mane a little, making him blush and smile in reply.

'It's good to see you're out and about, Sulfur,' Captain Grey Spike addressed him.

'He's just a little shy...' his mother replied. 'But he insisted that I bring him down to say thank you to the ponies that rescued him. I called the fire department and explained, and they said that was you here in Rescue 1.'

'It sure was,' Grey Spike nodded. 'We were happy to help. I'm glad we could make a difference, ma'am.'

'Please, call me Licorice Swirl,' she replied. 'And you already know my son.' She smiled. 'Well, go ahead, Sulfur.' She gave him a little nudge.

'Thank you...' Sulfur mumbled, clearly not one for public speaking, even though he had been the one who had apparently suggested the visit. 'Thank you for saving me...I think fireponies are way cooler than cops,' he added, which made everypony laugh.

'Well I'll let you in on a little secret, young stallion,' Grey Spike grinned. 'You're absolutely right.' There was more happy laughter, including from Sulfur himself. While some fireponies tried to distance themselves from their calls and from the victims they saved, in order to maintain balance and objectiveness and not get too hung up on the ones who didn't make it, almost everypony still appreciated the visit or the follow-up phone call from somepony who, quite literally, had been given a second chance at life by their actions. It was always gratifying to hear of a recovery, that somepony was doing well, that they were walking again or back at work or whatever big step they had taken. Sulfur Springs was not alive because of Rescue 1; he was alive because of Rescue 1, Engine 74, Battalion 11, Ambulance 12B, and the surgical team at Meadowbrook Memorial. But the most active role had been performed by the ponies Sulfur and his mother were now thanking, because they had been the ones who had freed him from his temporary prison, and they had been the ones who had helped in the operating room.

'Here, uh...Chief, is it? Captain?' Licorice took something from her purse and held it out to Grey Spike. 'Please, take this.' She held a large wad of money in her hoof, twenty-bit notes. Grey Spike shook his head.

'Captain. Captain Grey Spike. I can't accept this, ma'am. You keep it for yourself. Buy your son something nice.'

'No, no...' Licorice insisted. 'Please, take it. You all deserve it. You could buy yourself a new television for the station or something. There's five hundred bits there, I know it's not much but it's all I can afford. You saved my son's life...'

'And that's all the reward we need, ma'am,' Grey Spike replied, drawing an immediate and sincere round of nodding heads that represented the whole of the Rescue crew. 'Department regulations prevent us from accepting monetary rewards directly, but we wouldn't accept it even if they didn't. It's just good to see that your son is recovering well. If you really want to make a contribution, ma'am, you can send a donation to the MFD's welfare fund, or the burns unit at Meadowbrook Memorial. But I think you should keep it and spend it on yourselves.'

Licorice smiled and sighed, putting her money away. 'Thank you, Captain...gosh, I'm sorry. I must look like some kind of nut, just walking up and trying to give you money. I just...I needed to say thank you. So, thank you. Thank you for all you do, every day. It's not just my son you ponies have saved. You protect everybody who lives in this city, every day. I just...I read about how underpaid our public servants are, and I wanted to try and do a little towards making sure you all got something more.'

'Well, just seeing that your son is up and about is more than enough, ma'am,' Ember Blaze pointed out with a smile. 'He's a real tough cookie.'

Licorice smiled at him. 'You were the one using the saw, weren't you? You cut him free...gosh, I must have looked like an absolute mess. I just couldn't stop crying, and I was convinced you were only going to hurt him more with that noisy thing...I'm sorry I doubted you.'

'No problem, ma'am. Just doing my job,' Blaze replied, returning her smile. 'You rest up well, buddy, ok?' he addressed Sulfur. 'And no more arguments with your mother, you hear? I used to argue with my mom, but one day I realised she was just doing what she thought was best for me. I heard you didn't wanna go to the dentist, is that right?'

'Mhm...' Sulfur nodded.

'Well, neither do I,' Blaze answered. 'Neither does anypony else, right?' He looked to the crew for support, and they all enthusiastically nodded in agreement. 'See? Nopony likes the dentist. But your teeth are important, just like the rest of you. You gotta take good care of them, or you'll end up like my old uncle Coal Tar. All his teeth fell out because he didn't go to the dentist, and he couldn't chew anything! You wouldn't want that, would you?'

Sulfur shook his head.

'So ya gotta go to the dentist once in a while,' Blaze continued. 'But hey, it's cool. You get a lollipop if you do go.'

'And ice cream!' Licorice pointed out. 'I told you I'd buy you ice cream afterward.'

'So whaddya say, buddy? When you get better, are you gonna go to the dentist?' Blaze questioned. 'Are you gonna be good for your mom?'

'Yeah...' Sulfur nodded.

'Good colt.' Blaze grinned, and Licorice smiled at him again.

'Thank you, Mister...?'

'Oh, Blaze. Uh, Ember Blaze,' he replied with a small nod of the head.

'Thank you, Ember...now, we're not getting ice cream, but we are going to go get an early lunch...burgers, you wanted, sweetie?' Licorice asked Sulfur, who nodded eagerly. 'Burgers it is...thank you all for being so kind, and thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for saving my son.'

'Happy to help, ma'am,' Grey Spike replied. 'You have a nice day now. And get well soon, son!' There was a murmur of approval and agreement, and everypony took turns to say a few inspiring words to the young colt. Before they could finish, however, a noise rang through the firehouse.

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

'Sorry ma'am, looks like we're needed!' Grey Spike informed Licorice. Oak Wood hurried back to the housewatch desk where he was meant to be keeping watch, and read out the ticket.

'Box 7161. Columbine Circle, on the 1 Line. Pony under!'

The crew scrambled to the rig. Blaze turned to call out to Sulfur. 'Hey, buddy! We gotta go now, but you should stick around and watch us. If this doesn't make you wanna be a firepony, nothing will!' He grinned at the son and the mother before climbing up, slamming his door. The rest of the crew mounted up. Fairway hit the lights, then the siren, and with a roar of the engine and a blast of the air horn, Rescue Company 1 pulled out into traffic and began to race north, siren wailing, as Sulfur looked on in awe.

Columbine Circle was one of the few traffic islands in the city, at the bottom left corner of Celestia Park. It was also one of the busiest stations on the subway network, with half a dozen different train services passing through it, including the 1 line. A pony under call meant just that- a pony was under the train. It could happen for any number of reasons; simple accident, a slip or fall, a suicide attempt, a drunken stumble or a malicious push. To the MFD, the cause didn't really matter. What mattered was that a life was at stake, and they had to respond.

The Rescue roared north through moderate traffic, thankful that it was approaching noon and not at the early morning rush hour, when cars and trucks and buses would have been clogging the streets and turning 8th Avenue into something approaching a parking lot. Instead they were able to almost glide through to Columbine Circle. The station there was on the north side of the plaza, and Rescue 1 swung around the circle in a graceful arc before pulling up near to the entrance to the 1 Line. An Engine and a Ladder were already on scene, as well as two police cruisers and an ambulance, but the Rescue had arrived quickly and there was as of yet no confirmation of what exactly was happening underground.

The fireponies climbed down and grabbed their tools. An extrication could require a variety of implements to carry out successfully; it just depended on how exactly the pony was trapped, or indeed if they were trapped at all. Often a call to an entrapment in the subway turned out to just have been a pony who fell on the tracks but managed to get back onto the platform, or sometimes a pony who had been hit by a train, but only while standing on the platform too close to the edge, resulting in an injury but not being trapped beneath it.

The crew of Rescue 1 made their way down the wide stairs that led to the subway. Ponies were coming and going like normal, despite the emergency activity. This was Manehattan, after all, and this was normal. Everypony had some place to be, no matter what else was going on around them, and for many it was just another feature of life in the big city. Even a blazing fire ripping from the windows of a building across the street would barely be enough to make many ponies bother with the effort of turning their necks to have a look at it.

The subway station at Columbine Circle was a maze to the uninitiated, with numerous turnstiles leading to different lines, connecting tunnels that linked two separate concourses, and multiple levels of both pedestrian and train traffic. Different subway lines ran at different depths, and therefore escalators and stairs connected the higher A Line to the lower 1 Line, some 30ft below the other tunnels. The fireponies made their way down to the bottom, where the other emergency units were already on scene.

A five-car subway train had pulled into the station, and had stopped well short of where it would normally do so. A cluster of fireponies from Ladder 4 and Engine 65 had gathered around the front of the train, peering down. It did not look good for the unfortunate victim, for there was indeed a pony under the train, a stallion, a blue earth pony, wedged in between the wheels of the front bogie. There was blood, and lots of it; one of the steel train wheels had cut through his body like a knife through butter.

'Rescue's here,' somepony announced, and the Captain of Ladder 4 approached Grey Spike.

'Hey Grey. Got a bad one here, he's wedged in good. I already called for power off on both tracks, we're just awaiting confirmation. Battalion 11's got this one, right?'

'Yeah, they're rolling in on it,' Grey Spike nodded. 'Is he alive?'

'Can't tell yet. He's too far under there for us to check without getting on the tracks,' the truck Captain responded. The subway ran on electric power, and a third rail provided it, connecting to the contact shoes of each train car to provide power not just for movement, but lighting and air conditioning as well. It would not be safe for the fireponies to operate on the track bed, especially if they had to use metal tools, until the power was off, and confirmed off by the Manehattan Transit Authority.

Luckily it was not long until they were cleared to proceed. The Rescue and the Ladder crews climbed down, examining the victim along with the Rescue Paramedics, specially trained medics well versed in confined space and collapse medicine, and equipped to enter a collapse zone or similarly hazardous location to treat patients in situ, rather than waiting for them to be removed by the fireponies. Several such ambulances had been at the shaft rescue earlier in the week, though they had not entered the shaft since all of the survivors had been removed to the surface without incident.

'I have a pulse,' one of the medics confirmed. 'He's alive, only just. Can you guys get him out?'

'Yeah, 10-4,' Grey Spike replied, turning to Chief Primrose, from the 11th Battalion, who had just arrived. 'We have a live victim, Chief, pinned in there good. Suggest we go in with the air bags.'

Primrose nodded. 'Copy that. Get on it, Cap.' Grey Spike issued his orders, and Blaze and High Line jumped up to grab the air bags from the rig. The air bags were just that; large bags, surprisingly strong, which could be inflated by pneumatic pressure to lift weights that no pony could hope to raise- a subway car, for example. The bags came in different sizes, and the two fireponies picked the middle size, enough to safely lift a subway car with no issue, but small enough to slide into place. They also grabbed a stack of wooden cribbing which would hold the airbags in the right place.

Back down below ground, they climbed down onto the tracks again, prepping the air bags for deployment. Blaze tried not to think about the predicament of the poor stallion too much, nor look at the injuries he had sustained for too long. It didn't do to dwell on such things, though his mind flashed back to Sulfur Springs, who, albeit in a different situation, had also suffered through such intense trauma. If this stallion survived, it would be a long and hard road to recovery for sure. Their job was to try and give him that chance.

Once everything was set up, and confirmed by Primrose, Grey Spike, and the Captain of Ladder 4, the air bags were inflated, slowly, little by little. The train car groaned as it raised up, inch by inch. It didn't need to go far, just enough for the medics to slide a backboard in and pull the victim out. It took several minutes for them to be able to do so, but the stallion was extricated from the wheels of the train. He had a great gash in his side from the train wheel, with multiple internal organs exposed and part of the ribcage crushed, but thanks to the air bags, he had some tiny sliver of a chance of survival. The medics packaged him and rushed him up to street level to race away to the trauma unit at Meadowbrook Memorial.

Blaze and High Line deflated the air bags, returning the train car to its resting position on the tracks. It was a bloody mess underneath the wheels, but that was for transit to take care of. The fireponies' work was done- another successful rescue.

Calm Before The Storm

'So then he says, hey, I didn't order that!'

The ponies of Engine 25 burst out laughing at the conclusion of Striker's latest story. It may have been an inevitable punchline, but it still worked when delivered by a true joke-teller like the black Pegasus. He knew how to tell them, and with years of service under his belt, he had plenty of stories to tell.

Ember Dawn had picked up a couple of his own in his first month on the job, but nothing could quite compare with his first ever fire. Nothing so far, at least. The blaze aboard the Canterlot had been one of the largest incidents the department had ever responded to, and Dawn was still happy to have been there, even if he only made some tiny contribution to the overall success of the operation.

'Hey, everypony quieten down,' Chief Firebrand ordered, turning up the volume on the TV in the break room. It was tuned to the news channel, and the weather forecast was just coming on.

'The weather today will be turning chilly for many in the east, with brisk winds from the southeast and some rain possible overnight. The Foal Mountain region is expecting snow, with up to six inches possible in some areas. To the west, conditions remain unchanged, with highs in Las Pegasus of 95 degrees expected. In the Eastern Sea, Hurricane Gilda continues to grow in strength. Experts say it is now a Category 4 hurricane, but the windspeeds are expected to drop somewhat as it enters the shallower coastal waters. The latest forecast models say that Gilda is still on course to make landfall, possibly as a weaker Category 2 storm, late on Friday afternoon. Current tracks show that the Hurricane has not altered its course, and the eye of the storm is expected to make landfall approximately ten miles south of the city of Manehattan. Officials in Equestria's largest city are preparing for the worst, with flood defences being strengthened and evacuation plans being prepared for some low-lying coastal areas. Other cities expected to suffer the effects of Gilda include Baltimare and Fillydelphia, which are also preparing their own disaster plans. Princess Celestia is expected to make an announcement at...'

Firebrand shut off the TV. 'Alright everypony. You heard what the report said. This storm is definitely coming, whether we like it or not. And since we're gonna be on shift on Friday, I want everypony to be prepared, and I mean fully prepared. This storm could be bad, and I'm talking bad. Not some walk in the park. Chief Starfire Storm is considering a full recall of all off-duty personnel on Friday. We're gonna hear about that later on today, but even if that doesn't happen, we are going to be on duty that day.'

The fireponies from the Rescue and Engine nodded sagely. Winter storms were nothing new in Manehattan, since there was only so much the weather control Pegasi could do to affect conditions in a coastal city. The great tropical climate cells kept the atmosphere churning at a scale that no pony could hope to keep in check. The only way to do so would be for Princess Celestia to stop raising the sun, and Princess Luna to stop raising the moon- but that would cause a global extinction, and so it had to be reluctantly accepted that some areas of Equestria would, on occasion, be battered by poor weather.

'I want everypony to read through All Unit Circular 159, Procedures for Hurricane and Severe Storm Emergencies,' Firebrand continued, referring to the department regulations regarding the potential for major inclement weather. 'Now, this firehouse is not in a flood zone, or an evac zone. But your homes may be. Make sure you double check with the city disaster plans and make preparations for your families if you need to, because you won't be able to get there to help them when you're on duty.'

Dawn thought of Rosebush Roulade in their loft apartment. They were not in a flood zone, and even if they were they lived on the top floor, but he couldn't help but feel a small twinge of concern for his marefriend anyway. Likewise, his parents were not at any severe risk of flooding, and nor was his brother, who sat across from him, listening intently. But if the storm hit, thousands, tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of residents would be.

'Remember, we have a flood risk in our Battalion area,' Firebrand added. The West River abutted Battalion 9's district, and anywhere along it was subject to potential flooding. 'Rescue 1 covers most of the borough and can be called anywhere in the city, so you ponies especially need to be ready for anything,' the Chief pointed out, receiving nods in reply. 'Now, quick fire answers. I want a dozen different types of incident we might expect to arise or increase during the storm. Shout 'em out.'

'Dumbass drivers going into flood waters!' Dark Flash called.

'Debris falling from buildings,' Striker added.

'Dewatering flooded basements!' Dawn called, getting a nod from the Chief. Other ponies fired off suggestions.

'Power outages!'

'Structural collapses!'

'Water rescues- you just know there's some shit-for-brains who's gonna take his kayak out there.'

Firebrand nodded. 'Alright, good. Be aware, because all of those could happen, and plenty more besides. Nopony knows how strong this storm might actually be by the time it reaches us. The track could change entirely; it's unlikely, but it's possible. It might miss us entirely, but we need to assume it's going to be a direct hit on the city. Failure to prepare is to prepare to fail. Clear?'

'Yes, Chief!' everypony called out in reply, and Firebrand nodded again.

'Good. Get yourselves squared away on your off days. You'll have 48 hours before you have to be back on duty. Make whatever preparations you need to make with regards to your families. Make sure they're safe, evacuate them if you have to, but remember that you are all needed here on Friday. You might not be able to go home on Saturday, either, depending on how bad it is. We'll have extra beds here in the firehouse in case we need to accommodate the next shift as well. Keep your eyes glued to those weather reports when you're at home, everypony.'

Dawn and Blaze shared a glance. Their families would be safe, as safe as they could be in a hurricane, but that didn't do much to limit their disquiet. Manehattan had only experienced a couple of hurricanes- true hurricanes, not just winter storms- in its history. One had come in the days of thatched rooftops and bucket brigades, and had destroyed much of the city. The other had struck some sixty years ago, only a Category 1 storm, the weakest classification, but enough to cause massive disruption across the metropolis, with over twenty deaths and several billion bits' worth of damage. The modern city was both larger and simultaneously more vulnerable, thanks to the more developed, but often more fragile, systems needs for its operation, such as telephone lines, fibre-optic cables and power plants.

'We're implementing the 72-hour checklist,' Firebrand informed the staff. 'Everypony get to it. Check your sectors, make sure everything is up to code, and Celestia willing, when we meet back here on Friday at 9am, this whole thing will have already blown over.'

It hadn't.

Friday dawned cool and windy, as was to be expected. Hurricane Gilda was coming straight for them. The intervening two days had not seen its track alter more than a couple of miles. Manehattan was right in the crosshairs, and already starting to see the effects of the incoming storm. Winds were picking up, and the tide was rising. There had already been mild flooding reported in outlying areas, but conditions were only expected to get worse. There were some eight hours left until the hurricane was expected to make landfall, ten or so miles south of the city, but the last two days had, for the other tours of the MFD, been hectic. On top of the regular responses to alarms and fires, fireponies had been helping to evacuate patients from hospitals in low-lying areas. They had been stockpiling supplies and helping to lay sandbags. They had been preparing their firehouses for a war, making sure adequate supplies of diesel for their vehicles were maintained, ensuring sufficient food for at least a few days, taping up windows to help prevent broken glass spraying everywhere if the wind carried debris into them. There were a hundred things to be done to ensure that every firehouse was ready to face the storm, and the fireponies of the MFD had been thinking of nothing but preparedness.

Now, the new shift was coming on. Ember Blaze, Ember Dawn, and the rest of their crews were arriving at the firehouse as the wind whipped their manes. Gilda was not yet upon them, but she was not far away. Chief of Department Starfire Storm had indeed recalled all off-duty fireponies for service, such was the gravity of the danger facing the city. A major hurricane had the potential for mass disruption and widespread loss of life. All subway services were to be suspended at noon, as well as all surface rail lines. At the same time, every major bridge in the city was to be closed to civilian traffic. Only emergency and city vehicles were to be allowed to cross them after that time. The threat from high winds was deemed to be severe enough to restrict city residents from driving over the numerous raised structures which connected the various boroughs of the city together.

The storm, now a Category 3 hurricane, was expected to weaken to a Category 2 before it made landfall, and that was enough to make many city residents greet the impending situation with little more than a collective shrug of acceptance. Despite all of the warnings, they figured it would just be a bit of wind and a bit of rain, nothing that could affect them too badly.

The MFD, on the other hoof, was taking things very seriously indeed. Units from firehouses in districts that might be threatened by flooding had been relocated to other firehouses farther inland. Every unit double checked their ropes, dewatering pumps, and any other equipment that might be needed. Marine Companies, the fireboats, were fully crewed and with enough fireponies to also operate their secondary fast boats, rigid-hulled inflatable boats with small cabins that could be used for medical evacuation or rescuing swimmers, surfers or boaters who got into trouble. If sea conditions got too bad, all of the fireboats, even the great hulking Marine 1 and Marine 9, the 50,000 gallon-per-minute monsters with a dozen deck guns and a full environmental sealing system, would be confined to their berths, leaving sea protection in the hooves of the Royal Equestrian Coast Guard and their more specialised cutters and helicopters.

Off-duty fireponies who had been called in and were not on active duty gathered at their firehouses, where they could be assigned to tasks in the local geographic area, such as pumping out a flooded basement. Alternatively they could be gathered up by messenger van or a commandeered public bus to transport them to a major incident which might require extra ponypower. As a result, Firehouse 25 was thronged with fireponies from all three shifts, filling the bunk room and the kitchen, lounging in the break room and watching the tv news for updates.

'...statement from Princess Luna herself, urging for peaceful resolution to the anger felt by the followers of the New Lunar Republic, who refused to meet with government representatives earlier this week. Princess Luna has again been forced to distance herself from the actions of the terrorist group who claim to be acting in her name. Only time will tell if the NLR agree to the terms put forward by the government. For WMTN news, I'm Dark Star.'

'Now after those headlines, we're turning our attention back to Manehattan and the arrival of Hurricane Gilda,' the anchorpony continued. 'The storm is still some hours away, but the effects are already making themselves known across the city. We go live now to our reporter on the ground, Camera Obscura. Camera?'

The shot cut away to the black unicorn mare, who was wrapped in a plastic rain jacket and similar hat, holding a microphone with her magic and trying to keep it out of the rain and spray, for she was down near the sea. 'I'm here at the Poney Island waterfront in southern Hooflyn, and already we're seeing some significant impact from this storm. As you can see behind me, there's a lot of swell out here at the edge of the Eastern Sea. We've been watching big, big waves breaking over the boardwalk, and even a couple of brave- or foolish- ponies trying to go surfing. But city officials are warning residents not to stray down to the coastal areas. Evacuations of hospitals and nursing homes have already taken place, and residents of the most at-risk communities have been told to leave, because rescue workers might not be able to reach them during the height of the storm. A joint press conference between fire department Chief Starfire Storm and police Chief Blue Cap is scheduled for 11am. The mayor will address the city at noon, at the same time that the subway and bridge closures take effect. We'll keep you all updated on the latest developments, but for now, Manehattan is being advised to batten down the hatches and prepare to ride this one out. For WMTN news in Poney Island, I'm Camera Obscura.'

'Looks like it's starting to get messy out there,' Fairway commented, sipping at a cup of coffee.

'And landfall isn't even until about 5pm,' one of the recalled fireponies added. 'How much worse is it gonna be by then?'

'Yeah...this one could be bad,' Dark Flash nodded, prompting similar gestures from several other fireponies who were grabbing a bite to eat. The new shift had only just started, but the ponies from the previous shift were still hanging around as a result of the recall order, and where they would usually be heading home to their families, now they were confined to the firehouse until such time as the danger had passed and orders came down for them to be released.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine.'

Several of the members of the shift which had just finished began to gallop reflexively for the apparatus bay before remembering that they were not the active crew of the Engine any longer and stopping themselves. Ember Dawn and the rest hurried to the rig and mounted up.

'Box 5062, West 48th at 12th Avenue, medical run!' Oak Wood called from the housewatch. The engine roared out into the drizzle and proceeded west. 12th Avenue was the road which would become the Luna Drive slightly farther north where it became elevated and subject to highway restrictions instead of surface streets. It abutted the West River and was lined with piers, most of which had been abandoned from their initial purpose by economic downturn and the development of the jet aircraft, commercial flights, and containerization of shipping. Some were used to dock cruise ships, others for sightseeing boats. Some had been adapted for use as public green spaces, or even a golf driving range in one instance.

Also along the edge of the street were a number of benches, and it was here that Engine 25 found its victim. It was a purple mare wrapped in a blanket, another of Manehattan's unfortunate homeless population who somepony passing by had figured might be in need of medical help since she had been lying down on the bench.

'Fire department. Are you ok, ma'am?' Lieutenant Coppertop asked as they approached her, and she looked at them with cold eyes, simply nodding.

'I'm fine...why? Did...did somepony call about me?'

'Yeah, I guess they thought you might have been in trouble,' Coppertop replied. The tide in the West River was running high, and water was lapping over the concrete at the edge of 12th Avenue, pooling on the sidewalk. A couple of boats moored at a nearby pier were rocking and bobbing like spinning tops. 'Do you have somewhere to go, ma'am?' he asked. 'It's not gonna be safe to stay here for too much longer. A storm's coming.'

'I'll be fine right here,' the mare replied, clearly already shaking from the cold and damp. 'You fellas just get back to work. I'm sure somepony else will need your help soon enough.'

'You need to get away from the river, ma'am,' Ember Dawn pointed out. 'It's pretty likely this area is going to flood in a few hours, and we wouldn't want to leave you out here.'

'There are refuge centres we can give you the addresses of,' Coppertop added. 'Someplace you can go and stay warm until the storm passes. Nothing regimented, nothing where they'll try to make you go to counseling or ask you questions you don't wanna answer. Just public shelters that anypony can go to to ride out this storm. It's a hell of a lot safer than staying here.'

The mare gazed out across the slate-grey river to the far bank. She spent what seemed like a lifetime making her decision before replying. 'Alright...'

Coppertop returned to the Engine and copied down a few addresses for her from the list of public storm shelters. 'Here you go, ma'am. Keep this dry so you can read it. Please try and get yourself to one of these shelters in the next couple of hours, before things get really bad, ok?'

That was all the fireponies could do. They mounted the rig, called in a 10-31, an assist civilian call, and headed off into the morning gloom, leaving the mare still gazing out over the river.

Radio Gaga

The afternoon came, heralded by an uptick in the wind that blew through the streets of Manehattan. What would normally be a busy and bustling city was reduced to little more than a ghost town, with just an occasional brave pedestrian risking the streets. There were very few vehicles on the roads, mostly city service vehicles such as trucks from the power company and police cruisers. Most ponies seemed to be heeding the warnings from officials about the potential danger of Hurricane Gilda.

Not everypony, however, was quite so attentive. A young daredevil by the name of Silver Streak wanted to provide something dramatic for his internet followers, and had something in mind ever since he heard about the incoming hurricane. There was a radio mast atop a building on East 85th Street, not far from the East River. He didn't know what it was for, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't be damaging it or anything, just climbing up it in the breeze and facing the wrath of Gilda. It was no problem, for his school was suspended for the day anyway, and his mother was not at home- she was a nurse, on call in case of any incident, forced to leave her son at home alone as his father was away on a business trip in Las Pegasus. I'll be good, he promised his mother, only waiting a few minutes after she had left for work at noon to head out. He had looked for somewhere to buy lunch, but almost everything had been closed, shuttered against the weather. He found a deli that was open and grabbed a sandwich, before heading up to East 85th. He had to walk the whole way; the subways were apparently closed, and he found that after buying lunch he no longer had enough money for the few buses that were still running.

Once he reached the building in question, already being pelted with driving rain, Silver Streak had a dilemma. How would he get to the roof? He couldn't fly, he was an earth pony. Maybe wait around for a delivery? That was a little fanciful; surely nopony was going to be delivering anything in the teeth of a hurricane. Then, Celestia's light shone upon him. A miracle! Somepony left the building, shielding their face against the wind, wrapped in a scarf and woolen hat, evidently on some errand. Silver slipped into the lobby, and ascended the stairs. At the top, he found roof access, a door leading out into the storm once again. He took it and saw the radio mast, some 50 feet in height, studded with satellite dishes as well, a multipurpose metal tower. He shimmied up one of the legs of the tower, clambering higher and higher. The wind buffeted him, but he was used to climbing things, though not necessarily in such blustery conditions. But this was special. This was a hurricane, and he had to brave it to get the shots and the video he needed.

Halfway up the tower, his nerve failed him. The wind was too strong; he couldn't go any higher. That would be stupid. This would have to do. He took out his cellphone and began to record a video message, having to shout to be heard over the wind. His followers would love this. They'd call him mad, and maybe they'd be right, but they'd love it anyway.

He found his words drowned out not just by the wind, but by a strange creaking sound. He looked around, pausing his monologue to camera. The tower was swaying, but that was just from the wind. Wasn't it?

Suddenly, with a snap of twisting metal and a groan of inanimate agony, the tower started to tilt, to shift, to fall. Silver Streak screamed, clinging desperately to the crossbeam as the tower gave way in the teeth of the storm, tilting and plunging down.

Beep-Boop.

'Battalion. Rescue.'

'Alright, let's go everypony!' Captain Grey Spike called. The Rescue crew rushed to the rig.

'Box 7570, East 85th between Mareson and Park Avenues. Structural collapse!' Oak Wood called from the housewatch.

The Rescue mounted up and turned out for the run, into the whipping wind and lashing rain. Gilda was getting much closer now, and conditions had deteriorated accordingly. Water was pooling in several spots along the roads they traversed, their wipers working to keep the windshield clear.

'Manehattan to Battalion 9, K?' the radio crackled.

'Battalion 9, go ahead,' Firebrand replied.

'Battalion 9, you are the closest available Chief for box 7570. We have reports of a radio tower or cellphone tower coming down. You're getting the minor technical response. Your assignment is Engine 65, Engine 70, Ladder 21, Ladder 3. Ladder 25 is your SOB Support Truck. Rescue 1, Squad 18, Tactical Support Unit 1. Rescue and Safety Battalions are unavailable, at an incident in Hooflyn, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand replied. His SUV along with the Rescue raced north to Columbine Circle, and then out east toward Mareson Avenue. There, they were able to head north again, and a call came over the radio from Engine 70.

'Engine 70 to Manehattan, have all the units continue in. We have an approximately 40ft radio mast that has come down from the roof of a building...uh, a five story building. It's hanging out across the street, so have PD respond for traffic control and to shut down the street, K.'

'10-4 Engine 70,' the dispatcher replied. The police department would be alerted to close down 85th Street to avoid the possibility of ponies being crushed by falling debris. The Rescue and Battalion 9 continued through the wet streets, before another call came in.

'Engine 70 to Manehattan!'

'Engine 70, K.'

'For Box 7570, notify the Rescue and the Battalion, we have a pony on the collapsed tower. We have a victim on the tower, K.'

The ponies of Rescue 1 shared a glance of concern. A pony on the tower? What the hell would somepony be doing up there in the height of a storm? Maintenance work? Surely the radio company wouldn't be so stupid as to assign a worker on such a task. The rain alone would make the tower slick and slippery, and the wind- well, clearly the wind had been enough to topple it altogether.

Battalion 9 and Rescue 1 turned into the block together, and pulled up to a stop. The radio mast was indeed hanging out across the street, bent and twisted by the fall. None of the tower had torn away entirely, and there was no debris yet on the road, but it looked to be precariously balanced, and there, about halfway along, was a small grey blob that was most definitely not a satellite dish or antenna.

'Alright, Rescue, get your gear!' Firebrand called, exiting his car and placing his white helmet upon his head. 'Set up for a rope rescue. Oak Wood, High Line, get up there and take a closer look. If you can get that pony safely, then grab them and bring them down to the street.'

'I wouldn't try that, Chief,' the Lieutenant of Engine 70 cautioned, grimacing in the face of the rain being whipped toward him. 'The wind is funneling down this street like a fucking tornado. I dunno if it's safe for Pegasi operations, might be too strong for them.'

Firebrand nodded. The wind was indeed howling down 85th Street, between the five, six and seven-story buildings. The kind of tunnel effect created higher windspeeds than would be felt elsewhere, and could be even worse in the canyons of midtown with their high-rises. 'What do you think?' he asked the two Rescue Pegasi. 'Reckon it looks too bad?'

'Maybe, Chief,' Oak Wood replied. 'But we can at least take a look, even if we can't get to him safely.'

'Alright, do it,' Firebrand ordered. 'Cap, take the rest of your crew to the roof. Secure that tower as best you can. I'll get Ladder 25 to join you up there.'

'Got it, Chief.' Grey Spike led the way, and the Rescue crew galloped into the building carrying their ropes and tackles, while Firebrand got on the radio.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan, K.'

'Go ahead, Battalion 9.'

'At this box we have a confirmed radio mast collapse with one pony trapped. Special call one additional Rescue Company and have a unit deliver Rescue 1's collapse rig. Be advised windspeeds may be reaching unsafe levels for Pegasi operations, K. I'll get back to you with more details.'

'10-4, Battalion 9. Engine 25 will be delivering the collapse rig, and you're getting Rescue 3 as well, K.'

A second Rescue was a drain on the department's specialist resources, but Firebrand could already see that this would be a delicate operation if they couldn't get the pony off of the tower with Pegasi. High Line and Oak Wood flapped up toward the tower, but the wind whipped about them. For technical rescues with no fire or hazmat danger, the Rescue crew dispensed with the bunker gear jackets for mobility, and sometimes with the pants as well if needed. The strong wind buffeted their manes and tails, making them stream out behind them like they were in some kind of fashion commercial. They returned to the street a few moments later.

'It's no good, Chief,' Oak Wood shook his head. 'Can't get close enough. It's a colt, maybe...ten years old? Looks scared shitless, but we can't get close enough to safely grab him. He's not in any immediate danger of falling so far as I can tell, but that tower looks pretty unstable. It could go at any time, especially if this wind keeps gusting.'

'Battalion 9 to Rescue 1, K. Be advised a Pegasi rescue is a no-go due to wind. Secure that tower if you can. Ladder 25 is coming up to assist now. Get me a report on conditions up there.'

'10-4, Chief,' Grey Spike replied. Ember Blaze followed his Captain up the stairs to the roof access door. When the Captain pushed it open, he was almost knocked back down the stairs by the sudden inrush of wind. 'Son of a...' he muttered, bracing himself and forcing the door open again. 'Keep low and let's move,' he ordered. Blaze nodded and followed on, Fairway and Flagstaff bringing up the rear.

The tower had sheared off at the base, either from the force of the wind or perhaps the addition of extra weight to its relatively flimsy frame. Only two of its four legs were still attached to the roof, and they were bent right out of shape. There was imminent danger of the whole thing going crashing down into the street, and while the road had been cleared already, that was of no help to the pony now stranded on the shaky metal structure.

'Tie off those loose legs!' Grey Spike ordered. 'Get them secured to anything sturdy.' Blaze, shielding his eyes against the driving rain, quickly trotted over along with Fairway, each of them tossing a thick rope around each sheared leg of the tower. They played out the line and wrapped the other end around the most sturdy thing available, a thick metal water pipe, which seemed strong at a glance, but which they both knew would probably be totally insufficient to hold the tower if another of the legs gave way.

'It's not gonna hold, Captain,' Breeze pointed out with a raised voice to be heard over the wind. 'We have to get him off of that thing.'

'Pegasi can't get near it,' Grey Spike replied. 'Can't risk sending a pony out onto it. Probably bring the whole thing down right away if we add any more shifting weight to it. Any chance of shoring it with magic?'

'No, Cap,' Flagstaff shook her head. 'It's too big. I can't stabilise something that size. Maybe there's another unicorn who could? You could get the Chief to special call a...'

'No time for that,' Grey Spike replied.

'Can Ladder 21 get its bucket up there?' Fairway questioned, but again received a negative reply. 'Wind's too strong. It's outside the operating conditions for raising a tower ladder,' the Captain pointed out. 'An aerial might do it, but one false move and it might just give the tower the nudge it needs to come down in the street...' He got on the radio. 'Rescue 1 to Command. The tower is secured with ropes for now but it's not going to hold for long. The wind up here is too strong for a tower ladder.'

'10-4, Rescue,' Firebrand replied. Blaze peered over the edge of the parapet wall and could see the Chief down below. Ladder 25 and Tower Ladder 21 were on scene, as well as the Squad, and he could see Engine 25, with his brother aboard, just turning into the block with the collapse unit.

'Rescue 1 to Command, suggest we prep for a rocket gun rescue, K,' Grey Spike added over the channel.

'Command to Rescue 1, 10-4,' Firebrand replied. 'Set it up at your end. Command to Squad 18, get up to the sixth floor of...188 East 85th Street, crack the windows and set up to receive a line.'

The fireponies of the Squad, the well-trained mini-rescue from downtown, headed for the other building opposite. The rocket gun was just that; a gun-type device with an explosive charge that would be used to launch a lifeline rope to a distant point. Originally they were developed to be fired from the shore to ships which had run around in dangerous conditions, so that stranded crew could be pulled to safety by a breeches buoy, a simple canvas sling and life-belt arrangement into which a pony could easily clamber, allowing ponies on the shore to winch them across to safety. Every Rescue Company now carried one, and while they were one of the least used pieces of equipment on board, sometimes, they were vital.

High Line and Oak Wood brought up the rocket gun from the rig and set it up on the street. Somepony down below was calling through a police loudhailer, assuring the colt that help was on the way. Ladder 3 was starting to set up its aerial, positioning it directly below the colt, as high as it could go without making the colt think it was safe to jump down onto it. It was just a precaution in case he fell, and whoever was shouting up at him made sure to repeat several times that the poor foal was not to move, just stay where he was.

The tower rocked and shook in the continuing wind- and this was still hours before the hurricane even made landfall, when conditions would be much worse. The Rescue set up the rocket gun as Squad 18 took position opposite them in the other building, opening the sliding window as far as it would go and then standing well clear. With the gun ready for operation, Grey Spike took up the task of firing it. He aimed for the open window, and after radio checks assured him that everypony was ready, he waited for a relative lull in the wind, squeezed the trigger, and launched the line with a loud bang. The rope played out rapidly, unspooling from the roof behind him, and landed inside the target room. Fireponies rapidly seized on it to make sure it didn't slide back out of the window, and secured it to a pillar inside.

The tower gave a groan and shifted, making everypony stop and stare aghast. But it held, and the colt desperately clung on to the metal. They had to reach him right away. 'Alright, make that rope taut!' Grey Spike ordered, as Blaze and Fairway set up the breeches buoy. One firepony would ride it out into the middle of the street and grab the colt. It was dangerous; there was no theoretical upper windspeed limit on the use of the device, as it had been designed initially to operate in coastal storms where ships had been wrecked in conditions just like this. But it would be a wild ride.

'Everything ready?' Grey Spike asked. 'Alright. Winch me out when I call.' The Captain was set to take the trip himself.

'Cap? Let me go,' Ember Blaze suddenly spoke up. 'Best not to risk the officer, right?' he added, as an excuse for volunteering, but really, he couldn't help but think of young Sulfur Springs, who had visited them on the last shift, and his poor mother, Licorice Swirl, who had been so distraught, yet so thankful afterward. Clearly this foal had got himself into similar difficulties with his hi-jinks, and something about the similarity made Blaze feel he wanted to be the one to make the rescue.

'You sure? Alright then. Mount up,' Grey Spike replied, stepping aside and allowing Blaze to climb into the device.

'Ready to go!' he called, gripping onto the canvas rail. He swung his hind legs out over the edge of the parapet, and felt the wind whip against him. The Rescue crew played out the block and tackle that would move the device, and out he went, into the storm. The wind took him immediately, swinging the breeches buoy wildly as Blaze held on. He was strapped in firmly enough, but it was still unnerving to be buffeted like a leaf. The rope ran alongside the tower where the poor colt held on desperately. With a minute of steady progress, Blaze came alongside him, his face white with fear.

'Hey!' he called, having to shout to be heard. 'My name's Ember Blaze, what's yours?' He had to repeat his question before the colt replied.

'S-silver Streak...'

'Ok Silver, I'm gonna get you down from there, alright?' Blaze informed him, bouncing around next to the tower. 'You don't have to do anything, alright? All you have to do is trust me.'

'Have you done this before?' Silver asked shakily.

'Oh yeah! Plenty of times,' Blaze replied, lying through his teeth. While he had indeed performed a simulated rescue in training, the last time the rocket gun and breeches buoy had been used in actual action was probably before he even joined the department- perhaps even before his dad left. He would have to ask, next time he visited his parents. A glance down at the street made him slightly vertiginous, but it also showed him at least one TV news van was on the scene. He hadn't counted on that; he imagined they would be too busy down at the beach showing the waves, like Camera Obscura had been.

'Now, all you have to do, Silver, is let go when I tell you. Not before, ok? But as soon as I tell you, you have to let go of the tower, and you'll be safe, Blaze explained. 'I know it sounds crazy, but like I said, you have to trust me. Do you trust fireponies, Silver?'

'Yeah...I guess...' the colt replied.

'And do you trust me?' Blaze gave the most convincing smile he could, given that his face was being pelted by wind and driving rain. Surely the colt must be close to suffering from hypothermia by now. He had to get him inside.

'Yeah...' Silver muttered, not having much choice at this point. The tower gave another groan, and Blaze glanced back at the rooftop as his radio crackled.

'Rescue 1 to Rescue 1 Irons. The tower's getting unstable. Better get a move on, K,' Grey Spike informed him.

'Hear that?' Blaze asked Silver. 'The tower's unstable, so I have to get you out, and I have to get you out NOW. If you do as I say I promise you'll be safe.'

'A-alright...' Silver nodded.

'Alright. I'll count one, two, three. On three, I'll grab hold of you and you'll let go when I say let go. Ok Silver?'

'O-ok...'

'Alright then. One...two...' Blaze timed his grab until the wind had dropped and brought him closer to the tower. 'Three!' He reached out with firm hooves and wrapped them around Silver's midriff. 'Let go!' he shouted.

The petrified colt complied, and Blaze gripped him tightly as though it were his own son. The buoy bounced and wobbled from the extra weight, but it was designed to hold the weight of two adult ponies if needed. It didn't stop Silver from whimpering in fear. The Rescue crew winched them rapidly toward the Squad in the other building. 'I got you, buddy. It's ok,' Blaze assured Silver. 'I'm not gonna let go.'

And he didn't. The two ponies were carried to the window, where Silver was taken by two of the Squad Company and passed on to paramedics. The Squad helped Blaze out of the breeches buoy.

'Just when I think I've seen everything, somepony goes and uses the rocket gun,' the Squad's Captain chuckled. 'I think my grandpa used one once...must have been fifty years ago. That's some damn fine heroes work out there.'

Blaze nodded his thanks, and felt himself smiling. It felt good to be a hero.

Gilda

Gilda built herself up in ferocity over the course of the afternoon, battering Manehattan with powerful winds and lashing rain. The storm surge rose higher and higher, starting to flood outlying communities, but true landfall wasn't going to happen until after dark. Though the eyewall was miles away to the south, the strength of the storm over the city was not exactly slack.

The MFD was inundated with calls. Trees blocking roads, flooded basements, power outages, loose signage and building facades, medical calls. One thing there were few of was car accidents; hardly anypony was outside now. Even if they hadn't listened to the official advice, one look out of their windows now would make them reconsider. Rain wasn't so much coming down as it was being hurled horizontally along the streets and avenues. Water bubbled from every drain cover, pooling in the gutters where they were clogged with leaves and twigs and other debris.

Only fools were braving the weather; fools, and public service workers, who had no choice in the matter, for they had signed up to help the city no matter the circumstances. Ambulances, police cars, fire trucks, utility companies, the Department of Parks, the Water Department and the Department of Environmental Protection provided the majority of vehicles that were still on the streets, for they all had tasks to perform.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine.'

'Box 5062, West 48th and 12th Ave! Medical!' Oak Wood called.

'Again?' Striker shot Ember Dawn a look as they trotted to the rig. 'That's the same box from this morning.'

Out they went, into the appalling weather. Rain pelted the windshield, the wipers working overtime to try and keep visibility at an acceptable level. The street was awash with water in many places, where drains were clogged or it was pooling in low-lying areas and potholes. They headed west to 12th Avenue. This time, the water was well up over the edge of the river. Indeed, several of the piers along the river were underwater, only the buildings constructed upon them being visible. It was already getting dark, and the headlights of the Engine could still only pierce a short distance into the gloom ahead. The red and white flashing lights of the rig reflected off of the surrounding buildings and the raindrops like a crazed kaleidoscope.

When they reached 12th Avenue, they were halted by a large area of flooding. 'Where's the patient?' Coppertop asked, peering through the murk. 'Engine 25 to Manehattan. Do you have a 10-7 for box 5062? We're at the intersection and we don't see a patient, K.'

A 10-7 signal was a request for more information about the call. It was usually obtained by one of the dispatch staff calling back the number which had phoned in the alarm and asking for more details, or relaying anything of potential use which was not included on the original ticket, the information send over the data terminal in each vehicle that listed the location, address, and nature of the call.

'Engine 25, all we have is a pony lying on a bench there, K.'

'Engine 25, 10-4...' Lieutenant Coppertop exchanged glances with his crew. 'It's not that same mare...surely to Celestia she's moved on by now?'

'Can we even get to that bench, Lieu?' Dark Flash asked. Deep Blue shook her head.

'Not in the rig. Water looks too deep. I don't wanna flood the engine. Last thing we need is fleet services taking the piss out of us as they tow us away.'

'Alright, let's get out and take a look around. Everypony be careful, don't lose sight of each other. Take a Hoofigan or a hook and probe ahead of you to check the water depth. Blue, stay with the rig. Dawn, grab the medical gear.' At Coppertop's command, the fireponies jumped down from the rig. Immediately they were pounded by vicious winds that nearly took the doors off. Rain peppered them like buckshot. Dawn opened one of the rear compartments and grabbed the medical bag, following the others into the flood water. The wind, now coming from their backs, nearly carried them forward like bowling pins being scattered by the ball. Deep Blue, the chauffeur, remained in the heated cab of the Engine as the others waded forward.

The water was up to their carpal joints, almost a foot of it covering the riverside roadway. Through the rain, they could see a dark lump on the bench. It was the same mare from before, wrapped in the same blanket, sodden through and unmoving.

'Hey, ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?' Coppertop called, shaking her gently. 'Ma'am? Fire Department. We were here earlier!'

The mare didn't respond. 'Is she breathing?' Dawn asked, offering up the medical bag.

'I'm fine...' the mare mumbled, half-incoherently.

'Yeah, she's breathing...' Coppertop replied with a sigh. 'Ma'am, you cannot stay here any longer. This whole area is flooding. If you stay here then you're gonna drown, do you understand?'

'I said...I'm fine...please...' she replied weakly, shivering from the cold.

'Ma'am, we can't leave you out here,' Coppertop frowned. 'Engine 25 to Manehattan! Do you have an ETA on the bus for box 5062, K? We located the patient. She's possibly suffering from hypothermia, K.'

'Engine 25, EMS cannot give ETA's due to the storm, K,' came the reply. 'They assigned a unit twelve minutes ago.'

'Engine 25, 10-4. Advise EMS there is significant flooding around the area. Do not travel up 12th Avenue, it may be impassable...' Coppertop looked around. There was water all over the place. 'Fuck it...' he grunted. 'Ah, Engine 25 to Manehattan, you can cancel the bus. We're going to transport the patient ourselves, K. To, uh...to Meadowbrook Memorial, K.'

'10-4, Engine 25.'

Fire units were not supposed to transport patients. That was for the ambulances, the buses in Manehattan slang. But this was an exceptional case. The storm was tying up resources all across the city. EMS, like every other agency, was overstretched to capacity and beyond. The ambulance that was assigned to them could be better used elsewhere, and might find it couldn't even reach them anyway. Meadowbrook was only ten blocks away.

'Ma'am, you need to come with us,' Coppertop informed the victim. 'We're going to take you to the hospital, alright? You need to get treated, to get someplace warm. Why didn't you go to one of the shelters we told you about?'

'Because I'm fine...' the vagrant mare answered, though that was clearly not the case in numerous ways. Staying out here, so close to the river, was a death sentence for a homeless pony, but perhaps that was why she had chosen to remain on the bench.

'Come on...' Coppertop grunted. 'Flash, Striker, help me get her up.' Together, the trio of fireponies lifted the mare bodily, over a string of weak complaints from her. But she was too tired, too cold, too wet to offer any physical resistance, and they were able to get her off of the bench and back to the Engine, sliding her onto the back seats. She looked extremely disheveled, weak and pathetic. But she was a pony, like any other, and whether she had a home or not, she deserved to be cared for. Fireponies never discriminated. They cared not for the victim's social class or whether they had somewhere to live. They didn't care if a victim was an earth pony, Pegasus or unicorn. They didn't care if the victim was a pony, a Zebra, a Griffon, a Diamond Dog, a Yak, or any other species. They were not there to judge a victim's origins or their circumstances. They were there to help, and that was exactly what Engine 25 did.

With little room in the back, Dawn and Dark Flash rode on the running boards, holding onto the door handles outside the cab, a practice that used to be routine in the department, but which had long since been outlawed under normal circumstances due to the danger it posed, and the fact that all apparatus now had enough space inside for the whole crew. But it was a short ride to Meadowbrook Memorial, where the half-incoherent mare was handed over to the overworked emergency room. They had done their bit for the poor mare, and now, they had to get back to the firehouse to be there for other ponies, too.

'Engine 25 to Manehattan, K?'

'Engine 25.'

'Engine 25 is 10-8 from Meadowbrook hospital. We handed the patient over to the emergency room, K. Make our box a 10-37 Code 3,' Coppertop informed the dispatcher, a signal that meant Non-Fire Related Medical Incident, Non-Life Threatening.

'10-4, Engine 25, I have another run for you. Box 0645, that's at 610 Marestrom Avenue at West 69th, reporting a flooding condition in the basement, K.'

'Engine 25, 10-4,' Coppertop replied. At a time like this, with Gilda bearing down on them with full force, it never ended. The calls simply never stopped coming in.

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

'Again? We only just got back!' Flagstaff complained with a grunt. Her mane and coat were soaked through by the rain. 'I can't even take a shower?' she grumbled, reversing course back to the apparatus floor, where Rescue 1 had just backed in after returning from a scaffolding collapse down on East 10th Street.

'Rescue goes again!' one of the recalled fireponies from another shift called, having taken over the housewatch duties when Oak Wood had been out on the call. 'Box 1160, Spring Street and LaPonette Street. Debris falling from a building!'

Off they went again, into the howling gale. Darkness had fallen as Gilda edged ever closer to landfall. Spring Street was way down near the bottom of Manehattan island, below the 4th Street cutoff where streets stopped having numbers and started having names. It was quite a long way to run for a call where the Rescue wasn't even needed, but that was what happened. An old, partially rusted fire escape had come loose from a five-story brick building, and clattered to the street, crushing a parked car. But there were no pedestrians around, nopony in the car, and nopony in the building was hurt. The Rescue had almost arrived at the scene when they were turned back.

'Manehattan calling Rescue 1?'

'Rescue 1, K.'

'Are you available?' the dispatcher inquired, almost politely.

'Rescue 1 is available, K,' Grey Spike informed them.

'Alright, Rescue 1, take in box 5011. Celestia Drive at South Street. Reported to be multiple cars trapped in floodwater, K.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4, we are responding.' Grey Spike shook his head. 'Don't ponies ever learn? Why would you drive around the edge of the island when you know it's gonna be flooded?'

'Maybe ponies really are that stupid, Cap!' Fairway suggested, as he swung the rig around to head south again. 'Maybe it's like that windsurfer that Rescue 4 had to get from out in the bay earlier. They just want the thrill.'

'Then go skydiving or something!' Grey Spike muttered. 'Don't drive into floodwater if you can't see how deep it is. It's just common sense. Tell me I'm right, Fairway.'

'You're right, Cap!' the chauffeur responded, getting a chuckle from the other fireponies. It was, of course, but ponies had a predilection- almost a fetish- for finding new and stupid ways of getting themselves into trouble. Silver Streak had shown that earlier in the day, by climbing the radio mast in the teeth of a howling gale. Now, other ponies were reinforcing that fact by apparently driving into floodwater in regular cars, not even a vehicle somewhat adapted to wet conditions.

It took a couple of minutes to get down to South Street and the Celestia Drive, right at the southeastern tip of Manehattan island, not far from the ferry terminal. Here, an underpass took the Celestia Drive below another surface street, and this was where ponies had run into difficulty. The underpass had flooded to a considerable depth, at least three feet, and yet remarkably some half a dozen cars had contrived to drive into it, apparently blissfully unaware of the danger.

Despite Engine 4 and Ladder 15 being quartered literally less than one minute's walk from the scene, Rescue 1 was actually the first fire department unit to arrive; that firehouse, like all those in low lying areas, had been evacuated, their vehicles and personnel moved to other stations inland. The nearest units were tied up dealing with a flooded basement a few blocks away, and the only emergency presence was a single police cruiser on the other side of the flooded underpass.

The flooding would only get worse. Seawater from the bay was lapping over the edge of the roadway even at street level. 'I thought they were gonna close the Drive down?' Flagstaff muttered.

'They did,' Grey Spike replied. 'But only the raised sections. This part wasn't covered by the shutdown. It's basically a surface street at this point.'

'Yeah, apart from the underpass,' Flagstaff replied as they dismounted into the rain. Spray was driving in from the East River as the wind whipped across its surface. On a normal day, the river would be busy with vessels; barges, tour boats, ferries and water taxis. Now it was empty, a grey, undulating expanse of churning water. The borough of Hooflyn, on the other side, was no longer visible as the spray and rain battered the city.

In the underpass, two ponies were already on the rooves of their cars, but unable to proceed any farther due to the water. Neither of them were Pegasi. The other vehicles still contained their drivers, who were in dangerous positions as the water levels were still rising. The higher the water got, the harder it would be to open the doors of the vehicles due to the pressure on them from the outside.

'Alright! Oak Wood, High Line, go grab those two,' Grey Spike ordered, gesturing to the ponies sitting on top of their cars. 'Blaze, grab a rope and tie it off to our bumper. Flagstaff, gear up with an immersion suit. Fairway, call dispatch with an update. Tell 'em we'll operate with whatever units they have assigned, and then grab the tools in case we need them.'

Blaze grabbed one of the strong rescue ropes from the rear of the rig, while Flagstaff went into the rear compartment. Grey Spike entered to help her don the restrictive but protective immersion suit, a thick and well insulated neoprene garment that would protect against the low temperatures of the open sea, originally designed, just like the rocket line gun Blaze had used earlier in the day, to help survival after shipwrecks. Flagstaff was going into the water, and it was water from the bay and from the river in late autumn. More than a few minutes' immersion in such water, without suitable protection, would be to invite hypothermia, and Flagstaff would likely have to cover multiple cars, which would take time.

Fairway returned to the cab to grab the radio. 'Rescue 1 to Manehattan?'

'Go ahead, Rescue 1.'

'At our box we have a total of six vehicles in floodwater in the South Street underpass. We are putting a rescue swimmer in the water, K.'

'10-4, Rescue 1. You have Battalion 6, Ladder 10 and Engine 6 responding. Do you require any additional resources, K?' the dispatcher asked.

'Rescue 1, negative. We'll go with that assignment for now, K,' Fairway informed them. Battalion 6 was quartered a fair distance up town, evidence of the huge strain the storm was putting on fire department resources. The three closer Battalions, 1, 2 and 4, were evidently tied up at other incidents, and while normally a Chief could be dispatched over the bridge from Hooflyn, either conditions had worsened such that the bridges were now closed to even emergency traffic, or the nearest Chiefs over there were also busy already.

With Flagstaff suited up and the rope in place, Blaze tied the end around her waist so that she would remain firmly attached to the Rescue rig while she was wading through the water. It was hard to tell if the cars were resting on the bottom or if they were floating. The lighting in the tunnel had gone out, fused by the water. Fairway turned the Rescue's headlights up to full beam and raised a spotlight from the roof for added illumination, providing Flagstaff enough light to see where she was going.

The two Pegasi had rescued the easily accessible ponies, flying over and picking them up from their rooves. Ladder 10, its side emblazoned with a large decal of an Equestrian flag, pulled onto the Drive behind the Rescue. Grey Spike quickly filled in their officer as to the situation, and the truck prepared to put their own swimmer into the water. Flagstaff carried a small, flat rigid-hulled boat from the Rescue. It was unpowered and designed for situations like this, where the rescuer had to get somepony out of a flood and keep them dry if possible.

She waded into the water, Blaze keeping control of the rope to make sure it didn't catch on anything hidden under the water. Once she reached the first car, she spoke with the driver, and used her magic to add extra strength to her efforts to open the door. She managed to wrench it free, and water washed into the driver's compartment, but this car was only partway into the flood. The driver climbed out into the boat, and Flagstaff walked her back to the edge of the water, where Grey Spike and Fairway helped her out of the boat. Ladder 10 didn't carry a boat of its own, but their swimmer was able to free one of the other drivers and carry him out on his back; only the driver's hind legs got wet as a result.

The other two cars were deeper into the water, and the water had risen much farther up their doors. Flagstaff reached the first one, but couldn't get the door open due to the depth of the water. Instead, she advised the driver to turn away and cover their eyes. She then lowered her horn and it glowed, acting like a saw as she touched it against the edge of the window and traced all around the perimeter. The glass then fell outward as a single piece, splashing into the floodwater. The driver was able to scramble out to freedom aboard the small boat, and Flagstaff took him to safety. That left only one driver remaining. The swimmer from Ladder 10 had been unable to get her out, and Flagstaff joined him at the unfortunate vehicle. It was riding low in the water, but Flagstaff was able to repeat her trick of cutting the window out. The final driver was rescued and on relatively dry land before Battalion 6 even arrived on the scene.

The crew packed up their gear, turning the patients over to the paramedics who had arrived for a quick check for any injuries. As soon as Rescue 1 signaled 10-8 and available, they got another run.

'Manehattan to Rescue 1, respond to box 5018...'

Beep-Boop.

'Engine.'

It was the height of the storm now. Gilda was laying waste to the eastern seaboard, having made landfall some half hour ago. Engine 25 had been in quarters for a little over twenty minutes after returning from a stove fire. The Rescue had barely made it back at all over the last few hours, pinballing around the borough on half a dozen different calls. The reports on the department radio from southern Hooflyn sounded particularly troubling. A large number of units were battling valiantly to save ponies from an apparent hellscape. An entire neighbourhood had been almost totally flooded, and yet somehow a huge fire was also burning there, with reports of up to fifty buildings involved. Whether the cause was a ruptured gas line, the spread of oil across the water's surface, shorting electrical systems or something else, things seemed to be very bad indeed. The flooded streets meant no apparatus could hope to get close enough to extinguish the blaze, and the hurricane winds were fanning the flames and turning them into blowtorches. With no hope of extinguishing the fire, efforts instead focused on rescuing ponies who were trapped in their homes before the fire could spread.

'Engine relocation! Going to the quarters of Engine 206 in Hooflyn!' the housewatch pony callled out.

'Relocation...huh, I wasn't expecting that,' Striker muttered to Ember Dawn as they boarded the engine. 'Figured it'd be another flooded basement or something.'

'Hey, it probably will be as soon as we get over there,' Dawn replied, as they set off into the rain. Opening the door of the apparatus bay to the exterior sent a strong gust of air into the firehouse, blowing papers and loose items all around and causing a hailstorm of complaints and angry shouts to be hurled after the departing company as ponies scrambled to secure the paperwork before it blew away.

It was a long and lonely ride down to the Hooflyn Bridge. The streets were deserted. Even the cops seemed to have given up for the night and gone home. Celestia Square, the beating heart of both the borough and city of Manehattan and one of the biggest tourist draws, was almost totally empty, with just a couple of foolish ponies wrapped tight in see-through plastic rain gear braving the elements to take selfies. We survived Gilda!

Once they turned onto the bridge, the oldest of the structures that spanned the East River, Engine 25 found itself immediately buffeted by heavy winds. The taut wires of the old suspension bridge hummed and sang as the wind whistled through them, but the strong, sturdy stone structure wasn't going to let a little hurricane damage it. The streets of Hooflyn were just as empty as those they had left behind.

The quarters of Engine 206 were in a fairly old building, not quite on the historic register but not far off. It housed just the single Engine Company, which was tied up operating at the major incident in Poneway Beach to the south. Deep Blue backed the rig in, and the crew settled in to their new, temporary, home. Unlike their own firehouse, this one was suffering from a lack of television signal, meaning they could not keep up so well with the unfolding situation around the city as Gilda continued to batter them. To further annoy the new tenants, the break room had a large window, against which rain would constantly pound in an irritating litany of staccato splashes. But it was dry, at least, and warm enough, and there was at least an ample supply of magazines to be read.

At one point, the lights flickered, and then went out. It only lasted a moment, and then the firehouse's backup generator kicked in and illuminated them once again. The department radio channels were monitored for anything that might affect them, and that was how they first learned of the 5th Alarm being transmitted for the Poneway Beach conflagration.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine.'

The call came just a few moments later. It had seemed inevitable, and sure enough, they were being summoned. 'Box 9940, staging area at Beach 73rd Street and Poneway Beach Boulevard! 5th Alarm multiple structure fire and water rescue!' Dark Flash confirmed, reading from the housewatch teleprinter.

'Figures...' Striker grunted.

'Hey, it's not a flooded basement,' Dawn pointed out.

'No, not just one,' Striker replied. 'Hundreds of them.'

The Engine crew pulled on their gear, mounted the rig, opened the firehouse door, and rolled out of their temporarily co-opted quarters to brave the storm again, but this time they were going right to the edge of not just the city, but of the entire Equestrian continent. They were going south to do battle with ponykind's two oldest and most voracious enemies; fire, and the sea.

Fire & Water

Beep-Boop.

'Battalion. Rescue.'

'Alright, Box 0295, East 14th Street and the Celestia Drive. Electrical fire!'

That drew a lot of exchanged glances from the fireponies in Firehouse 25. The location and the nature of the call could not be a coincidence, surely?

East 15th Street and the Celestia Drive was the location of the Pone-Gen power plant which supplied electricity to a large part of the whole borough, and also parts of Hooflyn. It was a large complex of connected buildings and transformer yards that abutted the East River, using natural gas to produce the steam to spin the turbines. So long as the power flowed, the lights would remain on, but a serious electrical fire in the plant could force a shutdown, and the last thing the city needed in the midst of a storm was for the power to fail to a large area.

The fact that Battalion 9 was being assigned to the call told a lot about the state of the city's fire protection at the height of the hurricane. Battalion 6 was the first-due Chief to that location. Battalion 4 was the next nearest, to the south, while Battalions 7 and 8 were both quartered closer to the power plant than Firebrand was. They must all have been tied up with other incidents.

Together the Rescue and their Chief geared up and their vehicles roared out into the gale again. There was always a chance that the fire was not in the plant; after all, the address that had been given was one block south of where the plant entrance was located. The dispatcher came over the radio.

'Manehattan calling Battalion 9, K.'

'Battalion 9,' Firebrand replied. 'Go ahead.'

'We're going to change your box to 0300. We just got a call from the Pone-Gen supervisor stating they have a fire in the transformer yard of the power plant there, K. You're getting Engine 3, Engine 8, Engine 65, Ladder 1 and Ladder 5. We assigned Rescue initially in case it was the plant, and you're getting Squad 288 acting Squad 18, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4.' Firebrand signed off. A fire in the plant was the last thing they needed. Hopefully it would just be something minor, some debris that had somehow caught light, maybe a small sump oil container burning. Battalion 9 and Rescue 1 headed south, sloshing through lying water that now covered most of the roads they had to traverse. Those unaffected by flooding from the river were nevertheless swamped with rainwater as drainage systems clogged up with debris or simply couldn't handle the quantity of surface runoff effectively.

They reached 14th Street, which was one of the few streets in the borough along which traffic could flow both east and west. As they turned onto it and headed toward the power plant, the sky suddenly lit up with a brilliant blue-green flash, catching millions of raindrops in its glow and turning their vision into a confusing mess for a few moments. The flash grew in intensity for several seconds before fading away. The sky returned to its normal dark shade, and it took a second for the fireponies to realise that all of the street lights, traffic lights, and illuminated storefront signs had gone dark.

'Shit...' Captain Grey Spike muttered. 'Looks like the transformer blew...'

''Ladder 1 to Manehattan, urgent!' came the call over the radio.

'Go ahead Ladder 1.'

'Box 0300, transmit the 10-75. We just had a transformer blow inside the Pone-Gen plant. We're on scene with the plant supervisor who says they had a fire in a transformer that spread to the oil retention pond underneath it, K.'

'10-4, Ladder 1,' the dispatcher answered. The alert tones sounded before she continued. '10-75 has been transmitted for Box 0300, East 15th Street and Celestia Drive, for a transformer explosion and fire in the Pone-Gen plant.' She repeated the call before raising Firebrand on the radio.

'Battalion 9, on the 10-75, Engine 16 will be your fourth engine, Ladder 21 will be your HOOF Truck. Division 1 and RAC 1 assigned also, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand answered, and the Chief and the Rescue arrived at the gates of the power plant. A large, red brick structure with two tall chimneys, the power plant was fenced off from the surrounding roads by chain link, adorned with Danger Of Death- Keep Out signs that now rattled in the wind as it whistled through the fences. Fire Department units were never supposed to enter Pone-Gen stations without an escort from a supervisor from the power company, instead waiting at the main gate until one appeared. This time their supervisor was already on the scene, clearly concerned for his plant. Firebrand approached him for a situation report.

The cause of the fire was simple enough; the power plant had been trying to compensate for the loss of several substations in Hooflyn due to the weather, which were meant to relay power to the city from a nuclear plant out beyond the city lines to the east of Pone Island, upon which the boroughs of Hooflyn and Princess lay. The transformer in question had taken too much of the load and overstressed itself, starting a small fire within its casing. Like many large transformers, this one was surrounded by oil which acted as a cooling agent, but which was, naturally, flammable. The fire in the transformer itself had spread outside of its shell and ignited the oil, which in turn burned the rest of the transformer until it blew so spectacularly and lit up the sky. The explosion had apparently spread the burning oil outside of the protective dyke which was meant to contain it, and now there was the threat of oil running through the transformer yard and starting other fires. Some of the smaller transformers were not protected by external dykes, and the burning oil could easily trickle down to them and cause further damage and more explosions which would black out even more of the city.

The supervisor told Firebrand that they had shut down the power to every transformer in the yard, but there was still a danger of residual charge. That was always a problem with fires in large electrical equipment, and a power plant was one of the most potentially dangerous places to fight a fire. There were wires and cables, junction boxes, transformers, condensers, turbines and all manner of switching gear, any of which could prove a deadly hazard to fireponies. Extreme caution had to be taken at all times.

Firebrand ordered units to dismount from their vehicles and grab hoses and cans of foam concentrate. The foam would have to be sprayed onto the burning oil; water wouldn't extinguish it, but would instead simply spread it around more readily. Most flammable liquid fires had to be smothered, and the foam was ideal for that purpose, forming a blanket over the burning fluid and stopping air from reaching it, thus extinguishing the flames. He also gave the order not to bring any metal tools into the power plant grounds, a sensible and standard precaution given the potential for electrical charge to still be present among the various pieces of equipment.

Ember Blaze and the rest of the Rescue were ordered to enter the power plant building itself and conduct searches. Thick, toxic smoke from the burning oil had wafted into the structure, and while the supervisor had not reported any injuries or lost employees, the building had to be searched anyway, just in case. Blaze kept his mask at the ready as they made their way through the confusing interior, all maintenance corridors, equipment rooms and storage areas. The main generating room, a cavernous chamber with four huge pieces of machinery that produced the steam to spin the turbines, was suffering from only a light haze of smoke, and the employees there were continuing to work despite the disruption. Conditions inside were acceptable, but outside, smoke was still billowing from the affected transformer. Pieces of its casing lay scattered about, thrown by the explosion. Burning oil was running in two directions, toward the main building and toward a row of half a dozen unprotected, though much smaller, transformers.

Firebrand ordered two foam lines to be stretched from the engines parked outside the fence. One hose would protect the power plant building, and the other would try to cut off the flow of burning oil from the transformers by providing a protective wall of foam to hold back the tide. The power plant itself was protected from flooding, though it lay on the river, by a high concrete wall that ran along the bank of the East River and was designed to be proof against even the largest potential rise in water levels. The whole transformer yard being flooded would be a disaster for the power grid, but the somewhat precarious location on the waterfront was necessary for cooling and the release of waste water from the plant for the same purpose.

The two engine companies went to work while Firebrand put in a radio call for a foam tender to come to scene. More foam would likely be needed to extinguish the blaze within the dyke that protected the transformer which had exploded. The hoses were turned on with a careful application of foam, cooling and coating the burning oil and stopping it from flowing toward either the power plant or the transformers, forming a barrier and holding back the tide. While the incident had been dramatic, lighting up the sky like some kind of alien invasion scene in a Ponywood blockbuster, the actual firefighting was relatively routine. The foam barriers stopped the spread of oil and protected the endangered exposures. Most of the units who had responded to the scene had little to do. Once the foam tender arrived with its extra cans of foam concentrate, attention turned to extinguishing the blazing transformer itself, and the pool of oil that surrounded it. Gallon after gallon of foam was sprayed onto the transformer by two additional hoses, gradually cooling it down and smothering the oil beneath. Even when no more fire was visible, more foam was continuously applied. Any gap in the blanket of foam, caused, for instance, by rain washing down from above and melting it away, could lead to the oil flaring up again. A thick enough blanket had to be applied that it could keep fresh air at bay for long enough for the oil to cool below its ignition point.

It would be a long and tedious operation, but it did not require any specialist expertise at this point. The Squad and the Rescue were cut loose, made available for more calls. Ember Blaze got back on board the rig, soaked through from the rain, but thankful that the fire hadn't spread into the plant building or to the other transformers. Things were bad enough in the city as it was, without losing another huge chunk of the power grid. Apparently much of southern Hooflyn was already out of power- including the neighbourhood of Poneway Beach, where a major incident was underway. Blaze idly wondered if they would be called to the scene or not. He got his answer quickly.

'Manehattan calling Rescue 1, available?'

'Rescue 1, 10-4,' Grey Spike replied.

'Rescue 1, respond to Box 0835, 10th Avenue at West 34th Street, reporting a motor vehicle accident, K.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4, we are responding.' Fairway flicked on the sirens and lights and they set off twenty streets north. At least for now, they would not be going to Poneway Beach.

Ember Dawn, however, was. Not long after they left 206's firehouse, they could see the glow in the sky to the south. It was a foul reddish-orange, simmering on the horizon, indicative of a big, big fire. The closer Engine 25-Acting-Engine-206 got to Poneway Beach, the more evidence of the storm's destruction they found. There were power lines and telephone wires down, snaking across the street through deep pools of water. Trees had fallen, sometimes just branches and sometimes the entire thing. Fence panels were missing, tiles stripped from rooftops, satellite dishes, antennae and signs hanging loose at crazy angles. Any of those things, in normal circumstances, could constitute a reason to call the fire department. But with power out to the area, the wires were no danger. There were no pedestrians around to be hit by falling signs or traffic lights, nor were there any cars to be inconvenienced by trees in the roadway.

Their red and white emergency lights reflected from the windows of houses on both sides of the street. Perhaps ponies were hunkered down inside, riding out the storm as best they could, listening to their window shutters rattle, taking an occasional peek outside to make sure water levels were not rising too high. Or perhaps they had all evacuated already. Some buildings were boarded up with wood across the windows and doors. Stores had their shutters down and locked- although that hadn't stopped the wind from wrenching one of them loose and bending it like the open lid of a can of corn.

That same wind rocked the Engine, especially when they started to cross the causeway that led to the isolated community of Poneway Beach. There were only three ways to reach the neighbourhood- a vertical lift bridge, which had been closed to traffic ahead of the storm, the long way round traveling around Princess Celestia International Airport and approaching from the landward side, and the causeway across which they were now traveling. Poneway Beach was a narrow strip of land separated from the rest of Hooflyn by a body of water called Broad Channel. Its residents loved the proximity to the beach and the surf, and it had historically been one of the destinations of ponies from the borough of Manehattan heading out on their summer vacations. Now it was a peaceful neighbourhood of clapboard houses and small, friendly local stores. And right now? Right now, it was suffering hell.

Ember Dawn looked out of the window as the Engine pulled onto the Veterans Bridge, a sturdy structure which had remained open to emergency traffic, as it was one of the few ways to reach that particular area of the city. Driving some fifty feet above the water below put them right in Gilda's eye, and the rig rocked and swayed noticeably. Indeed, the whole bridge was moving, rather disconcertingly.

'Are you sure we shouldn't have taken the long way round, Lieu?' Dark Flash asked Coppertop nervously. 'I don't wanna be that firepony who drowned when the bridge went down under her.'

'We'll be fine,' Coppertop replied. 'They build things to last in Hooflyn, remember?'

'Yeah, like that aircraft carrier?' Dark Flash muttered. 'Did they decide what they're gonna do with her yet?'

'It finally got through committee a couple of days ago,' Ember Dawn informed her. He had kept up to date with the saga of the ENS Canterlot, as it had only seemed right. It was his first fire, after all. 'The Navy decided to continue with the overhaul. They say she'll go back into service in six months.'

'They're gonna put that floating coffin back on the sea?' Dark Flash shook her head. Many ponies had died in the fire. Some accepted the necessity for the ship to be put back into service, while others felt she should be scrapped to honour the dead. But the government and the Navy had made their choices.

The Engine made it off the bridge safely, and arrived at the staging area. The sky to their immediate west was ablaze, yet already there were floods in the streets they had to wade through to reach the intersection. There were several dozen pieces of apparatus already on scene, and now Engine 25-Acting-Engine-206 had arrived as well. They looked into a vision of hell. They, and every other firepony on scene, would be very much needed.

Poneway Beach

The staging area was a confusing mess of vehicles; Engines, Ladders, Chiefs' SUVs, ambulances. There were vehicles from the Parks Department, Pone-Gen gas and electric, the city Office of Emergency Management, the police department, and half a dozen other organisations. One could only hope that the staging area officer could keep track of everything. Water sat a good few inches in depth across the entire roadway, and the parking lot which had also been co-opted as part of the operation.

The sky ahead was burning. Flames leaped high into the air, being blown inland by the hurricane force winds coming on off of the sea. It was scant wonder the fire had spread with such an energetic assist being given by Gilda. The wooden houses of Poneway Beach, even though they were soaked with water and flooded by the sea, still took fire and burned when the blowtorch-like flames reached them. Where the fire had started was impossible to determine. Perhaps investigators might find the cause in the weeks ahead, or perhaps it would be a mystery known only to the waves that now lapped through the neighbourhood. Either way, there was almost no prospect of fighting the blaze at all. Fireboats would be able to pump huge volumes of water through their many nozzles and onto the spreading inferno, but the sea was too rough to risk even the big boats and their crews. Reaching Poneway Beach by water would require them to leave the relative shelter of Manehattan Bay, the natural harbour formed by Hooflyn, Stallion Island and Manehattan borough at the north end, and with the waters raging, even the big fireboats would have been unable to hold station well enough to accurately attack the fire, nor would they be able to get in close enough to the beach due to the shallowness of the sea as it reached the land- although the raised sea level from the storm's low pressure system might conceivably have permitted it on this night.

With an uncontrollable fire, it raised the question of why so many fire units had been committed to the area. If there was nothing they could do, why were they there? But the protection of property was only the secondary duty of the Manehattan Fire Department. The primary duty was the protection of life, and that was exactly why they were there. Despite repeated warnings on the TV, radio, newspapers and internet, many residents of the neighbourhood had refused to leave. They had experienced many winter storms like this before, and had never been forced to leave. Some had never been flooded out, and others simply did not want to leave their homes unattended, for looters to rifle through and for minor damage to go uncorrected and potentially lead to bigger, unnecessary problems. This time wouldn't be any different, right?

Except it was different, for the entire neighbourhood was underwater, and that had never happened before in living memory. Localised flooding of the streets right on the waterfront was expected and planned for- houses built there tended to be raised up, either on stilts or on some other kind of deck, to keep them clear of potential floods. But Gilda was the strongest storm to hit the city, certainly since records began, and conditions were worse than many residents had planned for, leaving them stranded, cut off completely from the rest of the city. The phone lines were down, and there was no internet or cellphone service thanks to storm damage. There was not even a clear way of getting into the area from the landward side thanks to the floods. Those creatures that could not fly were dependent now on the emergency services to save their lives, for the flooding was only predicted to get worse, and what was more, the fires were continuing to spread through the community.

The crew of Engine 25 climbed down from their rig and awaited orders. Coppertop went in search of the staging area manager for instructions, while Ember Dawn lowered his visor to shield his face from the stinging rain. It had little effect, even when sheltering in the lee of the Engine. The wind continued to rock the vehicle. He took a look around, and beyond the cacophony of light from the emergency vehicles, he could see that all was darkness. The lights were out in Poneway Beach, hardly a surprise. They were out across much of the borough, too, as they had seen during their response down through Hooflyn. That meant that much of the flooded area was lit only by the glow from the fires burning nearby.

Coppertop returned to the crew. 'Alright! Listen up. Apparently we have anywhere up to two hundred ponies trapped out in the flooded area. There are fires burning all around there, too. Water levels are still rising. They've been conducting rescue operations here for a couple of hours already, but there are still ponies trapped. To make matters worse, it's too wet for Pegasi to fly,' he explained. If Pegasi wings got too wet, their feathers would become waterlogged, making them unable to generate the lift required to keep a Pegasus in the air. With rain, spray and floodwater in abundance, it was hardly a surprise that air operations would have to be curtailed at a scene like this.

'What are we doing, Lieu?' Dark Flash asked. 'We don't have a boat.'

'We don't, but Ladder 140 does,' Coppertop replied. 'We're helping them out, but we only carry two dry suits.' While rescue operations were normally carried out by Ladder Companies, certain Engine Companies which covered coastal or riverside areas did have a supply of water rescue gear just in case. Engine 25 covered the West River in Midtown Manehattan, and so they had the special gear needed- but only for two ponies. 'Dawn, Striker, pair up. The rest of you, help them get into the suits,' Coppertop ordered. The crew got to work. Ember Dawn had not worn the bulky dry suit since training, but apart from requiring assistance to get on, it did not need any special training to use.

'The dynamic duo, huh?' Striker commented with a grin. The black Pegasus was always confident, and clearly had a firm grasp on all the fundamentals of firepony work. He had got along well with Dawn since he first joined the company, and Dawn looked at him both as a friend and a mentor, in a way that a superior, even an understanding, fair and honest one like Lieutenant Coppertop or Chief Firebrand, could never quite elicit from a probie. He was the guiding hoof, trying to instill the benefits of his experience at innumerable fires into the raw recruit, something that was vital not only for the new arrival's protection, but for the rest of the company too. A firepony had to learn constantly. Every new call taught something, however minor, which had been overlooked, ignored or forgotten, or simply something that was entirely fresh, a novel challenge never faced before. The more calls a pony responded to, the more little hints and tricks they learned; when a building fire was about to flash over, the telltale signs of an imminent collapse, likely hiding places of foals in a fire such as under the bed or even inside a drawer. A new firepony lacked the insight and the sixth sense that a veteran had, picking up on the small clues. That was why it was important to continuously teach them and guide them, and that was the role Striker now had with Dawn. Whether he had taken it upon himself or been detailed to do so by Coppertop, Dawn did not know, but he was glad every time he was paired up with Striker.

'Wasn't really planning on a water rescue tonight, you know?' Dawn answered Striker's call, as Deep Blue zipped up his dry suit.

'Yeah, well, you gotta be ready for anything in this game,' Striker replied. 'All kinds of shit can go down. You already know that even though you haven't been with us for long. There's nothing to it, really. We just walk the boat through the water until we get to a victim, load them up, check them over, boom, we turn around, back to the land. Simple.'

Dawn glanced at the inferno lighting up the sky to the west. 'Yeah, simple...'

Once they were ready, Coppertop escorted the pair to the scene of the incident, while Deep Blue and Dark Flash prepared the medical gear in case they were called to treat a victim. At the water's edge- a relative term given that the whole area was under at least a little flooding- they found an intensive rescue operation underway. The Rescues and Tactical Support Units carried proper boats, inflatable dinghies with outboard motors which could carry half a dozen ponies in addition to rescuers, and Rescue 2 and TSU 2 were on scene and busily plying their life-saving trade, with families of hunched-up ponies wrapped miserably in blankets taking the ride to safety. Other fireponies pulled them from the boats, which turned and headed out again to make another trip. Several of the Ladder Companies had also deployed their own boats, much smaller craft and lacking propulsion of their own. They could either be pulled along by fireponies in dry suits, or rowed with oars. Both methods were in operation as the fire department struggled to rescue everypony who was still trapped in the hellscape.

Flames whipped across the rooftops farther down the street. It was unlikely anypony could get through, and Dawn found himself hoping that the evacuation orders had been heeded by those families living down there. It looked like a good ten blocks were burning to some extent or another, such an incongruous and confusing sight among so much water. Yet it was real, for it was unfolding before his very eyes, the brightness of the flames searing his retina. He looked away. Ladder 140's rubber boat was ready for use, and they were to relieve its exhausted crew, two fireponies dressed in the same suits as they wore, fatigue evident on their faces as the two mares waded back onto relatively dry land, to be replaced by the two stallions who would take over their task.

After consultation with the Captain of Ladder 140, Coppertop approached them. 'Ok boys. You're going three blocks down, then one block to the left. The address is 351-02 Poneway Beach Boulevard, it'll be the brown three-story dwelling on the east corner. Apparently there's a family in there who need evac.'

'Got it, Lieu,' Striker nodded. 'We'll get them out.'

'Be careful out there,' Coppertop cautioned. 'It's too far out for a safety line, so tread carefully. Apparently the flooding isn't too bad there. It's shallow enough to walk through, but you'll be up to your withers in it, so take it slow and steady. There's not much accountability of personnel in this kind of scene, so the safety officer might not be able to see your fuckups, but he won't be there to send a mayday on your behalf either.'

Dawn and Striker nodded. The fire department put a high emphasis on personnel safety. Too many fireponies had died in preventable accidents and through negligence in the past century, and it was only relatively recently that they had adopted a more rigid code of safety, appointing dedicated Safety Officers at every major incident, as well as the Safety Battalion, a Chief who would respond to serious fires or operations with the sole duty of making sure other fireponies were operating safely, and getting them out alive if something went wrong. If the HOOF Truck- the Helpers of Other Fireponies unit- was called into action to rescue a fellow member of the department, they would usually be overseen by the Safety Battalion whenever he or she was on the scene. This incident, however, stretched over many blocks, in almost total darkness in many places, and in deep floodwater. There was nothing truly safe about it, and fireponies simply had to operate as best they could, taking care of one another, because they had no choice. Civilians would die if they did nothing.

Striker and Dawn grabbed hold of the boat and waded out into the frigid seawater. it rose higher and higher until it was almost up to their necks, but their hooves were on the tarmac of the road beneath them. They were able to make forward progress, their breath fogging in the air. They could feel the action of the water. This was, after all, the sea they were walking through, and the currents and tides were still causing plenty of movement. They were surrounded by the slap of water splashing against the sides of buildings.

The front of the boat had a light mounted on it. The dry suit was not compatible with a helmet, and so they lacked their own personal flashlights. Several other boats were around them, making journeys farther into the flooded neighbourhood. One was being rowed back with a disheveled family on board, two older mares who may have been the mothers or sisters, and a trio of young foals, shivering in the cold air. It was better than the alternative which backlit them, however. The fires were still burning freely, and would surely rely on mother nature to be extinguished now.

'I don't care how effective they say these suits are,' Striker commented. 'I still say this water is fucking cold as hell.'

Dawn had to laugh. 'Yeah...hey, this is our turning, right?' They had reached the junction, and together they maneuvered the boat around. It was one block south, now. Rain lashed against their faces, the only part of their bodies still exposed above the water.

'Hey, if it gets any deeper we're gonna have to turn back,' Striker pointed out.

'The Lieutenant said it should be ok. I guess Ladder 140 made it out this far once already?' Dawn replied.

'Yeah, but this water is rising,' Striker added. 'This might be the last run anypony can make down here by hoof.'

They reached the next junction. Everything was dark except for the cone of light provided by the boat's lamp. To their right was a brown, three-story building, as anticipated. 'This is the spot,' Striker nodded in its direction. 'Fire Department, call out!'

'Hey, we're up here!'

Dawn and Striker looked up. A unicorn stallion, an earth pony mare, and a young unicorn colt were huddled at the second-floor window, waving down at them. 'What happened to those mares?' the father asked. 'They said they'd be back for us!'

'We were told to relieve them,' Striker called in reply. 'Their officer decided they were too exhausted to go on. It's just the three of you?'

'Yeah, just me and my wife and my son,' the stallion shouted. 'How do we get down to you? The first floor is flooded!'

Striker glanced at Dawn. 'Huh...any ideas?'

'Not really...' Dawn frowned, looking around. The boat had no equipment, no ladders or ropes which might help.

'Don't worry, you just hang tight there for a minute, ok?' Striker called up to the stranded family.

'Uh, sure...' the father nodded.

'I guess they're just gonna have to jump down,' Dawn pointed out. 'Unless they can get down the stairs and then wade through the water.'

'Maybe we can get the boat inside...' Striker mused. 'Hey, sir? Is the first floor flooded all the way to the top, or is there space where we can get inside? If we can get the boat to the bottom of the stairs then you can climb right on in.'

'Last time I checked there was space, yeah,' the father replied. 'Let me take a look real quick!' He disappeared from the window, returning a minute later. 'I think you can bring the boat up to the stairs just fine!'

'Alright. Meet us there,' Striker ordered. 'Let's go.' Together the two fireponies pushed the boat to the front door of the building. It was intact, but had buckled somewhat under the pressure of the water. A couple of heavy blows from Striker's shoulder saw it give way and slowly open. They dragged the boat inside. The family had moved to the top of the stairs, where they crouched with a flashlight, helping to guide the fireponies.

'Your chariot awaits!' Striker grinned. 'Come on down. Nice and slow now. One at a time. We'll help you.' The mother went down first, clambering into the boat, before her son followed. She helped him climb in, and the father came last. Dawn heaved him in, and then they pushed off, backing out into the street. The family huddled down in a vain attempt to shelter from the rain as it pattered down upon them. Dawn and Striker whisked them back to their launching point as fast as they could. Hypothermia could be a certain menace, whether or not the ponies had got wet. The air was cold enough by itself.

Once they arrived, Dark Flash and Deep Blue helped the family out of the boat and to the relative safety of the medical treatment area, where numerous ambulances and Hooflyn's MERV- Major Emergency Response Vehicle- awaited, for shelter from the storm and a hot drink. Striker and Dawn, however, had more to do. The night was long, and it was not yet over. Gilda was far from spent.

Category 3

Rescue 1 returned to the firehouse, backing in to quarters. The car accident had turned out to be nothing at all, just a Pone-Gen vehicle which had stopped unexpectedly in the intersection to check on a loose manhole cover in the street, and which some eagle-eyed resident had spotted and assumed must have been involved in a crash. Ember Blaze climbed down from the rig wearily. It felt good to be out of the rain, and he hadn't even done that much. He hadn't waded into the freezing waters, nor had he had to work the hydraulic tools to free a victim. At the power plant fire, he had wandered through the main building, but had not been called upon to rescue anypony.

He removed his gear, and headed for the bathrooms to take a leak and splash some water on his face. He was tired not from physical exertion, but from the need to keep mentally alert at all times. There had scarcely been more than five minutes' of down time during the shift, with new calls coming in seemingly constantly. In the break room, he slumped down on one of the sofas, as Fairway switched on the TV. It was tuned to the news channel.

'...continues to batter the metro area, with sustained winds of up to 120 miles per hour. Heavy rainfall had inundated much of the city. Flooding conditions have been reported in all five boroughs, with the neighbourhood of Poneway Beach particularly badly affected. City officials say they are dealing with a large-scale rescue operation in the area, where hundreds of ponies reportedly defied orders to evacuate.'

The screen showed a few cellphone shots of fire and flood out in southern Hooflyn. 'Jeez, would you look at that shit.' Oak Wood shook his head. 'Whole community up in flames by the looks of it. Your heart just breaks for them.'

The others nodded, as the report continued. 'Hurricane Gilda has been affecting the city all day, and though conditions have peaked in the last hour or two, that doesn't mean there have not been heavy demands on city agencies since this morning. For example, here in the East River, a police boat helped a stricken jet-skier to safety, while on the Upper East Side. fireponies made a daring rescue of a colt who was trapped on a fallen radio mast.' The TV footage showed a clear-as-day zoomed in picture of Ember Blaze grabbing the young colt Silver Streak from the collapsed tower. There was a sudden round of cheers from the break room, and he found himself being slapped warmly on the back.

'Hey, you're on TV, brother!' Fairway grinned. 'Not fair, we did all the work! All you did was sit there and look pretty!'

'I'll be your agent when Ponywood calls!' Flagstaff suggested. 'Get you all the best roles for your glittering movie career that is surely to come!'

'Well would you look at that. Recognition for Rescue 1 at last,' Grey Spike chuckled. 'Congratulations for making the silver screen.' He shook Blaze's hoof warmly.

'Thanks, Cap...' Blaze blushed a bit. He was never one to take the spotlight in that kind of way, but, he had to admit, it did feel good to see himself right there on the screen, doing something good, something meaningful, something heroic.

'Wonder if your dad is watching this?' Oak Wood commented.

'Yeah...or your brother,' High Line added. 'Or haven't they got a TV yet out at Engine 206?' He chuckled.

'Hey, come on guys,' Blaze shook his head and smiled. 'The news love to zoom in like that. But we all know everypony worked together on that one.'

'Oh yeah, but how are the public gonna see it?' Oak Wood pointed out. 'They'll see the one gallant firepony doing all the dirty work and they'll turn him into some kind of hero...an ugly hero, but still...'

The others laughed, and so did Blaze. Camaraderie often meant taking the piss out of each other in a friendly way, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. But Blaze knew they were right. The media liked to focus on one particular pony whenever anything like that happened, ignoring the fact that it was a team effort, ignoring the very principle of the fire or police department in question. Not that it particularly bothered him- it was always nice to get the recognition, and seeing himself on TV was always fun in all kinds of ways.

They were able to find a short period of down time, with no calls coming in, letting them rest up, get something to eat, calm down after a string of incidents they had responded to. There was time to reflect on what had happened, and what was still happening to the city. Hurricane Gilda was not letting up. It was only the early evening, and the storm was expected to continue battering Manehattan until the early hours of the following morning, when it would have finally moved far enough inland that only the tail end would be affecting the city. Already, damage had been done. Perhaps lives had been claimed by the storm. But lives had also been saved, as exemplified on the screens of countless viewers by Blaze's rescue of the young foal from the fallen radio tower. As long as the storm continued to affect the city, the MFD would be needed to respond to anything that might develop. Blaze himself rested in one of the chairs, easing his mind and body, almost drifting off into sleep, until...

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

'Alright, Rescue goes! Box 7743, Mane Park South at 6th Avenue. Tree down!'

The crew scrambled out, boarding the rig and setting off. It was Flagstaff, typically, who asked what they were all thinking. 'Why are we going on a tree down, Cap? That's not a job for the Rescue.'

'Good question,' Grey Spike mused. There was nothing on the data terminal as to the nature of their response, so he called the dispatcher. 'Rescue 1 to Manehattan, what are we going in on, K?'

'Rescue 1, the caller was a little sketchy, but they reported a pony trapped there, K.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4...' Grey Spike put the radio back in its bracket. 'I guess some pedestrian got caught by it. Standby to get the chainsaw into operation.'

They raced north to Columbine Circle, and turned east two blocks to 6th Avenue. There, they did indeed find a tree down, partly across the roadway, having fallen from inside the edge of Mane Park and taking part of the concrete fence with it. From the initial assessment, it seemed that an unfortunate driver had found his car squashed beneath the thick oak trunk. Whether he had been driving or pulled over at the side of the road was undetermined, but the engine was running and the lights were still on. Ember Blaze wasn't sure which was more unlucky; happening to be driving at the precise spot and time where the tree came down, or happening to have pulled over to check the map or take a phone call right where it fell.

'Alright, we have a car under the tree!' Grey Spike let them all know as the Rescue came to a stop. Due to the depletion of units by storm-related calls, they were the first company to arrive, but they all knew what to do. Chocks were brought to stabilise the car. Oak Wood attempted to gain access to the driver, to turn off the engine and check on him, but the tree had landed squarely atop the front of the passenger compartment and the driver would either be squashed flat or at the least badly pinned inside.

Grey Spike shone his flashlight onto the wreck. The tree was thick and, if not exactly ancient, then certainly old. Felled either by the wind or the rain undermining it and turning the ground around its roots into mush, it reached out across three lanes of the four-lane street. Branches lay at all angles, and the car was hardly visible underneath. The tree was too big for their chainsaw to cut through; the Parks Department would have to bring specialist equipment to be able to slice through it. The only way the Rescue could access the wreck was to lift the tree somehow, but with the car crushed beneath, even the slightest movement could put more pressure onto the victim, worsening any injuries he may have sustained.

Oak Wood got as close as he could, trying to peer through the branches and the dripping water. The roof was crushed, the windows and windshield shattered. He couldn't even see the driver, but the trunk weighed many tons, and it had squashed the car down. Unless the driver had been lying down, surely he must be dead. Oak Wood reported to Grey Spike. A Ladder Company arrived on the scene, and together both crews cut away at the twigs and branches until they could get closer. Oak Wood crawled in, getting right up to the driver's door and examining with his flashlight as best he could. The driver was already gone; no pulse, no signs of breathing, and no sign of his head either, crushed under the weight of the tree trunk.

An ambulance rolled through the shallow flood of water that covered the street, but their services would not be required. It was a recovery, not a rescue. The poor bastard driving the car had probably not even known what had hit him, just proceeding along and looking out for deep water when he was hit from above and blindsided. With no need to try and extricate the victim, Rescue 1 could leave the scene while the Ladder Company awaited the arrival of a crane so that the tree could be lifted and the body removed- though that would probably not happen for some hours, given the intensity of the wind which still whipped through the streets of Manehattan.

The Rescue headed back to the firehouse, but the downtime didn't last long. They had just turned back onto 8th Avenue when they were redirected to another call, a scaffolding collapse down on Baltimare Street. It was routine, with no ponies reported trapped and no damage to the building. But it kept them busy, and as the evening wore on, the routine gradually returned to just that; the routine of any other day. The storm steadily moved away inland, taking the worst of its strength with it. It was still windy, but no longer were the gusts quite so powerful. The rain no longer came sideways through the streets, but drizzled steadily down from the sky. The worst had passed, but the city was still suffering through the effects of storm Gilda.

Ember Dawn waded back onto dry land for a third time, accompanied by Striker. Their boat had carried a total of twelve ponies to safety, away from the floods, and the fire which continued to burn unchecked, ravaging the buildings of Poneway Beach. The whole neighbourhood would likely have to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch; there was little chance of anything much surviving the combination of fire and water. Most of the buildings, houses and stores alike, were made from wood or other lightweight materials, which contributed to the combustibility of the whole area and meant that rot and mould would very easily set in on any surviving structures thanks to the floods. The action of the tides would likely undermine the foundations, too, meaning the potential was that not a single building in the neighbourhood would be left inhabitable. The inspectors from the Buildings Department would have their work cut out condemning so many houses.

'Alright, boys. You did good out there. Take a blow,' Lieutenant Coppertop informed Dawn and Striker. 'We're gonna be relieved by Engine 242, so you can get those suits off and go grab a cup of coffee from the RAC.'

'Great...thanks, Lieu,' Striker replied. He was tired, but not exhausted, and Dawn was the same. They could have gone out again, but it was prudent, even in an extreme emergency such as this hurricane, to limit the exertions any individual firepony went through. Exhaustion would render them incapable of further action not just on this particular call, but also on any future calls that might come through during their shift. If they couldn't even move, then they certainly couldn't go and save a life.

Dark Flash and Deep Blue helped the pair strip out of their dry suits, which had kept them protected from the chill of the frigid seawater as they had worked. The suits had served them well, and let them rescue a dozen ponies from the floods. Other companies had done similar work, evacuating those residents who had stubbornly refused the initial calls for evacuation from coastal areas before the storm arrived. It would not be too much longer before every house had been checked and every confirmed victim had been brought to dry land. Only then would the life-saving primary mission of the MFD be completed at this incident.

Dawn and Striker took a wander through the staging area to find the RAC Unit. There were dozens of vehicles on the scene, and several hundred emergency workers from every possible agency. Striker greeted a few other fireponies he knew with hoof bumps or shouted jokes, getting laughs in response. Dawn just followed along. He didn't know many other fireponies, apart from some he had worked with on calls, and a few they had shared drinks with at the firepony-friendly bar, Hot Stuff, owned by two ex-members of the department. But he felt that he was staking his claim at the job, giving a good account of himself so far. He hoped to continue the family tradition laid down by his father and brother, and that was what he was doing. He had put another page into his war diary tonight- this was the kind of incident that would be remembered in the history books of the department. Not just another call, another fire, this was a major operation, that involved the almost total destruction of not just a building, not just a row of buildings, not of a whole street, but of a whole neighbourhood. Heat and cold had combined to practically wipe Poneway Beach off of the map. No doubt next quarter's MFD Magazine would contain an article on this incident, examining the fire department response and the challenges it faced, which would outline the basics for readers, but not be able to convey anything of the scale and the true sense of what it was like to be there.

Dawn knew what it felt like. He had been there, and he had done what was asked of him. That was all any firepony could do. He grabbed a cup of hot coffee from the RAC firepony who dished it out to both of the tired members of Engine 25. They found a spot to rest, sitting on a low brick wall that was meant to mark the perimeter of somepony's front yard. There, they said little to each other, instead simply sharing the moment of common purpose, of common tiredness, that common brotherhood amongst ponies of uncommon bravery. For that was what it truly meant to be a firepony- bravery, courage in the face of adversity, in the face of fear and terror and death. When other ponies wanted to run away, they had to run in, and that was exactly what Dawn and Striker and every other member of the department had done on this wind-swept night.

Aftermath

'Hurricane Gilda has finally been downgraded to a tropical depression, but she has left a trail of devastation in her wake, including right here in Manehattan. The death toll in the city now stands at five, with the recovery of a body from the ruins of a home in Poneway Beach that was ravaged by the huge fire that ripped through that neighbourhood. Fireponies were unable to reach the house and save the elderly mare, but hundreds of other ponies were brought to safety by brave rescuers. One stallion was killed by a falling tree in Manehattan, while another was struck by debris in Hooflyn. Two other deaths in traffic accidents were blamed on the storm conditions. Now the cost will have to be counted, both in lives and in bits. Widespread devastation came to many parts of the city last night, and only in time will we know the true scale of Gilda's damage to both Manehattan and the nation. For WMTN news, I'm Camera Obscura.'

Rosebush Roulade only had the volume on low, as she always did when her coltfriend was asleep. Just from watching the brief news report, she could see how busy Ember Dawn must have been last night and into the early hours of this morning. He had finally made it home a little after noon, when she had been out at work, called in by the branch manager of the bank to help with stock taking and accountability- the structure had suffered flooding overnight, and several members of the staff who would normally have been at work that day, but who had been given leave because of the storm, had worked for a few hours to inventory everything while a private contractor worked on draining the flooded basement. The money vault, fortunately, was watertight, and no bits had been damaged or lost as a result.

Once they had done all they could, Rosebush was sent home again, and she arrived to find Dawn asleep, curled up in bed. She had things to do, chores and errands to run, but instead she had climbed onto the bed with him and dozed for an hour or two. Now it was approaching evening, and she was cooking dinner for the two of them. She counted herself lucky to have gas for the stove still coming through the pipes- many areas of the city were badly hit by the storm and had suffered power outages, broken gas and water pipes, and downed phone lines. Some sections, such as Poneway Beach, were almost completely cut off, according to the news report she had seen, not helped by a transformer explosion over in Manehattan which had shut down a large portion of the city grid temporarily.

The smell of the vegetable stew she was cooking had roused her coltfriend, and Ember Dawn stumbled from the bedroom with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes. 'Hey babe...that smells good...'

'Morning, sleepyhead,' Rosebush replied with a smile. 'It's nearly 5 at night. I guess you slept well?' She chuckled. 'You were snoring like a baby when I got home.'

'I must have been tired,' Dawn replied, giving her a kiss and going to sample the stew, but finding his hoof slapped away from the wooden spoon.

'Uh uh uh, not yet, greedy!' Rosebush tutted, handing him a sandwich and an apple instead. 'You missed your lunch...I kept it for you. Stew won't be ready for a couple of hours yet, so you can enjoy your...breakfast? Brunch? Supper?' She chuckled, and Dawn sat at the small table, munching on his sandwich while watching her work.

''You said I was sleeping when you got home,' Dawn commented. 'Where did you go? I thought the bank was closed today.'

'It is...well, to customers,' Rosebush replied. 'Might be tomorrow, too. The basement store room got flooded so we had to go in and take inventory,' she explained. 'Just for a few hours. When I came back I found a great big lump in my bed.' She chuckled.

Dawn rolled his eyes and munched on his food. 'Of course, if you don't want a big lump in your bed...then that big lump could always have stayed at the firehouse to help the next shift.'

'Hey, I didn't say that, silly!' Rosebush smiled. 'You're the only lump I want in my bed. That's why we bought that new mattress last year, remember?'

Dawn chuckled and finished off his food. 'Just as long as I wake up to you every day, you can call me a big lump all you like.' He went to turn the TV on. The same news report was on repeat, a looped cycle of video and photos of the damage wrought to the city by Hurricane Gilda. The Poneway Beach fire had finally extinguished itself, helped by the rain and the floods, but not to the fireponies, who had been unable to access the cut-off part of the neighbourhood until the storm had died down and one of the smaller fireboats could be brought up close to the shore. Elsewhere in the city, damage was less extensive but no less disruptive, with trees and wires down, traffic lights out, scaffolding and signage and chimneys galore down, windows broken by flying debris, cars trapped in floodwater. The list was extensive and would take a long time to fix, but the emergency services had done a lot of good work during the storm. helping to negate the effects and mitigate the damage as much as possible, saving many lives from Gilda's wrath.

Dawn was proud to have been a part of it. The dozen ponies he and Striker had rescued may well have survived if he hadn't been there; probably they would have been rescued by other companies, after all. But some may not. Some may have succumbed to exposure or hypothermia, or found their houses crumbling around them. Nopony could say for sure. Either way, he had been there, and he had helped out, done his bit during a major emergency. He smiled, looked at Rosebush, and smiled again. She gave him all the more reason to get up and go to work in the morning, as sad as he always was to leave his beloved alone for the day, because he knew that, if she were ever placed in danger, he would want some brave firepony to do every damn thing possible to save her. He also knew that he could make that same difference for some other pony's loved one. The report on TV showed a dramatic rope rescue of a foal from a precariously hanging radio tower. Another innocent life saved. He had to pause and rewind to spot who exactly was making the grab, and he had to laugh and grin when he saw it was his very own beloved brother.

All the more reason to rest up well and get ready for his next shift in two days time. Of course, he could spend time with his marefriend- which might deprive him of some of his stamina- but even after his sleep he felt tired from the long tour of duty. But he would be ready for whatever the next shift might throw at him, because he was an MFD firepony, the best of the best, and that, quite simply, was what he did.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion.'

'Box 7031, 1202 8th Avenue, at West 55th Street! Structure fire, Engine goes first due!' Dawn called, before rushing to the rig and pulling on his gear. Serving as the housewatch pony was demanding, but he did so enjoy shouting out the runs as they came in for each unit. He climbed into his seat and slammed the door shut. The rest of the crew got into position, and the Engine raced out of the blocks, followed by Firebrand in his SUV. The address was only a few blocks north of the firehouse, and if it turned out to be a real fire, it would be the first worker of the shift. Two days had passed since Hurricane Gilda had ravaged the city, and there was still evidence of her violent passage all across Manehattan. Power lines were down in the outer boroughs, though Pone-Gen crews were hard at work repairing them. Trees were being cut up by Parks Department personnel, and flooded basements were being pumped out by the Department of Environmental Protection. Meanwhile, the Manehattan Fire Department continued to respond to any and all emergency calls that came in.

Engine 25 drove north, siren wailing, followed by the Battalion. 8th Avenue was one of the great northern through-routes of the borough, with multiple lanes of traffic. There was no sign of smoke or fire up ahead, but the Engine reached 55th Street in a little over ninety seconds from receiving the alarm. They pulled over at the corner and disembarked. Lieutenant Coppertop looked around for any signs of fire. He saw nothing. Nor did the rest of the crew. No smoke, no fire, nopony approaching them with more information. Was it a false alarm?

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan,' Firebrand called on the radio. 'Do you have anything further on our box? We don't see any condition here, K.'

'We're getting apartment 2 Apple at that address now, K,' the dispatcher replied. Coppertop had the crew stand by as the first due ladder rolled up behind them, stopping in front of the fire building. But there still seemed to be nothing for any of them to do. The ladder crew took their entry tools and the pressurised water extinguisher, the 'Can,' into the building, and Firebrand followed. With no active fire or smoke, there was no need, yet, to stretch a hose line, and so the Engine crew stood fast outside on the street.

Dawn looked around. The city had already gotten back to normal, or as close to normal as Manehattan ever truly got, and that was why he loved both living and working in it. There was always something crazy or strange or going on. A case in point was playing out at the street corner. The pedestrian crosswalk light was red and traffic was about to start flowing up the Avenue again, but a Pegasus stallion began his stroll across the five lanes of traffic anyway. Each car in turn advanced right up to him and had to stop or slow right down. Several of them beeped their horns, and the Pegasus raised one of his wings and gave the drivers the middle feather.

'Only in Manehattan, baby,' Striker commented with a chuckle.

'Why doesn't he just fly across the street?' Dawn rolled his eyes.

'Because he's in Manehattan. Ya just gotta go a little nuts, am I right?' Striker replied, grinning. 'Maybe his head's still fucked up from the hurricane.'

'Or maybe he's just an asshole,' Dawn suggested.

'Why not both?' Striker shrugged. The Engine's radio gave a report from inside the building as Chief Firebrand could be heard calling the dispatcher.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan, all units not yet on scene can go back in service, we'll make this a 10-18 for a 10-26, food on the stove, K.'

10-26 was the signal that all budding cooks feared being transmitted for their apartment- or worse, for their restaurant. It meant a smoke or minor fire condition caused by cooking and confined either to the pot or pan in question, or to the oven or grill upon which the food was being heated. A lot of red faces had been caused over the years by someone burning toast or messing up their hay fries, only to see a parade of fire trucks racing to the scene with their sirens blaring. They were routine incidents, nothing out of the ordinary, and happened every day in their dozens across the city. It was calls like this that made up the bulk of a firepony's day, despite the public perception of grand excitement and constant danger and bravery. That was not to say that a simple call such as this held no danger, for there was always the possibility of a vehicle accident while responding, and many times a seemingly simple call turned out to be something else and held some great hidden danger that was unknown to the incoming units. But food on the stove, electrical wires down, medical runs, minor gas leaks, sparking electrical outlets- those were the kinds of calls that made up the bulk of responses for most units. They were all incidents that needed correcting, all potentially life or property-threatening emergencies, but not filled with the glamour of a last-ditch save of some poor foal from a precarious position- such as Ember Blaze's snatch of Silver Streak from the radio mast- or the tenacious and everlasting grit and determination of fireponies making a tremendous effort to control a huge fire- such as the ENS Canterlot.

The fireponies of Ladder 4 checked for any fire extension in the walls or in the exhaust vent of the stove top where the ritual cremation of several hayburgers had taken place, and found nothing. All of the units were free to go back in service, and Lieutenant Coppertop ordered the crew of Engine 25 to mount up. Together with the Battalion, they looped around onto 9th Avenue in order to head back south. One block south of the firehouse, they were able to swing back onto 8th, reaching their quarters and backing in. Parking the rig was no easy task, for the bays of some firehouses were only just barely wide enough to accept the vehicle that was meant to be parked inside them. That was a consequence of the nature of the city itself- old buildings had been purchased many years ago by the department to house the steam-powered Engines and the simple wooden ladder trucks, all of which were pulled by the same fireponies who would operate the equipment once they arrived. In those days there was no need for a big, bulky, modern rig, loaded up with ropes, medical gear, a centrifugal pump, water tank, ground ladders, foam canisters, multiple different calibers of hose, and a crew that rode aboard the vehicle itself. Times had changed, but many of the firehouses around the city were still the same buildings purchased some hundred years ago.

Engine 25, however, had a much more modern structure, purpose built as a firehouse, and Deep Blue had no trouble reversing the rig into the bay. Once inside, the crew disembarked, connected the exhaust hose to the rig so that the next time it was started up, the noxious fumes from the engine would be taken out of the building to the exterior. They headed to the break room. Ember Dawn stretched a bit as he removed his gear. He still had the housewatch duty.

A loud thump echoed around the firehouse. Dawn looked around curiously. Had somepony dropped a weight in the gym upstairs? No, it was louder than that. Was it even from inside, or did it come from somewhere else?

Chief Firebrand poked his head out of the break room. 'What was that, Dawn?' he asked. 'Did it come from in here?'

'No, Chief.' Dawn shook his head. 'I dunno what it was. Maybe somepony dropped a weight upstairs?' he suggested.

'Sounded like it came from outside,' Firebrand replied. 'Go take a look, see if there's been an accident or something.'

Dawn trotted to the front door of the firehouse and poked his head out, looking left to right. Traffic on 8th Avenue was flowing freely, with no signs of a crash.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion. Rescue.'

Dawn galloped to the housewatch desk. A run had come in. Was it related to the noise they had just heard? He examined the display screen as the other fireponies rushed out to their rigs.

'Box 0779, 7th Avenue and 38th Street!' Dawn shouted. 'Explosion! Engine goes third due!'

Steam And Speed

Captain Grey Spike retreated to the cab of Ladder 24, which had parked up on 38th Street. It was the only slight hope he had of being heard over the radio.

'Rescue 1 to Command!' he shouted.

'Rescue 1, go ahead!' Chief Firebrand's voice was just about audible in reply.

'Chief, we have approximately a dozen passengers at the rear of the bus!' Grey Spike informed him, as loudly as he could. 'The bus isn't stable, it's hanging over the crater at the front end. It might go at any minute, K.'

'10-4, Cap!' Firebrand called back, his voice raised and strained. 'Can you secure it?'

'We'll have to loop round onto 39th and then onto the Avenue!' Grey Spike replied. 'Can't get to it from this angle because of the steam!'

'10-4. Secure that bus! That's priority one,' Firebrand informed him. 'I'll have Ladder 25 assist when they get on scene.'

'10-4, Chief!' Grey Spike climbed out of the Ladder. 'Ok everypony!' he roared. 'Follow me!' He beckoned his crew back around the corner to the Rescue rig. 'We're gonna take the rig around to 39th and 7th,' he explained, once they were away from the steam and conditions were a little more conducive to speaking. 'We have at least a dozen ponies on that bus and we need to secure it, either with the winch or with ropes and cribbing. Gonna have to examine the situation from all sides. I don't know how close we'll be able to get.'

'Got it, Cap!' Fairway replied, climbing into the driver's seat. The rest of the crew followed as he drove the vehicle around. More units were coming in, racing up 8th Avenue from the south. The Squad was arriving, along with half a dozen ambulances. Police ponies were clearing the Avenue and traffic cops were blockinng side streets to allow the fire trucks a smooth passage to the staging area. The same situation was being played out to the north of the steam leak on 7th Avenue, where cops were redirecting vehicles along 42nd Street and stopping them turning onto the Avenue. Emergency units coming from the north were having a much tougher time reaching the scene, as traffic was rapidly backing up and snarling most of midtown with stationary vehicles.

Rescue 1 pulled onto 7th Avenue, and Fairway positioned the rig so that the front bumper was in line with and facing the rear of the bus. A heavy-duty winch was mounted to the front of the Rescue, and could be used for just such a situation as this; pulling a precariously perched vehicle to safety when it was teetering over the edge of a cliff or bridge, or, hopefully, a crater filled with high-pressure and rapidly ejecting steam. The sound made it hard to even think, let along process rational needs and ideas, even with the training which had been drilled into the fireponies. Every action was performed by rote, which was fine for routine scenarios, but when anything took things slightly out of the ordinary, it led to the potential for dangerous mistakes being made. But the Rescue Companies were the best trained and most experienced specialist units in the city, and they were adept at improvising and altering their response depending on conditions. That was their whole job, in essence, being called to incidents when other units, following the standard procedures, could not resolve the issue by themselves.

Fairway jumped down and, together with Ember Blaze, set about preparing the winch for operation. The winch could haul a significant load, but it would be touch and go as to whether it could move the bus, which weighed a lot more than a car or van, out of its predicament. The weight limit of the winch was 20,000 pounds, and a city bus weighed roughly that, but if they couldn't pull the bus to safety, at least they might be able to secure it and stop it from slipping forward, to give them more time to come up with another plan. The only question was could anypony get close enough to the steam safely to attach the hook to the bus's rear axle?

'Alright, Blaze, get as close as you can with that hook,' Grey Spike ordered. 'If you can get up to the bus, then attach it to the rear axle and we'll try pulling it out. If that doesn't work, we'll chock the wheels and at least stop it from sliding forward.'

'Got it, Cap!' Blaze nodded, grabbing hold of the heavy metal hook attached to the end of the winch chain. With his full personal protective equipment in place, including helmet, hood and visor lowered, he set course for the rear end of the bus. The steam that was belching out of the broken pipe was superheated, reaching temperatures of several hundred degrees. While that was far below the temperature which firepony turnout gear could withstand, it still presented a danger. But Blaze knew he had to get up there, get as close to the steam as he possibly could. At least a dozen ponies depended on him. The bus was in a dangerous position. The door, at the front of the bus, was inaccessible to the passengers, as the column of steam was roaring away outside it. There was no way for them to leave the bus without outside help, either by moving the bus, or by gaining access in some other way.

Blaze tried to block out the deafening thrum of steam, which poured out of the crater as if he were approaching a volcanic caldera. The poor ponies inside the bus must be driven half mad by the sound, petrified with sheer terror. Celestia alone knew what conditions were like in the front half of the vehicle, which was caught in the outflow. The heat from the steam was evident even with his bunker gear on and his visor down. Such a vast column of steam gave off a tremendous amount of radiant heat, and Blaze could feel it on him, just as he would inside any burning building. He kept his head down as he approached the rear of the bus. The back end was just in front of him, and he was able to duck down and crawl a little way under the bus, approach the rear axle, hook the winch cable onto it, and crawl back out, giving it a sharp tug to make sure it was firmly in place and would be able to remain attached if Fairway was to activate the winch motor. Once he was certain it was in place and firmly affixed, he moved around to the side of the bus and clambered up onto the rear wheel. He banged on the window to get the attention of the ponies inside, but it was no use. The roar of the steam meant they couldn't hear anything else. Instead, Blaze waved, making sure his hoof entered the eye line of at least one or two of the terrified passengers.

When they looked round, he gave them a reassuring gesture that everything would be alright. The fire department were on the scene, and the sight alone of a brave firepony at the window was enough to assuage some of their fears. The few passengers who had spotted him nudged and shook the others, pointing to let them know that help was at hoof. Blaze jumped back down and trotted back to the Rescue. Using his radio was out of the question so close to the steam leak, and even back at the rig he had to shout to be heard.

'Chain hooked on, Cap!' he informed Grey Spike.

'Alright, let's give it a try!' the Captain ordered. 'Start winching, Fairway!' The chauffeur did as instructed, activating the winch. The cable began to pull taut, and Fairway kept a close eye on the winch, its motor, the line and the bus. If there was any sign of a problem, such as smoke from the motor, the winching operation would have to be shut down. Fortunately for the passengers of the stranded bus, the winch performed its duties perfectly, with no fuss and no trouble. It hauled the bus out of its predicament, drawing it backward and away from the hole in the street. It made slow progress, but the winch gradually pulled the bus and its passengers to safety, clear of the steam. The rear half of the bus displayed the white and blue paint scheme of the Transit Authority. The front half, however, had been steam-blasted clean, the paint stripped away by the heat and reduced instead to the bare metal of the frame of the bus. It was a stark and disturbing contrast.

Once the bus was clear of the steam, the Rescue crew headed to it with tools at hoof. They had to gain access and get the passengers out. Ladder 25, which had arrived on scene, was standing by to assist, and they made their way up to the bus. The door was at the front, and Hoofigan tools were brought into action to try and crack it open. The emergency release button, located under a metal panel on the outside of the bus, refused to work, with something somewhere presumably having been fried by the heat of the steam. The metal frame of the bus was still warm to the touch, and the windows had cracked and shattered in the front half of the bus. Fortunately the scalding steam had not driven its way to the rear of the bus, where the passengers crouched in fear. It had, however, caught the driver, unable to leave his compartment. He sat slumped over the wheel, all of his skin turned a rich shade of red beneath his coat.

He was most likely already dead, but Grey Spike ordered two of the members of Ladder 25 to extract him and take him for medical examination. He had to use hoof gestures to make himself understood; there was no possibility of exchanging words with the steam continuing to billow forth from below ground. He directed Blaze and Flagstaff to the rear of the bus to help the passengers forward, while he and Fairway stood by at the door to help them down to the street, where the rest of Ladder 25 would help escort them to the paramedics, who were setting up their staging area for triage. The number of casualties from this incident was unknown, but could range from just the driver anywhere up to several hundred ponies with scalding burns or penetrating injuries from the blast. That was why thorough searches were so important. Injured ponies could be anywhere. In cars, under cars, in the crater, in damaged buildings, even in the subway below, depending on what damage the explosion had caused.

Ember Blaze headed to the rear of the bus. He had been chosen for the task of moving the passengers because he had been the friendly face they had seen at the window, under the presumption that at least some of them would remember his appearance despite their terror, and it would help to calm them down. They were a varied bunch, some old, some young, mares and stallions, including one Zebra and one Yak among their number. Public transport passengers in Equestria were in large part unicorns and earth ponies, for the obvious reason that, other than in restricted airspace around airports and military bases, Pegasi were free to come and go as they pleased, and flying was almost always quicker than taking the subway or bus.

Blaze gestured for the first passenger to come forward, and a young mare responded, the look of fear in her eyes gradually being replaced by one of relief. The fireponies were here. They were inside the bus, they were outside the bus, they were everywhere now, and they were helping. Just the sight of the black turnout gear with its reflective yellow and white stripes and the M.F.D initials on the back, along with the name of each firepony, was enough to calm most victims of fire or emergency at least somewhat.

Blaze was able, one by one, to coax the passengers to leave the bus, guided by the other members of Rescue 1. Huddled at the back of the vehicle, they hadn't even been able to really see what had happened to them, and once they were out on the street, most of them gawked skyward at the roaring column of steam which was the cause of their sudden, shattering experience. The fireponies of Ladder 25 led them away to be checked out by the medics. They were safe.

Blaze and Flagstaff conducted a quick search of the bus in case any victims had been missed. It was far from unknown for a foal to hide under something- usually a bed or table in their house or apartment- and so they peeked under each seat, but found nopony else. The bus was clear, and they indicated it to Captain Grey Spike, who ordered them off. Rescue 1 returned to Battalion Chief Firebrand at the command post, where they found that Deputy Chief Misty Morning of Division 3 now in command of the operation.

Many actions had been taken while they had been busy on the bus. Subway service along 7th Avenue had been shut down. A police cordon had been set up. A police helicopter had been called into service, with a Battalion Chief from out in Hooflyn acting as an aerial spotter aboard it, looking for anything invisible to the incident commanders on the ground. Medics had set up a triage area for victims, and some two dozen victims had been treated so far, mostly with minor injuries from flying glass. There could well be more still to be found. Fireponies were searching all of the buildings around the intersection of 38th St and 7th Avenue, one of which was a 75-storey high rise office building that would take a lot of time and resources to check fully. The other buildings were much smaller, and would take less time to check. But the incident would last for a long time, at least a day. The steam service to the broken pipe would be shut off soon enough, no doubt, by Pone-Gen crews. Once that was done, a search of the crater could be conducted for any victims.

Only when the crater was checked could they know that there were no other victims. Once the buildings had been fully searched, the crater checked, the steam shut down, could the incident be declared under control, and then the investigation would begin as to the cause of the blast. Rescue 1 and Engine 25 had played their part in the response, as they did to every call they received. They would be given other tasks to perform, other buildings or other floors to search. But there were many other units on scene now, and the incident, while not under control, was contained. The roar of the escaping steam would soon be silenced.

Cooldown

Once Pone-Gen utility crews were on scene, it didn't take them long to shut down the steam leak, turning the roar into a hiss and then finally bringing silence back to the streets of Midtown. With the leak contained, fireponies were able to search the crater caused by the explosion, and there, among the fractured concrete and shattered piping, they found two victims, fatalities, scalded to death by the steam, mere passers by, pedestrians sadly caught up by mere happenstance in the maelstrom.

The rest of the buildings around the incident site turned up clear. There were no other casualties to be discovered. The operation continued for the rest of the day, making sure everything was safe, but there were only three deaths as a result of the explosion, and several dozen injuries, both from the bus and from the buildings. It took several days for the cause to be properly determined- flooding caused by Hurricane Gilda had worn away at the earth around both the steam pipe itself, and also a gas pipe which ran alongside it. Electrical cables also ran nearby, and the investigators determined that a spark from a wire with damaged insulation ignited escaping gas from a pipe undermined by the erosion caused by the flooding, which in turn damaged the steam pipe enough to result in a rupture and the steam explosion which had ripped through the surface of the street above, and led to the deaths of three ponies, all tragic victims of circumstance.

All of the fire units who had responded to the scene had to be decontaminated before they could return to their quarters; the Hazmat Company had conferred with utility workers and determined that the broken steam pipe had been lagged with asbestos, formerly a firepony's best friend when it was used in early protective clothing and as fireproof insulation in buildings, but now known to be a health hazard. The fireponies had to be hosed down by Engine Company personnel to make sure they didn't retain any of the potentially deadly fibres anywhere on their body or gear. Only then could they be released to return home.

Engine 25 and Rescue 1 were back in their firehouse some three hours after leaving it. Other units would take over for the more thorough secondary searches of every affected building, as well as the subway below ground. They would stand by while the utility crews set about trying to repair the damage, in case anything else went wrong. Meanwhile, the first-due units were able to rest up and relax, some downtime after their exertions. Once again they had kept ponies safe, helping to evacuate hundreds of unfortunate victims who had been caught up in the confusion.

Breeze and Dawn met up in the break room, slumping in their seats. It had been a tiring call, but a rewarding one, for together they had helped to save lives. The two brothers shared a knowing glance with each other. Dawn may not have been a firepony for very long, but he already knew what it meant- it meant brotherhood, not just with flesh and blood, but with every member of his crew, and with every other firepony, no matter what unit they were with. It had always been the same down through the years, and the look the brothers shared would have been shared countless times over by their father and his buddies in the past. Not much needed to be said, but Blaze spoke up anyway.

'Your first steam leak, huh?' he asked his brother. 'First big one, at least.'

'Yeah...' Dawn replied with a nod. 'Crazy stuff. You don't even realise what's going on beneath your hooves. Most of those ponies we helped today wouldn't have even known there was a big-ass steam pipe running right down that avenue.'

'Well, there's a lot your average city pony doesn't know,' Blaze replied with a chuckle. 'Some of them should really pay more attention. But hey, I heard you did good, again.'

'Who told you that?' Dawn smiled. His big brother was second only to his father in terms of being an inspiration to him, and words of praise were always music to his ears, even though he was not in it for fame and glory. He was in it for two reasons- to help other ponies in need, and to meet the expectations of his family. Public service was a rich vein running through their ranks, and had been that way for many generations. Dawn wanted to continue that, and being exposed to the fire service from a very young age made it the logical choice for him to pick when it came time to choose a career. It was a tough life and a hard job, facing grueling heat and smoke, sub-zero temperatures and lashing rain, unknown risks on every call, no matter how minor it may seem at first glance. But it was a worthy calling, one which the inhabitants of Manehattan respected. Even the down-and-outs, the criminals, the relative scum who dwelled on the fringes of society or just beyond the law and who would be openly hostile to any police or city government presence in their street, tended to relent and be understanding whenever fireponies came by. They were not there to enforce any laws or to evict anypony. They were there to save lives and protect property, no matter who was in danger.

'Alright, good job out there, everypony.' Captain Grey Spike addressed the assembled fireponies. Chief Firebrand was still at the scene of the steam leak- as the initial incident commander, was still helping to coordinate the department's response. The incident was under control, but that did not mean that there was nothing more for fire units to do. With the Chief absent, Grey Spike was the highest ranking firepony left at the house, placing him in de facto command until Firebrand returned. 'Make sure your gear is ready to go out again,' the Captain cautioned. 'I know you all got decontaminated before leaving the scene, but I'd say it was a good idea for everypony to go take a shower as soon as you can, just in case. Don't want any asbestos residue anywhere around this firehouse, thank you very much.'

'Right, Cap!' somepony replied. Keeping clean and fresh was important, especially after a long and grueling call such as the steam leak, which had lasted for several hours and seen the fireponies sweat, get covered in dirt, and showered with debris raining down from the sky after being spewed out from the broken pipe, which in this case unfortunately included asbestos. Firepony health was of the utmost importance, for an unfit firepony couldn't do their job to the level required. Having been exposed to asbestos, every pony who had responded to the scene would have to take a department medical exam at headquarters some time in the next week, as an added level of security- never something fireponies looked forward to at the best of times, their yearly checkup being one of the most hated days of the year, both because of the poking and prodding and awkward questions from the doctors, but also because it took them away from their job- away from the frontline, where they were meant to be protecting the city.

Some of the fireponies headed straight for the locker room to shower, but Blaze and Dawn remained in their seats, content to just sit and chat for a bit, brother to brother. Ever since Blaze had moved out of their parents' home, opportunities for fraternal contact like this had been relatively rare for the pair of them. Blaze had moved out to his own apartment to attend college, and then had joined the MFD, living from another apartment elsewhere in the city. Dawn meanwhile had continued to live at home for several more years, due to the weaker financial situation their family had faced, until they and he, through other jobs, could afford to send the younger brother to college, where he had met Rosebush. Now that the two brothers lived apart from both their parents and each other, it was even rarer for them to spend much time together, which was why Blaze, and their father Blaze Beater, had been keen to get Dawn assigned to the same firehouse as his big brother. Blaze had been recommended for transfer to the Rescue by his old unit just as Dawn was coming through training, and by happy coincidence there had been a space in Engine 25. Another probie had been assigned there initially by the bureau of training, but Blaze Beater had a few words with some of his old friends from the job, got a few strings pulled, and hey presto.

In turn, every firepony in the house took a quick shower to wash any last trace of asbestos away. The city decided to be kind on them and give them time not just to wash but also to eat; no calls came in for either unit, quite a rare thing for the Rescue especially, given that it covered most of the borough and responded on such a wide variety of calls. The hands of time, however, had not stopped entirely, and it was only a matter of when the alarm tones would sound.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine.'

Out they went. Fairway now had the housewatch, and read out the signal.

'906 West 44th, at 11th Ave! Medical, pony unconscious in Apartment 1A!'

The Engine crew mounted up. Medical runs were their most common duty, along with false alarms. In its infinite wisdom, the Department decided some years ago to merge with the city's public ambulance and emergency medical service, which had both its advantages and disadvantages. Over the years the role of the Engine Company had grown more deeply involved in the provision of medical care to ponies- what started out as selected companies and, more commonly, Battalion Chiefs being issued with so-called 'resuscitators,' simple ventilators and oxygen masks to help revive victims of smoke inhalation, had grown into the Engines being outfitted with a variety of medical equipment, including defibrillators, bag-valve oxygen masks, medicines to rapidly counteract the effects of opiate drugs, backboards, stretchers and a wide variety of other items to enable the fireponies- trained as emergency medical technicians- to help patients before an ambulance could arrive. Naturally, despite the ambulances being more numerous and more nimble than the big, lumbering Engines, it invariably seemed that the fireponies would arrive on scene before EMS on almost every occasion.

This time was no exception. Engine 25 had a clear run through the streets thanks to police diversions of traffic after the steam explosion, and they arrived at the street corner. A quick search located the correct address, and Dawn and Striker headed inside with the medical bag and defibrillator. Apartment 1A was inside on the left, and Striker knocked on the door. It was quickly answered by an elderly mare.

'Oh, thank goodness you've come! Quickly, in here.' She ushered them inside.

'Is it your husband, ma'am?' Striker asked.

'No, no,' she replied. 'No, it's poor young Milk Bottle from upstairs in 2B. Why, I only went up there to take her some of my fresh muffins like I do every few days, and I found her in the hall, just lying there! I thought she was dead, but she's breathing. My husband and I carried her down here to our apartment.'

Lying on the couch in the living room was a young blue unicorn mare, being tended to by a black earth pony, the husband of the mare who had answered the door. Her eyes were closed and she was unconscious, but breathing, though only shallowly. Dawn took out the bag-valve mask, a simple device with a mask to fit over her muzzle and a bag which could be squeezed rhythmically by a first responder to push oxygen into her lungs until EMS arrived with more sophisticated equipment. He also took out a portable EKG machine, an electrocardiogram, to record her heartbeat and pulse rate. Striker applied the mask to her and began to help her breathe, while Dawn set up the EKG sensors. The device showed her heart rate to be elevated. Despite being unconscious, she appeared red-faced.

'Ma'am, when you found her, you said she was in the hallway?' Striker asked the mare, who nodded.

'That's right, just lying there!' she added.

'Was she coming home from someplace? Or had she just come out of her apartment?' Striker questioned.

'Well, she's usually home at this time...her door was ajar,' the mare replied. 'Maybe she had a heart attack or something, and she tried to go for help? Oh, the poor dear...'

'Not a heart attack, ma'am,' Dawn replied, beginning to get the same suspicions that he suspected his partner was now forming in his mind. 'Her heart rate is elevated but stable...did you go into her apartment at all?'

'Oh no,' the mare shook her head. 'I don't like to intrude like that. I just wanted to help her.'

'Does she live alone?' Striker asked.

'No. She lives with her marefriend, Opal Crest,' the mare explained. 'But she's usually at work at this kind of hour, I think. Oh, do you think I should call her? She works for the city, uh, what is it she does, now? Oh yes, she works for the sanitation department, does the filing and answers the phones, you know.' The mare began to ramble somewhat, and Striker looked at Dawn.

'She's got all the signs of carbon monoxide poisoning,' Striker muttered under his breath. 'What do you think?'

Dawn nodded. 'That's what I was thinking, too. Should I make the call?' Striker nodded, and Dawn activated his radio. 'Engine 25 Backup to Engine 25, K?'

'Engine 25,' Lieutenant Coppertop replied from outside.

'We have a possible CO incident in Apartment 2B. We have one patient removed to Apartment 1A and possibly a second victim in 2B,' Dawn explained.

'10-4, we'll take a look,' Coppertop replied, and he and Dark Flash geared up, putting their air tanks and masks on and leaving Deep Blue at the rig to direct the paramedics and relay a message to the dispatcher. Inside, they climbed one flight of stairs and located Apartment 2B; it was the one with the door that was ajar. Coppertop pushed it open and entered the room. Everything seemed normal, just another domestic scene of regularity. There was no smoke, no fire. What there was, however, was an insistent beeping tone from the carbon monoxide meter that the Lieutenant had collected from the Engine. Sure enough, the deadly gas was present in significant quantities inside the apartment. Coppertop relayed a message to Deep Blue to send to the dispatcher, requesting additional units and a Chief to respond to the scene as they conducted a search.

The kitchen and living room were empty. So was the bathroom. But in the bedroom, they found a white earth pony mare, seemingly just asleep in the bed. But with high levels of carbon monoxide in the apartment, she was almost certain to either be unconscious, or dead. Coppertop quickly hefted her up onto his back and carried her out of the apartment and down the stairs to fresh air outside.

He laid her down on the sidewalk. The ambulance assigned on the initial simple medical run had arrived, and the paramedics were gathering their gear.

'Hey, we have two patients!' Coppertop shouted to them, after removing his mask. 'CO poisoning. Call for another bus and check this one, will ya? My boys are looking after the other patient.'

'Right!' one of the paramedics nodded, quickly getting on the radio, while the other brought the equipment over to check on Opal Crest. She was breathing, only shallowly, but like her marefriend, she was alive.

Once Deep Blue had called it in over the radio, it was a matter of moments, it seemed, before other fire units were descending like flies on the address. Engine 202 Acting 65 was first to arrive, followed by Ladder 26. The Chief, Battalion 45 Acting Battalion 9, rolled in. Firebrand was still busy at the steam leak, and so another Chief from way out in the borough of Princess had moved in to cover his operational area. Once more resources were on the scene, the incident was relatively routine. Readings were monitored, the apartment was opened up and ventilated with a positive-pressure fan. The source of the carbon monoxide leak was located- a faulty gas stove in the apartment's kitchen. Evidently Opal and Milk had been asleep in the bedroom when Milk had been awoken by something- most likely a splitting headache caused by the concentration of the poisonous gas in the air. She had stumbled to the public hallway, either in search of help or simply through subconscious routine, where she had collapsed and been fortuitously found by the elderly mare from the floor below.

Thanks to the happy circumstance of her muffin delivery, the incident had been detected relatively quickly, identified by Striker and Dawn, confirmed by Coppertop and Dark Flash, and mitigated by the other units which responded to the scene. Both overcome mares were taken to hospital, but thanks to quick and decisive decisions made by Dawn, Striker, and Lieutenant Coppertop, they would both survive their ordeal.

On And Off

There was a bar on 2nd Avenue, at 30th Street, called the Ring Of Fire. It looked like any of the other countless pubs and bars across the city from the exterior; gold filigreed writing on the windows and sign, an awning outside, a fug of cigarette smoke in the air. But while this bar was open to all, it had one primary clientele; fireponies. It was the one building they could enter where smoke in the air was not a bad thing.

It had been founded some fifty years ago by a former firepony named Salt Spray, who had enjoyed a long and varied career, starting as a deck hoof in the merchant navy in his youth before returning to his home city of Manehattan and joining the Fire Department. He retired as a Deputy Chief and then turned his hoof to his other love- alcohol. Not just drinking it, of course, but brewing it and selling it to thirsty ponies- and few got as thirsty as a firepony after a tough job, especially in those days when most fires were fought without protective masks and air tanks. Together with a few of his firepony brothers who had put money into the enterprise, Salt Spray had purchased the property in the heart of the borough and turned it into a bar that would cater to his own kind. There was memorabilia on the walls, photos of retired department members, sketches of old Chiefs from before photography was available. Above the bar was a ladder, an old wooden 20ft ground ladder that used to be carried on the side of every Engine Company. They had long since been replaced by metal ladders which were far more reliable and durable, but lacking the charm in the same way that big diesel-engined rigs lacked the romance of the fireponies pulling their own wagons.

Ember Dawn had visited the pub a few times since joining the department, but he had never spent too long there, feeling that it was more a place for the older, more established fireponies who had years, not weeks, on the job. But Striker had invited him for a few drinks, and that was why he found himself sitting in the friendly fug of smoke and clinking glasses, among some fifty or so other ponies, not all of whom shared the same vocation as him. Some were just passers-by, tourists or locals looking for a drink, but most of them were fireponies relaxing when off-duty with a few beers or whiskeys. It was common to find the bar rammed full at the end of the week and in the days after a particularly testing fire or other major incident. With Hurricane Gilda and the steam leak both in the recent past, there was more than a fair share of off-duty members of the department currently enjoying the hospitality of the Ring Of Fire.

Striker sat down at the table he shared with Dawn. 'Here you go, buddy. A beer and a whiskey.'

'Thanks,' Dawn replied, picking up the shot glass. 'Bottoms up...' he poured it down his throat, wincing a little at the sharp taste of hard alcohol, before taking a swig of his beer. 'You come here a lot?' he asked Striker.

'Sure.' The Pegasus nodded. 'Well, depends what you define as a lot, I guess. But yeah. No other bar I'd rather visit...and not just because fireponies get a 25% discount.' He chuckled, downing his whiskey and picking up his glass of beer. 'It's the atmosphere, you know? If somepony made a great save or if we stopped a big bastard of a fire, then it's all slaps on the back and rounds on the house. And if we took a hit, if we lost a brother or if a bunch of foals died or something, then there would be quiet contemplation, heads bowed. Ponies understand each other here, it's just like being in the firehouse...except you can drink.' He took a swig of beer.

'Yeah, I can see that.' Dawn nodded in agreement. 'I get that welcoming feeling. The bartender gave me a free beer the first time I came in here as soon as I showed him my department ID. Said he hadn't seen me in here before so I must be new on the job. It's like he knew everything about me the minute I walked in.'

'Oh yeah, old Pint Puller.' Striker replied with a grin. 'He's a tough old bastard, but what a guy. You know, we had some trouble in here one time. A few cops showed up, and you know what they're like. Now normally they don't make a fuss and we get on just fine. After all, anypony is allowed in here, even the colts in blue. But I guess they'd been at some department thing, they were still in formal uniform and all that, and for sure they'd already hit up at least one other bar on their way. They started kicking up a fuss, you know how they do. They were in danger of gettin' a real kicking by a bar full of fireponies, but old Pint Puller, naw, he wasn't gonna have any of that. He doesn't like violence in his bar...well, unless he's the one dishing it out. So he comes out from behind the bar and marches up to these cops, all still in uniform, right? And he says to 'em, that if they stayed one minute longer in his bar then they was gonna get a hiding, and not from the customers. So he stares them down and one of 'em tries to take a swing at him. Boom! Cop goes flat on his plot and the whole bar erupts into cheers and laughter. Pint Puller says hey, if you were on duty you could arrest me for that, but since you ain't, then get the fuck out of my bar! Off they went with their tails between their legs.'

Dawn chuckled. 'Wow. Sounds like a stallion you don't wanna cross.'

'Not if you're a cop, anyway,' Striker smirked. 'Old Pint Puller was a firepony, you know. Only served a year, though. Got badly burned at a fire out in Hooflyn. Never could pass the physical exams after that. Real sad, you know? He was one of us- you know, one of those stallions who wanted to be a firepony since they was a foal. At least he got a chance, even if it was cut short. But he wasn't done with the department, 'cause he thought hey, if I can't be a firepony, then I can serve them drinks and help 'em out. When he heard about this bar, well, that just about gave him his new purpose in life.'

Dawn looked over at the bar. The dark brown earth pony in question was serving drinks to ponies sitting on a row of bar stools, laughing and conversing with the fireponies. Those who knew his story knew that their bartender was more than just a friendly ear; they could find that in any bar in the city. But if they wanted a friendly ear that was also an understanding one, that would know the reality of the kind of trials and tribulations they had been through on their latest shift, or the money and family woes of trying to support foals on a department salary and with long hours? That was something they could only really find in the Ring Of Fire.

'Sounds like a good guy. I'm glad he could find some way of still being close to the department,' Dawn sipped his beer. 'It's true what they said, you know. In training. The department really is like a big family.'

'It sure is.' Striker nodded. 'If you need something then all you gotta do is post a note up on the firehouse notice board or fire off an email. You'll get twenty guys and gals offering to help, maybe hundreds if it's somethin' really important. We all gotta stick together, you know? Fire doesn't take prisoners, and we gotta have each other's backs the whole way, right from the minute we get on duty to the minute we clock out and go home.'

'Yeah, exactly.' Dawn finished his beer and nodded along. 'I'm glad you have my back.'

'Sure thing, brother,' Striker replied. 'I got yours, you got mine. That's how the department works. Couldn't function without it, without that trust.'

Dawn nodded again. Striker was absolutely right. If you didn't trust the pony backing you up on the line, or if you didn't trust the pony driving the truck, or worst of all, if you didn't trust your officer to give the correct orders, then you couldn't function properly as a firepony. Trust was the key. Trust in the department, in their policies, in your equipment, in your vehicle, in your training, in your protective gear, in your fellow fireponies, and, perhaps ultimately the most important, trust in yourself.

Ember Blaze sat at the housewatch desk, scanning through a few department emails which had been sent out to every firehouse, mostly concerning the administrative aftermath of Hurricane Gilda. Several firehouses had been flooded and some units were being given temporary quarters, while others were being accommodated at other firehouses nearby, as close as they could reasonably get to the areas they were meant to be serving. Another email was all about the schedule for department medicals for those ponies who had responded to the steam leak. There was a list of personnel transfers, a list of names submitted for department medals, and...

Blaze backtracked when he saw something familiar. It was his own name, right there in black and white, under the heading of 'Recommended For Department Medal Of Valor- FP. Ember Blaze, Rescue Company 1, for technical rescue operations at Manehattan Box 7570. Recommended by Captain Grey Spike, Rescue Company 1, & Battalion Chief Firebrand, Battalion 9.'

He blinked, and felt a grin creeping onto his face. The Medal of Valor was the second highest award in the department; only the Cross Of Celestia, the award which shared its name with the military's most prestigious medal, ranked higher. To get nominated for the Medal of Valor, a firepony would have to, 'Demonstrate bravery and skill above and beyond the normal call of duty in order to save life, at a significant risk of personal injury or death, during the operations at a fire or other emergency incident,' according to its own citation. It had been a fortnight since the rescue in question, when Blaze had saved the poor trapped foal from the radio mast, and while he hadn't exactly forgotten about it, especially since it had been on the news and played on repeat by his mother when he had visited his parents, he hadn't got too hung up on it. He had been involved in other rescues since then, albeit not quite as dramatic. While his mother had gone crazy, both over the risk he had taken and also how brave he had been to do it, his father Blaze Beater had simply given him a nod that said more than words ever could. He understood. He had been there, been in the job for so many years, rode the Rescue just as his son was now doing, and he knew exactly what it took, physically and mentally, for Ember Blaze to make the save. What his father didn't know was that Blaze had specifically volunteered for it, to take the place of his Captain, but he was certainly modest enough to not try and score brownie points by mentioning that fact, to his father or to anypony else in the firehouse who hadn't overheard him make the suggestion to Grey Spike on the wet and windswept rooftop. It wasn't about grandstanding, and he hadn't even considered that cameras might be watching. It was just something which had felt natural to him; the right thing to do.

There was a knock at the firehouse pedestrian entrance, off to the side of the apparatus bay doors, where fireponies would enter, as well as any visitors. The door opened and a black mare walked in. 'Oh, hi...'

Blaze looked up from his computer. It was Licorice Swirl, the mother of Sulfur Springs, the other colt that Blaze had helped save recently. 'Oh, well hey there...' He smiled. 'What can we do for you, ma'am?'

'Oh, please, it's...' she began.

'Licorice, right, I remember,' Blaze nodded. 'Sorry. Old habits, you know? We're told to call everypony sir and ma'am when we're on duty. It's good to see you again. How can we help you? How's your son?'

'Oh, he's doing just fine, and, well, it's...it's not so much we as...well, you,' Licorice replied. 'You see I meant to come before, but the storm and everything. I've had to help my mother, she was living with me for the last two weeks because her house got flooded, but she's back home now. She found a really good contractor who helped her, cleaning her carpets and all that stuff.'

'Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that,' Blaze replied, wondering why Licorice had come by again. Last time she had tried to get the crew to accept money in return for their efforts in saving her son. Blaze hoped she wasn't trying the same thing again, because they would have to turn her down again due to department regulations.

'Well, gosh, I'm rambling, aren't I?' Licorice chuckled. 'Sorry. I, um...I should really try to make more sense. Sorry! I just...well, you see...I, uh...I thought...I mean, maybe I was wrong, but I thought you...maybe you seemed, uh...'

Blaze raised an eyebrow. What exactly was she trying to say? 'It's ok. You can tell me,' Blaze informed her. 'I won't tell anypony else if you don't want me to. Are you in trouble?'

'What?' Licorice's eyes widened. 'Oh, no! No, no! Gosh, I'm terrible at this, aren't I? I'm not in any trouble. I was just...' She laughed nervously. 'I was just trying to...well, ask you out on a date...'

Blaze blinked. 'Oh...oh, uh...you were? Oh...'

Licorice looked down at the floor. 'I'm sorry, I knew it was stupid! I just thought, when I came here before, that...I don't know...that you...gave me that kind of look, that said...'

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

Blaze leaped to his hooves. 'Ah...sorry. We've got a run!' He scanned the computer screen. 'But it's a yes!'

'What?' Licorice asked, startled by the sudden noise.

'It's a yes!' Blaze replied, as the rest of the crew piled out of the break room. 'Box 8202, West 70th and 11th Avenue, pony trapped!' he called, before galloping to the rig with the others. He pulled on his bunker gear, climbed onto the rig, and settled into his seat. The door opened and the Rescue pulled forward. Blaze looked out of the window. Licorice had gone almost unnoticed by the other fireponies, it seemed, as they had simply rushed to the rig to answer the call. She gave a wave as they raced out of the door and onto the Avenue. Blaze raised a hoof in reply.

Stuck

'Rescue 1 to Manehattan?'

'Rescue 1, K?'

'Do you have any more information on this box? What are we going in on, K?' Captain Grey Spike asked.

'Rescue 1, we're getting more info...reporting a pony trapped down a compactor chute, K,' the dispatcher replied. 'Reported to have fallen from the 7th floor to the 2nd.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4,' Grey Spike responded. 'Alright, everypony. Prep for a possible confined space rescue,' he ordered the crew. Compactors in high-rise multiple dwellings were used to dispose of trash; residents would toss garbage down the chute, where it would be crushed into a much smaller volume by the compactor. They were the frequent source of fires, if somepony were to throw a cigarette end or some other heated item into the trash chute, it could easily ignite the rubbish and cause a very smoky fire to break out. Even if the flames were confined to the chute, quite often the smoke could spread up the shaft and fill every floor in the building, causing panic among residents.

It was also possible, though difficult, for a pony to fall down the shaft, and it had certainly happened numerous times, usually foals who were playing games, hide and seek perhaps, or cowponies and buffaloes, and were looking for somewhere to tuck themselves away. As the Rescue rolled north, however, it became clear that this wasn't the case this time around.

'Was that the mother at the firehouse?' Flagstaff questioned Blaze as they raced through traffic. 'What's her name, from the impalement?'

'Yeah, Licorice Swirl, that was her,' Blaze nodded in reply.

'What was she doing here? Not trying to offer us money again, was she?' the unicorn asked him.

'No.' Blaze shook her head. 'She just...uh, wanted to talk to m...uh, to us,' he tried to correct himself, but Flagstaff was alert to his error and quickly leaped on it.

'Wanted to talk to you, huh? Only to you?' She smirked, nudging him. 'How come she only wanted to talk to the strapping young firepony she probably saw on the news, huh? The one who carried that big heavy saw and cut her son free? Only you, but not the rest of us? How come, huh?'

'I dunno...' Blaze muttered, a bit of a blush coming across his cheeks as a telltale sign that Flagstaff had indeed picked up on the right thing to needle him with. 'I, uh...the alarm went off before I could talk to her much,' he lied.

'A likely story,' Flagstaff chuckled, giving him another friendly nudge in the ribs. 'C'mon, spill the beans! What did she want?'

Blaze rolled his eyes. Flagstaff was one of those ponies who certainly wouldn't drop the matter until she found out exactly what had transpired- not one to spread gossip, as such, but just a mare who wanted to know everything happening behind the scenes at the firehouse, all of the ins and outs of the lives of her co-workers, partly so she knew who to avoid and who to suck up to at different times, but mainly through a genuine desire to know about her fellow fireponies and be in a position to offer help or advice to them if it was required.

'Fine...she, uh...wanted to know if I'd, uh, be interested in going on a date with her...' Blaze admitted quietly, so as not to alert the rest of the crew. Flagstaff, naturally, had other ideas.

'A date, huh?' she replied in a loud voice. 'You dog, you! What did you say? Don't tell me, you obviously said yes or you wouldn't have bothered trying to hide it from me! Hey fellas! Remember the mom from that impalement call, Licorice Swirl? Guess who's got a date with her!'

'Wouldn't be you, would it?' High Line called from the rear compartment of the rig, making the rest of the crew laugh and Flagstaff roll her eyes impatiently.

'No, dumbass! It's only Ember Blaze, our resident tightrope walker!' she informed everypony else, much to Blaze's chagrin. He wasn't even sure his acceptance of Licorice's offer had been heard over the din of the Rescue's engine being fired up, and now Flagstaff was broadcasting it to the crew. Naturally it would be all around the firehouse when they returned- if it wasn't already. After all, Licorice was still there, and so was the Engine and the Chief, and she may well explain the situation to them if they came across her.

'Oh yeah? You naughty boy,' High Line laughed. 'Hey, make sure she's not just another badge bunny! My buddy in the PD had this mare, he helped her out with some domestic dispute, arrested her scumbag coltfriend. So then she kept showing up at his patrol car when he parked up. Always seemed to know where he was gonna be, like she was totally stalking him. Kinda creepy. Anyways, he told her to leave him alone, next week they found her body in the East River. Did herself in. Total nutjob.'

The badge bunnies, as they were called, were mares, though stallions could also qualify, who developed an unhealthy romantic, bordering on obsessive, attraction to cops or firefighters, government agents or anypony who possessed authority and a badge of office. There were cautionary tales down throughout history, the MFD included, of fireponies or police officers who found themselves entangled with such obsessives, and such relationships could quite often end in one form of tragedy or another.

'Engine 74 to Manehattan. We have a confirmed stallion trapped down the compactor chute, at the second floor, K.'

'Huh, a stallion?' Flagstaff muttered. 'You gotta make a real effort to fall down a compactor chute if you're a fully grown pony.'

'Maybe the Mafia wanted to dispose of a body,' Blaze suggested, which drew a chuckle from the crew. Manehattan certainly had a significant organised crime presence, though compared to the olden days their influence was hugely reduced. It was very unlikely that they would ever try to hide the evidence of a murder in a public housing building's compactor chute. Of course, that didn't rule it out entirely.

Rescue 1 arrived on the scene, a fifteen-storey multiple dwelling project funded by the city and housing mostly poor residents and immigrants, including Griffons and Zebras who could not afford the astronomical rents attached to most properties in the borough. They were often in a poor state of repair, with broken elevators, leaky pipes, faulty sprinkers and the like, but they were home to hundreds of thousands of creature across the city.

Other units were already on the scene, including Battalion 11. Chief Primrose was in command of the incident, and she was inside the building along with the crews of two ladder companies and Engine 74, who had arrived first. Grey Spike headed inside as the rest of Rescue 1 gathered up tools and gear they might need. A technical confined space rescue was always tricky, and could test even the best trained and equipped fireponies anywhere in the nation- a distinction which many would lay square at the hooves of Rescue 1 of the MFD.

Blaze headed into the building with the rest of the company. A couple of building maintenance ponies were gathered in the lobby, along with half a dozen fireponies, including Chief Primrose who was overseeing the operation. She turned to Grey Spike as the Rescue entered.

'Got a confirmed entrapment, Cap,' Primrose informed Grey Spike. 'Stallion fell, reportedly from the 7th floor. Now he's wedged in between the first and second floors.'

'Copy,' Grey Spike replied. 'Any idea how he ended up down there?'

'Apparently he was drinking,' Primrose replied. 'Obviously, since it's 11AM.' She rolled her eyes, the slight shake of the head a shared expression of despair at the state of ponykind from one experienced firepony to the other. 'Decided to take the trash out, and you can piece the rest together. I have Ladder 25 trying to stabilise him, but we're going to have to get him out soon. The medics say the angle he's stuck at means his lungs can't inflate properly. They've got a mask on him but we need to free him ASAP.'

'Got it, Chief,' Grey Spike nodded. 'What's the best access?'

'We're thinking going at him from below,' Primrose replied. 'He's closer to the first floor than to the second. Not much chance of lifting him up thanks to the position he's in. I've got Ladder 35 upstairs; they've got a lifesaving rope around his hind legs. Hopefully that'll be enough to stop him slipping until you start cutting. If you cut through the wall of the chute, you should be able to get him out. Take a look and see what you reckon, Captain.'

Grey Spike headed over to the compactor room, located just off of the lobby. It contained the actual compactor unit itself, where trash would be crushed. The chute terminated about halfway up the wall of the room where it reached the unit. Somewhere behind that wall, a stallion was trapped. Ladder 25 was huddled around the compactor unit itself, which was open. Two paramedics were also present, trying their best to treat the trapped pony and give him oxygen. As Primrose had mentioned, it was proving tricky due to his contorted position, which meant he could not fully inflate his lungs to get all of the oxygen that he required. Leaving him in there for too long would mean that he probably wouldn't come out of the shaft alive, or at the very least not without permanent brain damage due to lack of oxygen.

'We can cut through the wall easy enough,' Grey Spike agreed with his Chief. 'The shaft itself won't be a problem either. How far up there is he?' The Captain bent down to take a look up the shaft where the medics were trying to treat the unfortunate victim. 'Hm...Alright, he's about three feet up. We can cut away the hood of the shaft, bring him down on a backboard.'

Primrose nodded. 'Agreed. Get to work. Ladder 25, back them up. I'll have the Squad bring extra saw blades when they get here, just in case.'

'Copy, Chief. We shouldn't need them, but best to have them at hoof just in case. Alright, Blaze, get the air chisel. High Line, Oak, get the spreaders. Flagstaff, support the victim with your magic as best you can. We need to hold him steady when we make the cuts. I'm not convinced the rope will be enough to keep him in place once we widen the shaft. Fairway, bring the backboard.' Grey Spike turned to the officer of Ladder 25 as his ponies hurried back to the rig to gather the tools. 'Lieu, get through this wall, then we'll get through the shaft.'

By the time Blaze had returned with the air chisel, the fireponies of Ladder 25 had hacked away at the plasterboard and wood that formed the wall of the compactor room. In doing so, they had revealed the metal compactor chute itself. Saws could be used to cut through it if, for example, there was a fire inside the compactor itself, but they couldn't be used safely in this instance for two reasons. Firstly, the saw blades would produce a tremendous amount of heat and sparks, which could ignite the collected garbage in the bottom of the shaft and in the compactor unit, which had been shut down and disconnected from the power supply by building maintenance. The other problem was that the sparks could also ignite the oxygen being fed to the trapped stallion by the paramedics, and without the concentrated one-hundred-percent oxygen being fed to him, his lungs, unable to inflate fully, would not be able to deliver enough of the life-giving gas to his bloodstream to stop his brain and other organs to start shutting down.

With the chute exposed, Blaze was able to bring the chisel into position. Grey Spike conducted a final survey in conjunction with the Lieutenant of Ladder 25, then made a series of marks with chalk on the bare metal surface, to indicate where Blaze was to make the cuts that would hopefully free the stallion from his confinement. Once the rest of the crew were in position to help support the pony as he was removed, Flagstaff used her magic to immobilise him in much the same way as a backboard and neck brace would if they could have been able to access him properly. A rope rescue from above might have been another possible way of freeing him, by lowering a firepony down, but given that the stallion had not fallen all the way into the compactor unit, but rather had become wedged part way down, meant that there was the risk of the same thing happening to any would-be rescuer, besides which it would take longer to set up safely than cutting through the chute.

With a nod from Grey Spike, Blaze got to work, the air chisel safely slicing through the relatively thin metal without creating any sparks or risk of fire. With Flagstaff holding the stallion in place, there was no likelihood of him sliding once the metal was removed. Blaze cut a square as indicated by Grey Spike's chalk markings, and Fairway and two of the members of Ladder 25 reached in to remove it. Finally they could see the stallion directly, now seemingly suspended halfway up the wall, only his head and upper body visible. The oxygen mask fixed on his face by the medics was being fed by a cylinder from below, meaning it could be kept in place even while the chute was being cut and giving him at least some air. Now that the fireponies could see their victim, they could also get a better idea of how badly wedged in he was.

Grey Spike shone his flashlight up to take a closer look. 'Alright, I think a couple of inches will be enough. High Line, go in with the spreaders. Take it an inch at a time and then Flagstaff, see if you can move him.'

Blaze stepped back, his part played. Now it was over to the others to complete the release of the temporary prisoner. Oak Wood brought the metal jaws of the spreader up to the chute which contained the stallion. With Flagstaff keeping him in place, Oak Wood prised the metal sides of the chute away about an inch. Flagstaff then tried to move the stallion, but he was still trapped. Oak went at it again, bending the metal wider, and this time Flagstaff was able to move the victim out. Fairway and the paramedics had the backboard ready, and she used her magic to lower him onto it carefully. Once he was laid out flat, his lungs were immediately able to take in more of the oxygen being fed to him, now that he was no longer crumpled up. Once the medics strapped him to the board, he was able to be moved out to the ambulance, and another call came to a successful conclusion- leaving one public housing building to await the arrival of repair crews to fix their compactor chute. But other than that, everything had worked out just fine.

Date Night

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion.'

'Box 9122, West 51st and 12th! Kitchen fire in apartment 6C!'

Ember Dawn climbed up into his seat.

'Engine goes first due!'

He strapped up his seatbelt.

'Getting smoke in apartment 6B and 5B, too!'

The engine roared into life, and the rig rolled out of quarters along with the Battalion, swinging north, then west.

'Hey, it's tonight, right?'

Dawn looked round. Striker was talking to him, it seemed. 'Huh, what's tonight?' he questioned.

'The big event!' Striker grinned. 'Your brother's date with what's-er-name. That mare with the, uh...ample plot.' He smirked. 'It's tonight, right?'

'Oh, that. Yeah. Yeah, it's tonight,' Dawn replied with a nod.

'You'd better believe we'll all be awaiting the juicy details on the next shift,' Striker chuckled. 'Gotta show an interest in your fellow fireponies and their romantic dalliances, right?'

'If you say so...' Dawn replied. 'I mean...it's not really anypony else's business, but...'

'Are you kidding? It's firehouse gossip!' Striker grinned. 'If we don't take an interest, who else will? We don't wanna know the gritty truth of it, you know? We just wanna know what happened. And if he managed to, you know...dance the horizontal tango.'

Dawn rolled his eyes. It would have been embarrassing enough talking about his own love life; somehow it was even worse talking about that of his brother. 'Well I'll be sure to relay every sordid detail to everypony who will listen. Assuming that Blaze actually tells me anything, which he won't. He never has. His love life is his own, you know? I mean, I've met his other marefriends before, but I don't pry, you know? I figure it's not my business to get too nosy.'

'Right, right. Point taken. But still...' Striker gave him a nudge. 'We'll take any info we can get. I'm sure Blaze won't spill the beans himself. Not unless we really make him. Tie him down or something. Tickle him with feathers, you know. That kind of thing.' He chuckled, and Dawn had to chuckle too.

The Engine pulled onto the block, with Chief Firebrand following on behind. A few wisps of smoke were coiling from an open window on the 6th floor of a building up ahead. it didn't look like a structural fire, but clearly something was burning. Deep Blue pulled up past the building and came to a halt, and everypony climbed down. Firebrand exited his SUV, looking up at the source of the smoke. 'Alright, standby with a precautionary line in case we need the standpipe!' he ordered. Ladder 4, the first-due truck, pulled up outside the fire building a moment later, and Firebrand ordered them inside and to the 6th floor to check the affected apartments.

Dawn and Striker pulled a length of hose from the rig in case it should be needed, while the Ladder ponies climbed to the top floor to check things out. A second engine arrived before they had sent a report, heard over the Chief's radio. 'Ladder 25 to Battalion 9, we have a 10-26 with slight extension to the cabinets in apartment 6C as in Castle. Can we get a line up to the 6th floor, K?'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand replied, giving a gesture to Striker and Dawn. 'Alright, take it up.' Striker led the way, with Dawn carrying the rolled up hose. Stretching it all the way from the engine to the 6th floor was time-consuming, energy-intensive, and mostly unnecessary with the majority of taller buildings. City regulations required any building over 5 floors in height to have an internal standpipe system, a system of pipes which fed water to each floor, from where the system could be accessed by firepony hoses for high-rise firefighting. The system could be charged either by a gravity-feed from a roof tank or, if necessary, by the pumps of one or more engine companies from the street below, in order to pressurise the water and provide the power necessary for the hose's stream to extinguish a major fire.

Six floors took them a while to climb, but the building had no elevator, giving them no alternative. At the top floor, they found a fair amount of smoke in the hallway, and the fireponies of Ladder 4. Apartment 6C was the source of the smoke, where a 10-26, food on the stove, had caused a fire. It was not enough to engulf the room and require the transmission of a 10-75 signal for a working fire, but it had extended from the oven to the kitchen cabinets above. Just in case it had also spread into the walls, Striker and Dawn hooked up their hose to the standpipe system, fed by a water tank on the roof. The ladder ponies checked the cabinets, tearing them from the walls so they could check behind them, inflicting necessary damage to make sure that the whole floor, or indeed the whole building, might be in danger. As it turned out, there was no extension into the walls or the floor, meaning that other than superficial damage, the rest of the apartment would be just fine.

With the danger passed, Striker and Dawn unhooked the hose and headed back downstairs, rolling it back up and loading it onto the engine. 'Battalion 9 to Manehattan, we used two engines, one truck, the rest standing fast, for a 10-26 with slight extension to the kitchen cabinets. All units are taking up and will go 10-8 when they become available, K,' Firebrand informed the dispatcher, at the conclusion of another job well done. 'Alright 25, take up and head home,' he ordered.

Dawn climbed onto the rig. The rest of his shift was uneventful, consisting mostly of medical calls and fire alarm activations. He headed home at the end of his day, looking forward to spending an evening with Rosebush Roulade. His brother, meanwhile, was heading off for a rendezvous with a different mare.

Ember Blaze had smartened himself up, putting on a shirt and tie to look presentable, not something he ever had to normally bother with when off duty. This was an exception, of course, for he was out on a date, instead of simply slumping on his couch at home like he normally would have done, watching the tv and hearing the troubling news about floods in New Zebrica, a further uptick in rhetoric from the New Lunar Republic terror group, and fluctuations in the financial markets, and indulging in a few cans of beer before heading to bed. He hadn't been on a date, not a real one, for some time, as the demands of the firehouse had kept him busy. Like a lot of fireponies, he filled many of his off hours with helping others, just as he did during his actual job. There were countless charity projects run by members of the department, providing transport for retired fireponies to attend medical appointments, delivering medicine to them, performing repair or construction work for injured fireponies' homes, organising blood donation drives or visits to old pony homes, or delivering toys to the foal's ward of a local hospital. Charitable causes were close to the hearts of the majority of fireponies across the country, and the MFD was no different.

Tonight, however, was just for himself. Well, himself and his date, of course. He liked Licorice- as a pony, at least. She seemed like a nice mare, and a good mother, childish misadventure and dental misunderstandings notwithstanding, and she was certainly attractive. This would be his chance to get to know her better, beyond the relatively superficial connection he currently had with her.

Blaze made his way into the restaurant. It was rather fancier than he was used to, but after all, it was a date. There were ponies in fancy suits and dresses all over, but he had decided it was worth splashing out a little bit on a decent place instead of taking Licorice to the usual kinds of diners or fast food joints he might find himself frequenting under normal circumstances. Once he had returned from the trash compactor incident, he had found, or rather been given by his brother, with much fanfare and wolf whistles from the others, a note with Licorice's phone number on it. Since they had only had a chance to speak briefly when she arrived at the firehouse, and Blaze could only shout a yes to her as he headed to the call, a phone call was the only way they could establish proper contact, since Licorice had had to return home to look after her son and couldn't hang around for too long at the firehouse.

Blaze had given her a call as soon as he could get away from the others, since they would only have continued their teasing if he had made it known to them that he was calling her. Ember Dawn, naturally, had done that anyway, calling him the next day while they were off duty and putting on, or trying to put on, a feminine voice to attempt to impersonate Licorice, with very little success, but a good deal of laughter from the younger brother at his siblings' expense.

Blaze spoke to the maitre d' who led him to his table. Licorice was not there yet- that was alright, it was fashionable, from what he understood, for the mare to be slightly late for a date. He sipped at a glass of wine, waiting for her, giving an occasional glance at the clock on the wall, just in case the whole thing was an elaborate joke at his expense. He half expected Dawn to walk through the door instead of his date, or perhaps the whole of the Rescue crew, ready to take photos of the empty chair opposite him.

But that didn't happen. Instead, a few minutes after their appointed time, Licorice Swirl entered the restaurant. No fireponies were in tow, and Blaze had conducted an intensive primary search of the restaurant from his seat to make sure Flagstaff or Striker or any of the others were not hiding behind newspapers or peeking out from around a plant or pillar. Licorice approached him, and gave him a smile. She was wearing a black gown and a gleaming pearl necklace, with just the right amount of makeup and her mane nicely styled, smoothed back and drawn up into a bun. Blaze stood up and returned her smile. 'Hey, you made it.'

'Of course!' Licorice replied. 'I just had to make sure Sulfur was settled in with my mother for the evening first.'

'How is he doing?' Blaze asked, pulling her chair back so Licorice could sit down before returning to his own seat.

'Oh, he's doing so much better now,' Licorice replied. 'He should be out of the wheelchair by the weekend, according to his doctors.'

'That's really good news,' Blaze smiled. He had taken a liking to the little guy as well as to his mother, and he was certainly glad to hear of any further progress in his road to recovery after his fall which had nearly ended in tragedy. 'I ordered us some wine,' he pointed out a glass for her to drink. 'You, uh, you look really nice, by the way,' he hastily added, hoping he hadn't already messed up by not pointing out that obvious fact right at the start.

'Oh, thank you...' Licorice smiled back at him. 'You look good in that getup...but I have to say, I do prefer you in your uniform.'

'Oh, really?' Blaze felt his cheeks flush, and not just from the wine. 'You mean my bunker gear? Or my dress uniform?'

'Well, both, probably,' she replied. 'Although I haven't seen you wearing a dress uniform yet. I'm sure you'd look wonderfully smart in that. But I meant just in your work gear. You know, mister handsome firepony and all that.' She giggled a little, which Blaze found he liked very much.

'Oh, well, you know, it's not designed to make us look good,' he pointed out. 'Just to keep us safe when we're at a fire. So if you still think that, then...well, I guess that's a bonus, huh?' She nodded, and Blaze smiled.

'Please, order whatever you like from the menu. I'm paying,' he informed her.

'Oh, that's so generous, Blaze,' Licorice smiled again. He found that he liked her smile even more than her laugh.

Salads were their starter, followed by fish and potatoes in all kinds of fancy herbs and sauces, some of which Blaze didn't even recognise the names of. He would normally be content with a hay burger, a sandwich, something simple, but this fancier cuisine was nice too, and it was pleasant to eat in a nice restaurant instead of his dimly-lit apartment. It was even better to share it with Licorice.

During the meal, he found out more about her. She worked in the makeup department of Pony's, the famous department store located some two dozen blocks south of the Rescue's firehouse. That insider knowledge certainly explained why she had managed to strike the perfect balance, just a little blush and eyeliner and lipstick without going over the top and looking a little too easy. She had been married, though only for a little over a year, resulting in the birth of her son and then a relatively smooth divorce from her husband, named Colt Python. She had married young and regretted it, though she had no regrets about having a foal, repeatedly describing Sulfur Springs as her little darling. Blaze could clearly see how much she cared for her son, demonstrated ever since he had encountered her sobbing in fear for Sulfur's life.

Licorice was also the same age as he was, and had an uncle who was a volunteer firepony out in the small town of Clopham Junction, a coincidence that made Blaze smile. He had never been to the town, but all fireponies were brothers, wherever they served, and he raised a glass to her uncle, draining his wine. A delicate slice of cheesecake formed their dessert, and Blaze offered to walk her home to her apartment since he knew where she lived. She accepted; it wasn't too far from the midtown restaurant, and it would save money on a cab, of course. They wandered through the bustling evening streets, at one point hearing the wail of a siren and the roaring air horn that Blaze immediately recognised as the Rescue, which raced around Columbine Circle ahead of them, under the command of Lieutenant Steel Rain who was on duty tonight.

'Oh, is that you?' Licorice asked, pointing to the mighty wagon as it deftly maneuvered through traffic. 'Well, your unit, I mean?'

'Mhm,' Blaze nodded. Rescue 1 headed straight down Celestia Park South, whizzing by them. It was dark and Blaze was wearing clothing he would not normally wear, and so nopony on board noticed him strolling along with his date. They headed east to some unknown incident, just another run for the fireponies of Rescue 1.

After a pleasant stroll, cutting through the lower end of Celestia Park, they reached Licorice's apartment building. It was late, and Sulfur Springs was staying overnight at his grandmother's house, and Blaze wondered if he might be invited in for coffee. But Licorice told him she had to work in the morning.

'I had a nice time tonight,' she added with a smile. 'You have my number, and I have yours...I'd definitely like to spend some more time with you, if you want.'

'Absolutely,' Blaze nodded. 'I'd like that...I'll give you a call, then? Or you can call me. I'll definitely answer.' He smiled.

'Then I'll look forward to our next date. Get home safe!' Licorice gave him a wave with her hoof as she entered her building, and Blaze headed for the subway with a smile on his face.

Ember Dawn leaned back in his seat as the Engine headed south. They had been third-due at an apartment fire up on West 68th Street, which had given the first engine on scene a tough time. Engine 25 had stretched a hose line to the adjoining building in case of any extension through the partition wall, but both buildings conformed well to the fire codes of the city and held the fire within the apartment where it had originated. They didn't have much to do beyond monitoring the situation and standing by, and now they were returning to the firehouse to grab some dinner. Rush hour traffic was slowing them down, however, with Columbine Circle and then 7th Avenue moving fairly sluggishly. It had been a week since his brother had gone on his date with Licorice, and in that time they had been out again, this time to go see a movie. Dawn had taken great joy in ribbing his brother, but really he was happy for him. He knew what pleasures having a stable relationship had brought him with his Rosebush, and both his parents had remarked that Blaze could do with a similar influence on him. Dawn knew that his brother, while not exactly an alcoholic, had a dangerous habit of letting one or two beers after work become six or seven, or perhaps sticking to just the two but adding half a dozen shots of vodka on the end as well. It didn't stop him doing his job, and he would never drink on the job or the night before he had a shift, but Dawn knew from one of his old college dorm-mates that things like that could go south rather quickly if it was allowed to fester for too long.

'Manehattan calling Engine 25, K?'

'Engine 25,' Coppertop replied into the radio.

'Engine 25, are you available?' the dispatcher asked, getting a 10-4 from the Lieutenant.

'Engine 25, take in box 7163, the A/C/E Line at 42nd St, Port Authority Bus Terminal. Reported a pony unconscious on the southbound platform, K.'

'Engine 25, 10-4,' Coppertop responded. Deep Blue pushed the rig through traffic to 42nd Street with surprising rapidity, considering how the traffic had been much thicker farther up 7th Avenue. The bus terminal was a huge concrete edifice, stretching from 40th to 42nd Streets and occupying the entirety of the space between 8th and 9th Avenues. It served long-distance buses and coaches from all across Equestria, as well as interborough bus transit within the city, local buses across Manehattan, and had the A/C/E subway lines running beneath it. It was massively busy, especially at rush hour, with ponies boarding trains and buses to take them to the other boroughs and home after work, and tourists in their droves coming and going from other major cities.

There was a subway entrance just on the corner, and Deep Blue parked the Engine. Striker, Dawn and Coppertop climbed down from the rig, grabbing the medical supplies and heading down the stairs. Ponies were coming up, some running, evidently late for their connecting bus. The stairs led to turnstiles which the fireponies could bypass with special keys, but the station was not simply one platform. It served five different lines, with numerous complex services- the A, C, E, 1, 2, 3, 7, S, N, Q, R and W trains all passed through at different times and on different days. Truthfully, it was not even a single station, but a complex warren connecting the lines underneath the bus terminal with the Celestia Square station at 7th Avenue, with numerous passageways and pedestrian tunnels linking different parts of the complex. Together the two separate-but-linked stations formed the busiest hub on the entire subway network, serving tens of millions of passengers every year.

Coppertop used the key to open the turnstile gate for access. He saw the prostrate body of the victim lying on the platform. He took one step through the gate, and then stopped, his eyes widening in horror.

'Get back!' he shouted. 'Upstairs, NOW!'

Hold Your Nerve

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue. Battalion.'

Ember Blaze tossed the newspaper he had been reading aside and ran to the rig, climbing aboard. Flagstaff, on housewatch, read the message.

'Box 7163, A/C/E Line at the bus terminal. Fumes in the subway!'

Battalion 9 was the first-due Chief for the bus terminal, meaning Firebrand would be in charge of whatever was going on. The Rescue was assigned because of the proximity of its firehouse to the terminal, meaning it fell inside its first-due area. The Rescue would respond like any other company to calls where it would arrive before the next closest unit, despite its special status. It had been back at quarters after being released from the apartment fire as their services were not needed.

The loop around to 9th Avenue to head south would only take a few moments, especially with Grey Spike leaning on the Rescue's air horn as he always did. Fumes in the subway were usually the result of a diesel work train passing through the station and leaving an unexpected smell behind in the otherwise completely electrified network. Such calls were not uncommon across the city. The dispatcher announced it over the radio, as the same location had already gone out for a medical run a minute or two earlier.

'Box after initial 7163, the A/C/E Line, Port Authority Bus Terminal, for fumes in the subway.' Before she could repeat the run, the dispatcher was interrupted.

'Engine 25 to Manehattan, urgent!'

'Go ahead, Engine 25.' Coppertop's voice was unexpectedly shaky, which made the crew of the Rescue exchange nervous glances. In an experienced officer like the Lieutenant, such a thing was not an encouraging sign.

'Box 7163, transmit a 10-60!' Coppertop ordered. 'Notify HAZMAT and PD Bomb Squad. We have multiple ponies down with no apparent cause. We may have a chemical attack in progress, K!'

Blaze looked at Flagstaff, with ice suddenly filling his veins, for two reasons. First, a major incident was apparently unfolding just a couple of blocks south, but second, his brother's unit was already at the scene, by themselves.

'Shit...' Grey Spike muttered, hammering the air horn even more urgently. Buses tried their best to get out of the way, but it was easier for Fairway to simply maneuver the Rescue around them, searching for any gaps in traffic. Once they reached 42nd Street they were able to race along to the junction with 8th Avenue, where the main entrance to the terminal lay. The dispatcher rattled off a long string of units that would be assigned on the major incident signal.

'...Hazmat 1 and the Hazmat Battalion, Engine 44 is your Hazmat Tech unit, Ladder 25 is your SOB Support Truck. Rescue and Safety Battalions, Rac 1 and Division 3. Battalion 9 received?'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand could be heard over the radio, following close behind the Rescue as they came to a halt. Ponies were still coming and going from the bus terminal, evidently unaware of anything going on below ground. Engine 25 was parked up nearby, albeit on the other side of 8th Avenue. What had seemed to be a simple medical call was now apparently spiraling into something much more serious.

The crew disembarked, and Firebrand approached them. 'Alright Cap, get geared up. Hazmat is gonna be a good twenty or thirty minutes out, so you're gonna be the initial entry team. Prep for level A suits and bring your meters and detector paper with you, but standby. Don't go down there yet. I'm going to get a report from the Engine first.' Firebrand got on his radio.

'Battalion 9 to Engine 25, K?'

'Engine 25...' Coppertop replied, a little breathlessly.

'What do we have down there, Lieu?' Firebrand questioned. He didn't like the reply.

'We went down to the A Line for a medical run, pony unconscious. We only stayed down there for a few seconds but I saw...uh, I'd guess...thirty, maybe forty bodies, Chief. No smoke, no obvious trauma. Just multiple victims down.'

'Son of a bitch...' Firebrand muttered. 'Battalion 9, 10-4. I want you and your crew to report directly to EMS when they arrive, ok?'

'Engine 25...10-4...' Coppertop responded. 'We'll, uh...we'll get checked out...'

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan with an urgent,' Firebrand put out the call.

'Battalion 9, go ahead.'

'For box 7163, based on the report from Engine 25, transmit a 10-60 Code 1. Notify Hazmat, EMS and PD that we have a mass casualty situation that may be a nerve agent release. Get Transit to shut down all trains on all lines at both the Port Authority Bus Terminal and Celestia Square.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4.'

A 10-60 Code 1 was an indication of a particularly serious emergency situation, even above the initial 10-60 which signaled a major incident. As well as the numerous units assigned on that signal, it brought an extra five Engines, 3 Ladders, 2 Battalions, another Division Chief, a third Rescue, an extra SOB Support Truck, the Air Recon Chief, either in a police helicopter or simply flying above the scene if a Pegasus officer was available, the Mobile Command Vehicle and a host of extra medical resources, vital given the potential for large numbers of casualties. On the report of a possible nerve agent release, two Mobile Decontamination Vehicles were assigned, large articulated trucks that contained showers for the potential scrubbing down of numerous victims, as well as the department's Weapons of Mass Destruction vehicle, specifically designed for this precise scenario. The truck contained almost nothing other than huge numbers of nerve agent antidote kits, a mixture of atropine and pralidoxime, medicines which together would counteract the effects of a nerve gas on pony physiology. The department had long since recognised the possibility of a terror attack on the city. Such things had taken place every so often across Equestria, with numerous incidents ranging from minor to serious. The possibility of a terror group taking or creating a weapon of mass destruction and using it against the innocent civilian population was always a nagging fear at the back of the minds of civil defence and first responders' minds. Could it be coming true?

Other units were arriving now, two ladders and another engine, as well as an ambulance. But if there were a minimum of thirty victims down in the subway, they would need a lot more than that. The main problem would be that it was unsafe to even enter the subway if there had been a chemical attack. A large number of casualties apparently unconscious or worse with no evident cause strongly suggested a nerve agent- and firefighting gear, even with a mask and air tank, would not protect a firepony from a nerve gas or vapour. Even in bunker gear with helmet, hood, boots and mask, some portions of a firepony's skin would be exposed to the air, and it only took one tiny droplet of nerve agent to be absorbed by the pores of the skin to cripple or kill. Airtight or vapour-tight Hazmat suits would be required to actually enter a contaminated atmosphere, but they were tricky to use properly and required lengthy training. Fortunately, one of the units already on scene had just such training.

Rescue 1, like all the Rescues, was trained in Hazmat situations. Before the development of the separate Hazmat Company 1 and Hazmat Battalion, formed as a result of a particularly tricky chemical tanker leak which forced a major bridge closure and threatened the potential for a huge explosion some 35 years ago, the Rescues were the only units with any kind of special equipment for dealing with chemical spills, leaks, and other incidents. Though Hazmat 1 had the primary responsibility now at such incidents, they responded with only 6 fireponies and an officer, not enough to conduct major operations. As a result, every Rescue, every Squad, and a certain number of designated Hazmat Tech engines were trained in rescue and recovery operations in a contaminated atmosphere, while an additional several dozen Chemical Protective Clothing Ladder Companies were trained in basic operations while wearing Hazmat suits. The SOB Support Ladders also had basic training, as did a number of special Hazmat-Tactical Ambulances, so that paramedics could operate inside a contaminated area if needed.

'Division 3 calling Battalion 9 on the 800Mhz radio, K.' Chief Misty Morning was trying to get in touch with Firebrand, and he leaned into his car to answer.

'Battalion 9, go ahead Chief.'

'Do you have confirmed victims at this time?' Misty Morning asked.

'10-4 Chief. Engine 25 had visual confirmation of approximately thirty to forty victims on the platforms of the A/C/E subway line,' Firebrand replied. 'I'm having Rescue 1 suit up for entry.'

'10-4 Battalion 9. I'm three minutes out,' Misty Morning answered, the siren of her SUV audible over the radio link as her driver tried to force his way through midtown traffic. 'Hold off on the Rescue until we get either the Squad or a Hazmat Tech Engine on scene to back them up.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4.' Firebrand replaced the radio and looked around to try and get a better size-up of the situation. It was almost impossible given the nature of the incident. It was hidden away below ground, with no clear view of the scene and no way to safely access it for the majority of first responders. There could be thousands of ponies in the transit system at just this one station, and thousands more in the bus terminal above. There was no way of knowing yet exactly what exactly was the cause of the collapsed victims underground, or, if it was indeed a nerve agent, whether it was airborne or simply a liquid which had been spread on railings or turnstiles, if the source of the agent was still present, or if those who had released it were still in the station. At this point, there were more unknowns than knowns.

'Battalion 2 calling Battalion 9 on the 800Mhz, K.'

'Go ahead, Battalion 2,' Firebrand replied, reaching into his car again to respond on the other radio set. Battalion 2 was acting as the Transit Liaison officer, who would respond to the Transit Authority's headquarters whenever there was a significant incident on the subway network.

'Transit have CCTV footage of the Port Authority station. At this time we appear to have at least fifty victims on the A/C/E Line, on both the northbound and southbound platforms. A train just left the station heading south. Transit has halted it mid-tunnel. PD have been notified and are responding to the 38th Street subway emergency exit to intercept it, K.'

'10-4, Battalion 2. Can you confirm with Transit that they are stopping all movements on all lines that service this station, K?' Firebrand asked.

'They're in the process right now of shutting down all train traffic, but I'll have to get back to you on that,' Battalion 2 replied. 'Do you want all lines shut down at Celestia Square also, K?'

'10-4. All lines at both stations, shut down all train traffic. Also make sure Transit is shutting down the ventilation fans on the A/C/E Line, K,' Firebrand added. The huge fan plants which normally pumped fresh air through the tunnels to help cool the stations and equipment and stop the atmosphere below ground getting too stale could also push smoke to another station in event of a fire, or, in this case, potentially disperse an airborne nerve agent to the next station down the line, another catastrophe in the making if it was allowed to happen. One station, or rather two connected stations, was more than enough to be dealing with. If this was indeed a terrorist incident, then the perpetrators could well be still on board the southbound train which had been halted, intending to set off a second device or spray more liquid at the next station, which was why police were hurrying to the subway emergency exit, from where they could gain access to the train mid-tunnel.

While Firebrand was trying to direct a dozen different things, juggling all the functions which, once an incident really got underway, would be delegated to other Chiefs or company officers, Captain Grey Spike was getting his crew ready for an entry to a potential hot zone. Ordinary fireponies lacked the gear needed to enter a contaminated atmosphere, and until Hazmat arrived, the Rescue was the only capable unit on the scene. Under department policy, they would not be permitted to enter the subway until at least one other unit- a Squad, Haz Tech engine, or Chemical Protective Clothing company- which was trained and equipped for the same thing had arrived. This was an extension of the HOOF Truck concept, where a dedicated unit was set aside to do nothing but wait around at the scene of an incident in case a firepony became injured or trapped and needed help. The same applied to water rescues- whenever a department diver was put into the water, an extra dive-capable unit was called to the scene in case assistance was needed, and the same applied again to Hazmat incidents. If an entry team member got into trouble in a contaminated zone, they could only be rescued by a firepony who was similarly equipped and trained, so a backup unit was always put in place.

Nevertheless, Ember Blaze and Flagstaff were being prepped for entry, and Grey Spike would put on the third entry suit. It was Level A protection, the kind of gear civilians sometimes referred to as space suits because of their broad resemblance to something they might expect to find in the budding Equestrian Space Agency, which had landed ponies on the moon fifty years ago but had not been back since. The suits consisted of an outer rubberized layer, completely airtight, with a self-contained breathing cylinder and mask underneath, and an inner vapor-tight suit in case the outer layer was penetrated. A large fog-proof visor provided some limited visibility, and a radio headset could be worn beneath the suit for communication. But the gear was cumbersome and not ideal. Protective suits that were less restrictive were available, but provided consequently less protection against potential threats. Such suits would be used by other units who were treating and rescuing victims on the periphery of an incident, and those operating in the so-called warm zone, between the heavily contaminated area and the safe area outside, or in this case above. An attempt to find and potentially deactivate the source of the nerve agent, if that was indeed what had caused the casualties here, would have to utilise the maximum protection available.

While Rescue 1 was getting geared up, Engine 25 were putting tape across the subway entrance where they had made entry to keep civilians out. Deep Blue and Dark Flash were taking care of that, directing civilians away with the help of a pair of police officers who had arrived on the scene from hoof patrol.

Striker and Dawn had stripped out of their bunker gear- they had entered a contaminated area and their gear would have to be thoroughly cleaned by a specialist team before it could be reused. More likely it would simply be incinerated. Lieutenant Coppertop had done the same.

'Lieu?' Dawn spoke up, coughing a little. 'We'd better go see EMS, right?' He looked at Coppertop, who was sitting on the side step of the engine. He didn't respond. 'Lieutenant?' Dawn repeated, putting a hoof on Coppertop's shoulder. He felt wetness; the Lieutenant was sweating profusely. Dawn took a closer look, and saw that he wasn't just sweating, but also crying- not sobbing, but merely with tears streaming down his cheeks from eyes with shrunken pupils.

'Hey, Striker?' Dawn called, wincing a little. he felt moisture on his own face, too. 'Striker? I think the Lieutenant...he's, uh...I think he's sick or...or...' Dawn stumbled against the side of the rig. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. Nor could he move, at least not in any coordinated way. His legs were suddenly weak, and so was his bladder. Now there was moisture running down his hind legs, too, as Striker was at his side, trying to support him. But Dawn's legs wouldn't hold his weight anymore, and he fell to the ground, almost at the same time as Lieutenant Coppertop slumped over and fell from the engine's step.

'Shit...!' Striker swore, fumbling with his radio. 'Engine 25, Mayday, Mayday! Fireponies down! Fireponies down!'

Going Underground

'Engine 25, Mayday, Mayday! Fireponies down! Fireponies down!'

The message crackled out from every radio that was tuned to the on-scene frequency, alerting other fireponies to the emergency. Some of their fellows needed help. It drew concerned glances from those who heard it, not least from Ember Blaze; his brother's company was in trouble. He didn't know who, which fireponies were down, or why, but he did know that Engine 25 had been assigned to a medical call in the subway minutes earlier. A creeping dread slowly filled his heart. Engine 25 had made the initial report, called in the 10-60, the major emergency signal. They must have found out what was wrong, which surely meant they must have gone down underground- which surely meant whoever had done so had been exposed to whatever was affecting the numerous victims. Blaze didn't know if Dawn would have gone in or not, but his first aid training was fresher than that of the other members of the company, and he needed to gain as much experience as he could in as many different types of incidents as possible.

Blaze couldn't focus on that now. He had his own job to do, and it would soon be his turn to go below ground and help others; just like at any fire, except that this time they would not be fighting the roaring inferno, the thick, choking smoke and scalding flame. This time, they would be fighting an invisible enemy, an insidious foe that could be anywhere, or nowhere.

'Shit, shit, shit...!' Striker scrabbled with the medical bag frantically as Dark Flash and Deep Blue rushed over to help. Deep Blue climbed into the cab and got on the radio, sending a message to the dispatcher that they needed EMS at the northeast corner of 42nd St and 8th Avenue for two fireponies down from unknown causes. Unknown, but suspected. Not an absolute guarantee, but everything seemed to indicate one thing. The situation underground, the casualties with no evident cause, and the symptoms both Coppertop and Dawn were displaying- weakness, sweating, involuntary urination, crying, pinpoint pupils- all pointed squarely at nerve agent exposure. There wasn't much else out there that could cause all of those things, excepting the small possibility of a particularly specific and powerful magical spell.

Deep Blue received confirmation that the medics were on their way, but by the time she stepped down from the cab, there weren't two fireponies down. There were three.

Striker was now slumped against the side of the engine as well, sweating and twitching, leaving just the two mares to help them until the medics arrived. Every company in the city carried nerve agent antidote kits, enough to treat the members of the crew in the event of exposure to chemical weapons, or industrial chemicals which might have the same effect on the body. The kits consisted of auto-injectors, a kind of syringe which would inject the drug into the victim. There were two, one containing atropine to keep the heart rate up, and pralidoxime chloride, or 2-PAM Cl, which would counteract the element of the nerve agent which suppressed neurotransmitters, the lifeblood of the nervous system that carried electrical impulses from the brain.

That would result, in short order, in diminished organ function and rapid asphyxiation due to a loss of control over the muscles that inflated and deflated the lungs, or to cardiac arrest due to the same effect on the muscles of the heart. The combination of drugs was designed to overcome the main effects of nerve agents and keep a victim alive until medical care could be administered. The kits had been routinely issued to soldiers and Royal Guard when on deployments for many years, as several of the old foes of Equestria maintained stockpiles of chemical weapons, which were believed to include nerve gases. More recently they had been issued to fireponies in major cities across Equestria in case of potential terror attacks.

Now they were going to be used in action by fireponies for the first time. With their company officer out of action, Deep Blue and Dark Flash grabbed the antidote kits from the medical kit. An officer had to give permission to administer them, because if the drugs were given to a healthy system not affected by nerve agents, they could cause death just as easily as the nerve agent would. Deep Blue got on the radio.

'Engine 25 Chauffeur calling Battalion 9, Mayday!'

'Go ahead, 25 Chauffeur,' Firebrand replied.

'We have three firefighters down with symptoms of organophosphate poisoning after entering the subway, including our officer. We need EMS and permission to administer the antidote kits, K!' she informed him, trying to keep her voice steady, not easy under such stress.

'10-4, 25 Chauffeur. Administer the kits,' Firebrand ordered. There was no doubt in his mind that nerve agents had caused this incident and had poisoned his fireponies. There was nothing else that could have done so, so rapidly and so widespread within the station without being noticed by the passengers, and caused the classic symptoms of a nerve agent. 'EMS are on the way,' the Chief added, reassurance for shaken fireponies who needed guidance. The whole incident needed more guidance, more Chiefs, more direction, because it was too large in scale for Firebrand to be able to direct everything himself. Help was on the way, but immediate action was needed.

Dark Flash and Deep Blue took the antidote kits, flipping the plastic cover from the needles of the autoinjectors. They stabbed them into the flanks of each of their twitching fellows, just at the top of the hind leg where muscle mass was greatest, atropine first, then the pralidoxime chloride. That was all they could do until the paramedics arrived, but luckily it was less than a minute until the ambulance which had already arrived at the scene pulled up beside them and the medics climbed down to help. More ambulances were coming; more fire engines were coming. More resources were coming, but every minute that passed meant less hope for survival for the victims trapped underground.

The medics quickly examined each of the downed fireponies. Rapid application of the antidote kits could save the life of somepony exposed to a big dose of nerve agent, and prevent the onset of more serious symptoms in those who had received less exposure. Coppertop, Striker and Dawn had only been in the subway for a few moments before the Lieutenant realised the danger and ordered them back to the surface, but depending on where in the station the nerve agent had been released, they could have taken a lethal dose easily enough. Concentrations of gas would vary from platform to platform, from end to end, from line to line and even from one side of a pillar to another, depending on the air flow both from the ventilation fans, which Chief Firebrand had ordered shut down, and also the natural flows of fresh air from the surface coming down the stairwells and escalators. In theory, that was why the subway was the ideal place to unleash a nerve agent; lots of ponies, cramped together on trains and crowded platforms, with air flow that could carry the gas, potentially, down the line to the next station to perhaps inflict further casualties, assuming it hadn't dispersed to non-lethal levels by then.

More ambulances were arriving now; there was an EMS station just a few blocks away, and several hospitals within half a mile of the Bus Terminal. One of the Haz-Tac Ambulances, the Hazmat-Tactical units whose crews were trained to enter and operate in contaminated zones, pulled up near to Rescue 1. There were three engines now at the scene as well, including Engine 25 who were now out of action. That was a problem, of course, but there were enough resources coming in to be able to counteract their absence from the operation, at least to begin with. While the rescuers-turned-victims were treated, and Ember Dawn's pinpointed pupils gazed upward at the faces of the paramedics, his brother was suiting up to go into the same atmosphere which had felled him and his fellow fireponies, and at least several dozen civilians.

Engine 44's well trained crew suited up, along with the Squad when it arrived. That gave a total of nine fully-kitted fireponies in Hazmat suits ready to enter the subway station. Division 3, Deputy Chief Misty Morning, had taken command of the incident. Police were blocking the roads and turning traffic down side streets, trying to keep the way open for responding units. There were half a dozen ambulances, dozens of fireponies. But the task they faced was a daunting one. When the Bus Terminal had been alerted to the danger, they had broadcast a message of calm and sounded the fire alarms, but naturally being informed of a major incident in the subway below panicked many, and thousands of commuters and tourists were trying to pile out of the glass doors of the building, compounding efforts to get rescuers inside to help. The same message had been broadcast over the public address systems in the subway, too, in case there was anypony still conscious and able to heed the warning. The Transit Police were trying their best to evacuate Celestia Square station before any of the nerve agent could spread, but it was a complex maze of passageways, ventilation ducts and maintenance corridors, and the gas could seep through any one of them at any time. It may already have been too late, with the police officers desperately trying to evacuate the station already exposed to the deadly invisible cloud. At anything except the very highest doses, it would take a minute or two for symptoms to become evident, as it had with the three downed fireponies.

Ember Blaze knew his brother might be in trouble, might be one of those reported to be down. But he also knew he couldn't focus too much on the thought. If Dawn was fine, then he was fine, and if he wasn't, then he was in the hooves of EMS now, and the antidote kits had been administered. Blaze had to focus on stopping anyone else from becoming affected by the chemical attack.

Together with Grey Spike and Flagstaff, he was guided to the stairway down into the subway, at the northwest corner of 42nd and 8th, the top end of the Bus Terminal and the closest entry point to the command post set up by Misty Morning and Firebrand, on the other side of 42nd Street. The command post had to be kept clear of the Bus Terminal itself, in case the gas should spread upward into the structure. The last thing they needed was for the incident command team to become incapacitated, or worse, in the middle of such a major incident.

Blaze peered out from within his plastic and rubber cocoon. Regular firepony gear was claustrophobic at the best of times, with the restrictive mask and helmet. But being inside a full level A Hazmat suit was a different beast altogether. It was like wearing an old suit of armour from medieval Equestria, when knights would clash on the field of battle with extremely limited visibility through their visors. The perspex window on the front of the suit allowed a decent forward view, but peripheral vision was limited to almost nothing beyond more than a few degrees from centre. Movement was even more restricted, as the cumbersome neoprene rubber suits were not designed for swift coverage of ground or high physical exertion. They were designed for protection, just as the armour of old had been, except that this was not protection against some swinging axe or wayward arrow. This was protection against something so insidious it could not even be seen, something that could infiltrate the body as well as any Changeling could infiltrate a gathering of ponies and remain completely undetected until it was too late to counteract.

Blaze lumbered forward. He had a small detector, a simple piece of paper similar to litmus paper found in science labs which told the pH of a substance. By a similar process, this special paper would change colours depending on which chemical it was exposed to. If it didn't change at all, there was no nerve gas present in the station, which would change what seemed to be a clear-cut situation into one of sheer confusion over what else could have caused the mass casualty incident to unfold so rapidly.

'Alright, entry team 1, listen up!' Chief Misty Morning addressed the Rescue crew who were suited and ready to go. 'You're heading to the southbound platform on the A/C/E Line. Entry Team 2,' she turned to Squad 18, 'you're going to the northbound platform. Recon at this stage. You're the first units in. Confirm the presence of nerve agent if you can. That's your primary goal. Identify the source if you can, but don't move it or touch it if you do. If you find a container or an aerosol or any potential secondary device, mark its location and back the hell out. We wait for Hazmat 1 and the bomb squad. Engine 44, you're entry team 3, in conjunction with Ladder 7, Ladder 21, and Ladder 35, teaming up with EMS Haz-Tac units for victim retrieval. Engine 24 will be the decon engine once you start bringing ponies out. Everypony clear?'

There was a chorus of responses. 'Yes ma'am!' 'Copy Chief!' '10-4 Chief!'

'Alright, let's move move move. Ponies' lives are in your hooves,' she reminded them all. Captain Grey Spike led the way across the now-cleared avenue to the nearest stairwell down to the southbound platform. Engine 25 was parked nearby, and Blaze tried his best not to be distracted by thoughts of his brother, but that was hard when he could see his engine and also numerous medics just beyond it, where they were treating whichever fireponies had suffered the effects of whatever had felled so many civilians. That was what they were there to find out.

Grey Spike led the way down the stairs, which had been secured by other units and police, with no fireponies or medics allowed downstairs unless they were in protective gear. Blaze followed his Captain, careful on the stairs as the overboots of the suit were rather larger than most other hoofwear. Falling while wearing the suit would turn one into something of a turtle, unable to get back up without help, and it also ran the danger of tearing the suit and allowing death to enter. Flagstaff brought up the rear.

At the bottom of the staircase, a small concourse with ticket machines and an information booth sat empty. Grey Spike moved in, scanning ahead with a multi-gas meter in case there were any other contaminants in the air. Each firepony had a strip of the detector paper clipped to the outside of their suits. Blaze checked his religiously every couple of steps as he moved forward. As they approached the turnstiles, Grey Spike stopped and turned back to face him. The strip of detector paper on his suit had turned yellow. Blaze looked down at his own. It had changed colour as well. Yellow. They both looked at Flagstaff as she reached their side. Yellow.

'Rescue 1 to Command?' Grey Spike's voice came over Blaze's radio headset. 'We have confirmation of a G-Type nerve agent in the subway, K.'

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?

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.

Meadowbrook

'...Police and fire officials are warning residents and travelers to stay away from the midtown area of the borough of Manehattan due to the traffic congestion as a result of the street closures. Mayor Pomade is reportedly at the scene, along with MFD Chief of Department Starfire Storm, and Police Commissioner Ironside. Princess Celestia is reportedly being kept up to date with the ongoing situation. From midtown for WMTN news, I'm Camera Obscura.'

Rosebush Roulade watched the news and sipped at a cup of herbal tea with the customary anxiety of the partner and family of every firepony. Every time there was a report of a fire or emergency that was newsworthy, nerves set in among even the most battle-hardened spouse or parent, with that tiny glimmer of a possibility at the back of the mind that their loved one might fall victim to some structural collapse, a backdraft, an accident responding to the scene, or any number of other possible scenarios. It was an understandable worry, though not a particularly healthy one, as fires and other incidents were happening all day every day in Manehattan, and it would not be good for mental health to worry constantly about things beyond their control. But Rosebush had learned to live with the low-level anxiety, and as long as she didn't think about it, she was fine. She knew Dawn was well trained and had experienced ponies in his company and in his firehouse, including his own brother, who must know what he was doing, as she had seen him making a daring snatch of a young foal on tv during the recent hurricane. She knew that Dawn was dedicated, focused, brave. She knew he would be fine. And yet...

'That was Camera Obscura reporting live from the scene. To bring you up to speed if you're just joining us, a major incident has been declared this evening in midtown Manehattan, after a reported chemical leak in the subway at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. The terminal and station have been shut down, along with Celestia Square station. We currently have no word from emergency officials as to the cause of the chemical leak, but eyewitness reports indicate that both the police bomb squad and personnel from the Royal Guard's Domestic Security Division are at the scene, fueling speculation that this may be a terror-related incident. Reports on any casualties are scarce at the moment, but it is believed that at least some victims have already been admitted to area hospitals. We have had no official confirmation from the MFD, but WMTN News understands that at least three fireponies have been taken to hospital as a result of this unfolding emergency. We have no word on their condition.'

Rosebush tightened her grip on her teacup. There were thousands of fireponies in the department. It could be anypony. But Dawn's firehouse was close to the bus terminal, very close, perhaps the closest one or perhaps not, she wasn't sure. She couldn't dwell on it. She drained her tea and went to start preparing a meal for when Dawn got home at the end of his shift in a few hours. That was the best thing to do- occupy one's mind with something else, preferably something routine, and she always cooked. This was her routine, and this was the perfect way to distract herself.

Then the phone rang.

'Progress report for your 10-60 4th Alarm at Box 7163, the A/C/E subway line at 42nd Street and 8th Avenue. Car 3, Chief of Department Starfire Storm, reports she has a confirmed nerve agent release in the station. The suspected dispersal device has been packaged by Hazmat 1 and PD bomb squad and is being transported from the scene. Searches are continuing for possible additional devices. Casualties are being removed from the station and the process is ongoing. At this time we have fifteen black tags, twelve red tags, seventeen yellow tags and fifty two green tags. Car 3 requests you special call one additional Battalion Chief, one additional Rescue, and one additional Squad for relief purposes, K.'

Ember Blaze rested on the rear bumper of the Rescue rig. He was drenched in sweat, and a very welcome bottle of chilled energy drink from the RAC- Recuperation & Care- vehicle was helping to cool him off and replenish his electrolytes, drained by just thirty minutes' work in the subway ensconced in the Hazmat suit. Grey Spike and Flagstaff were with him, cooling off after their exertions. Their task had been accomplished successfully. They hadn't gone in to pull ponies to safety, that had been the work of other companies. They had gone in to make sure the source of the nerve agent could be found, identified, mitigated, and removed, and that was exactly what had happened. The bomb squad had taken the canister, sealed in an airtight container, away to be transported by ground to the laboratory out in Princess. They had a specialist trailer, like a large metal globe, a pressure vessel which was designed to contain the force of an explosion, allowing the police to move unexploded bombs and suspicious devices safely to their weapons range up in The Ponyx where they would be safely detonated. While the nerve agent device was already inside an airtight container, just to be absolutely safe it was bundled straight into the bomb containment vessel and whisked away, escorted by police motorbike outriders.

From where he sat, Blaze could see the lifeless bodies being carried to the surface by the Hazmat teams. Enough time had passed since the gas had been released that this was no longer a rescue, but a recovery. Without rapid treatment with an antidote kit, there was no chance for those exposed to the full force of the nerve agent and receiving a large dose. The effects on their nervous system were too rapid to be reversed after so long.

Chief Firebrand and an EMS Captain approached the Rescue crew as they rested. 'Blaze?' Firebrand spoke.

'Yes, Chief?' Blaze looked up, taking a swig of energy drink.

'You need to go with the Captain,' Firebrand said, nodding in the direction of the mare wearing the orange turnout gear of the department's EMS division. 'Your brother is in the hospital.'

While the other units continued to tackle the problems of evacuation, search and recovery below ground, Ember Blaze rode north in the back seat of Chief Firebrand's SUV. 8th Avenue was almost totally clear north of the incident due to the shutdown, with only a few cars and trucks trickling in from side streets, allowing them to make the journey up to Meadowbrook Memorial in less than two minutes. Blaze had been trying to use the Chief's department cellphone to contact Rosebush Roulade and let her know about her fiancee, but there was no reply. Perhaps she had already been called by the department and was on her way to the hospital?

Blaze didn't know yet, nor did he know the condition of his brother. Firebrand had relayed the latest information from the hospital to him, but it didn't tell him much other than that Dawn was alive and conscious. At least that was good news. Blaze was not a doctor or a neuroscientist, but he knew enough about nerve agents thanks to his Hazmat and WMD training that being conscious meant that Dawn most likely hadn't received a huge dose. That didn't necessarily mean it wouldn't prove fatal, but the signs seemed to be there that he wasn't in a critical condition.

Firebrand's driver pulled into the driveway of the emergency department at Meadowbrook, and Blaze and the Chief climbed out. Firebrand had to report to the hospital as well; the injured fireponies were his responsibility as he was the Battalion commander. He had been relieved of his operational duties as the entry control chief at the chemical incident by the Safety Battalion, a specially trained Chief officer whose sole duty was to ensure that operations at major fires or incidents were carried out in the safest possible way for the fireponies at the scene, and to advise the incident commander of any potential dangers- weak rooftops, leaning cornices, electrical or gas conditions and suchlike. He was the ideal officer to take over the responsibility of tracking fireponies and victims in and out of the deadly atmosphere of the contaminated subway station, freeing Firebrand to attend to his ponies.

Blaze and his Chief headed into the emergency room. It was busy; as well as the three fireponies, at least a dozen of the civilian patients from the nerve gas attack had been brought in after prompt decontamination by an engine company and low-pressure water from a hose. It wasn't a comprehensive job such as that given to Blaze when he emerged from the subway- time was a precious resource, that was available to clean his suit, but not to clear every last bit of contamination from a victim who needed immediate medical care. It was a dangerous balance that had to be struck, because an inefficient job could expose the doctors and nurses at the hospital to the same contamination, but waiting for a complete and comprehensive decon procedure with bleach and other chemicals would likely delay life-saving care long enough that those victims rescued alive from the subway would be dead before they reached the hospital.

A doctor approached them as they entered. 'Chief? You must be here for your boys.'

'How are they, doc?' Firebrand questioned. 'What can you tell us?'

'They're all stable,' the doctor replied. 'They had the antidote kits administered at the scene, and that stopped them deteriorating too far. Most likely saved their lives. Definite nerve agent exposure, there's no doubt of that. Better commend whoever it was that administered the kits, Chief. It would have been much worse if they hadn't acted when they did.'

Firebrand nodded. 'Copy that, doc. Are you in contact with EMS?'

'We're tied in to the citywide relay,' the doctor confirmed. 'We're getting constant updates from the scene on the number of patients. We've got fifteen so far, more coming. They're splitting them between us and Manehattan University Hospital for the most part. We can handle the numbers they're reporting at the moment.'

'Alright, that's good,' Firebrand nodded. 'Now what about the families? Have you been able to contact them?'

'Yes, they've all been contacted,' the doctor assured him. 'We were able to direct the relatives to come here, but we asked only one relative for each victim due to the number of casualties we're taking in. We don't want to overrun the emergency room with family members when we're still trying to treat the victims.'

'Right. You already contacted somepony for Ember Dawn?' Firebrand asked, getting another nod from the doctor.

'We called his fiancee, she's on her way here,' he explained.

'Can you make an exception in this one case?' Firebrand questioned. 'This is Ember Blaze, his brother.' He nodded in the direction of Blaze. The doctor nodded.

'We'll make an exception, yeah. Is the rest of their company coming in?'

'They're on their way too,' Firebrand replied. 'There's only two of them. Actually they're the ones who administered the antidote kits. They won't bother you. They'll stay out of the way.'

'Got it. Thanks, Chief. I'd better get back to work,' the doctor responded, as an ambulance pulled into the driveway to the emergency department, ready to disgorge another patient. A trauma team hurried out of the entrance to meet them.

'Just sit over there for now, Chief,' the doctor gestured. 'We'll let you know when we have more information or when you can see them.' The ambulance pulled up and the driver jumped down, hurrying to the back doors with the trauma team, opening them up. The orderlies and the driver took hold of the stretcher, sliding it down the ramp to the ground while the other paramedic continued to pump the chest of a young stallion. A nurse applied a bag-valve mask and began to pump oxygen as they hurried the victim inside. There was a chance of saving his life, of course, but finding himself at a point where CPR was needed after exposure to a nerve agent did not give him very good odds of beating the grim reaper's beckoning scythe. The doctor headed back inside to tend to his patients, and Firebrand turned to Blaze.

'Let's just sit and wait,' the Chief spoke. 'Sounds like you're brother is gonna be fine, the others too. They're in good hooves, that's for sure. Meadowbrook is one of the best hospitals in the city

'I hope you're right, Chief,' Blaze responded, taking a seat in the corner of the waiting area. More patients were being wheeled in, some with CPR being administered, others sitting up on the stretcher and talking, but there was only one patient that Blaze had on his mind at that precise moment. There was concern for Coppertop and Striker too, of course. Any time a fellow firepony went down at an incident, every other firepony worried until they knew their injuries were not life threatening. But they had all been described as stable by the doctor, and Blaze could only think of his brother, only on the job for a few months, and now in the hospital, not with burns, but with nerve gas poisoning.

Dark Flash and Deep Blue arrived a few minutes later, having hitched a ride on the 3rd Division transport van. Their engine was still at the scene; Dawn and the others had come into contact with it after leaving the subway, and it had to remain at 42nd Street until it could be hitched onto a tow truck and taken away to the fleet repair depot for a thorough decontamination, just in case there were any traces of the nerve agent left behind by the hooves of the contaminated fireponies. Coppertop, for instance, had certainly touched the radio mouthpiece to send his report to the dispatcher, and who knew what other nooks and crannies of the rig might still harbour deadly chemicals. Deep Blue and Dark Flash had also had to undergo decontamination before being released from the scene as they had treated the rest of their crew and come into close contact with them.

Firebrand filled them in on the status of their colleagues, and they sat to await further news. Rosebush Roulade arrived a little after, and Blaze quickly got up and approached her as he saw her frantically looking around for a doctor or nurse to speak with. She put a hoof to her chest when she saw him, and quickly trotted over.

'The doctor said he's stable,' Blaze began with the good news to assuage Rosebush's obvious fears, and she quickly pulled her fiancee's brother into a hug.

'Oh, thank Celestia...' she sighed. 'I was watching the news...they said fireponies were hurt but I had no idea...I mean, not officially, until the phone rang. Are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' Blaze replied, feeling no need to burden her with the knowledge that he had been down into the subway and seen the bloodless slaughterhouse of the A/C/E Line platforms. No doubt the casualty figures would be emblazoned on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow morning, not just across the city but all of Equestria. Terror Strikes Manehattan! Celestia Vows Swift Justice For Perpetrators! Royal Guard Face Tough Questions- Why Weren't We Prepared?

Rosebush sat with the others who made room for her. The mother of Striker and Coppertop's wife arrived and sat with them as well, waiting for more updates, but the doctors were busy with the flow of nerve gas patients. Normally when a firepony was injured at a job, the Chief of Department or the Commissioner would show up at the hospital, but they were both tied up with the unfolding situation. Instead the First Deputy Commissioner, a political appointment like the Commissioner himself, arrived with her entourage to offer the usual platitudes and words of comfort to the families. It was Doctor Morpheus, however, who provided them with the words they actually wanted to hear when he trotted out of the trauma area.

'All three of our firepony patients are stable and conscious. They're all in good shape and are recovering well. We'll have to keep them in overnight for observations, but I think they should all be able to go home in a day or two. You'll be able to see them later on tonight once things have calmed down here and we're able to move them to a ward.' There were looks of relief on the faces of the family members. Morpheus turned to Deep Blue and Dark Flash. 'The Chief here says it was you two who administered the antidote kits so promptly. I'd say you almost certainly saved all three of their lives by doing so so quickly. Well done.'

That prompted another outpouring of emotion from the families, who turned their thanks from the doctors to the two members of Engine 25 who had acted to aid their comrades with such haste. Blaze took a step back to stand with Firebrand and leave them to their well-earned praise. Rosebush was here and would be allowed in to see Dawn soon enough, but with his brother out of danger, Blaze now had a desire to put himself back into it.

'Chief?' he turned to Firebrand. 'Request permission to return to the scene.'

The Address

'The final reckoning will be some time in coming, but the facts are there in black and white. Ponies are dead, and ponies are hurting. Families have been torn apart by the most brazen and dastardly terror attack in Equestrian history. We are expecting official casualty figures later today. The New Lunar Republic separatist group has claimed responsibility, and already law enforcement agencies have swooped into action. Reportedly some two dozen suspected members of the group have been rounded up for questioning by the Royal Guard and the Manehattan Police Department.'

Rosebush sat in front of the tv once more, except that she wasn't in her apartment. This time, she was in a hospital room, where Dawn lay in bed. She had visited him the previous evening when the doctors had given permission, then gone home and slept before returning the following morning.

'There are further questions being asked this morning about how the NLR were able to acquire or create a nerve agent. Chemical weapons are closely guarded by the Equestrian military and their foreign counterparts, and the high security laboratories where they are created, and the bases where they are stored, are well protected against external intrusion. No such facility in Equestria, New Zebrica or the Griffon Kingdom have reported any security breaches in the last two years, according to government reports, fueling speculation that the New Lunar Republic may have been able to create their own gas in secret. There have been renewed calls from disarmament and other pressure groups for the Equestrian military to give up all of its weapons of mass destruction, not just chemical, but biological, nuclear and magical as well. This worrying development comes at a time when the terror group has clearly stepped up its efforts to spread division and fear across Equestria. The last terror attack to be positively linked to the radical group was a shooting at a Vanhoover mall some ten months ago that killed five and wounded eight. Many commentators have asked questions as to why the group has been so quiet over the last year, and it seems that, sadly, many of those questions were answered last night in the most tragic of ways. For WMTN News, I'm Camera Obscura.'

'Come on babe, turn that off, will ya?' Dawn implored from his bed. 'Haven't we heard enough doom and gloom for one day?'

'I just want to see the address,' Rosebush replied. 'It's meant to be starting now.' She looked at the clock; it was 10AM on the dot, but instead of the news headlines, the scene instead cut to the throne room of Canterlot Palace, where Princess Celestia stood resplendent in her royal regalia, her iridescent mane and tail flowing with their usual ethereal undulating motion. She was flanked to her left by Commander Shining Armour of the Royal Guard, and to her right by her sister, Luna.

'My loyal subjects,' she began, drawing Dawn's attention despite his reluctance to listen to the news, making him sit up in bed as if he were standing to attention. 'Last night, the nation and the city of Manehattan saw a new kind of tragedy, and a new kind of threat to our society and our very way of life. Terrorists struck at the very beating heart of our largest city, where millions of creatures live and work and play. It is my sad duty to report to you the current casualty figures as a result of this heinous assault on your freedoms. At the present time, there are eighty two confirmed dead, thirty six in critical condition, and another five hundred and fifty eight injuries. These figures include not just ponies. A total of three Griffons, one Yak, and five Zebras are among those who passed away, and my government and I have been in contact with the Griffon Kingdom, Yakyakistan, and New Zebrica to express our condolences.'

'Oh dear, foreigners too...' Rosebush sighed. 'Oh, it's just awful...'

'The New Lunar Republic terror group has claimed this horrific act,' Celestia continued. 'Once again, I condemn this group, their views, their actions, and their members in the strongest possible terms. These are not citizens of Equestria any longer. They are not ponies any more. They have mutated into something alien, something abhorrent, something diametrically opposed to our nation's values, to everything we stand for, for everything our soldiers and sailors and airponies have fought long and hard to secure. The bravery of our military is matched only by the bravery of our first responders. Fireponies, police officers and paramedics raced to the scene last night with their only intent being to save innocent lives that others would so cruelly take from us. I want to pay particular tribute to the three fireponies and two transit police officers who have been hospitalized as a result of this terrible crime. Your courage and generosity of spirit are what has made Equestria into the country it is today, and I thank you. I thank all of those who ran into danger while others were fleeing from it.'

'Oh, she mentioned you!' Rosebush smiled, turning to her fiancee. 'Well, not by name, but...'

'That's because the department haven't released our names yet,' Dawn replied with the prosaic reason, though he couldn't help but smile at getting any kind of direct recognition from his sovereign. 'We're just three anonymous fireponies, and that's probably for the best. Do you really want reporters showing up at our apartment all the time?'

'The New Lunar Republic has long been a proscribed organisation,' Celestia continued on the screen. 'Membership has been banned and the group has been placed on the register of known terrorist threats. Today, I am taking things one step further. It is the only way that we can combat such an insidious threat. These enemies walk among us. They look like us. Just like the Changelings, to the pony in the street, it is impossible to know who around them may be a terrorist until they enact their despicable plans. Therefore, as of noon today, I am empowering the Royal Guard, the military, and all municipal, regional and national law enforcement agencies to stop and search any individual, regardless of age, race, gender or species, should they consider it to be in the public interest, or should they receive any indication of suspicious behaviour, or if that individual fits the profile of a known or suspected member of the New Lunar Republic. Furthermore, I am increasing the punishment for acts of terror and membership of this group. From noon today, any citizen of Equestria found to be a member of the New Lunar Republic will be sentenced to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole. Any citizen found to have committed, to have aided and abetted in the commission of, or to have planned to commit an act of terror, will be sentenced in the harshest possible way.'

'Oh, she's going to banish them to Tartarus...good...' Rosebush spat in disgust. But Celestia had other plans.

'Any citizen found to have committed any of those crimes, will be sentenced to death.'

Both Rosebush and Dawn blinked and looked at each other. 'Can...can she do that?' Rosebush asked.

'Of course she can, she's the Princess,' Dawn replied, though he still couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. The death penalty had been off the statue books ever since the royal sisters regained control of Equestria from Discord many centuries ago. The most heinous criminals and villains had historically been banished to the strange subterranean realm of Tartarus, only accessible by magic. Celestia continued speaking, explaining her decision.

'I have made this choice because of the simple fact that these terrorists do not simply wish to take control away from your appointed rulers. They do not wish to exert power over you. They wish to destroy you, to tear this nation apart from the inside, to foment terror and fear, to turn father against son, mother against daughter, brother against brother with their divisive rhetoric and sinister plans. And they have taken lives. Innocent lives. Fifteen foals are dead because of their actions last night. They attack indiscriminately and without remorse with the sole intention of dividing us and making us afraid, and worst of all, they are ponies. They are not from another nation, another dimension, another planet. They are not an ancient evil from past times. They were your friends, your co-workers, before they turned their backs on you, on their Princess, and on Equestria. That cannot be allowed to go unpunished, which is why I have taken this extraordinary decision today. I know that many of you will disagree with my choice, and that is your right. But know that I have taken this step to protect you from exactly the kind of thing that happened last night. Hopefully at least a few of these terrorists will think twice about carrying out their heinous crimes knowing that no prison cell awaits them, but only the chill of a traitor's grave.'

The news conference ended with Celestia and Luna turning away from the camera, followed by Shining Armour. 'And there you have it, fillies and gentlecolts. An extraordinary address to the nation from Princess Celestia there. Stay with us for the latest political analysis of her announcements...'

Rosebush turned back to Dawn. 'Well...that was...that was...not like her at all. Not normally.'

'Well, this isn't a normal time anymore,' Dawn pointed out sadly. 'Not after last night. That changed something...for all of us, I think. Including the Princess. That wasn't a takeover or an invasion, not like Discord or Sombra or Chrysalis. It was an attack against innocents, but it was also an attack against her.'

'What do you mean?' Rosebush questioned curiously.

'Well, think about it. What is the objective of the New Lunar Republic? They want to overthrow the Solar Regime, or whatever crap they spout,' Dawn replied. 'They want to replace Celestia with Luna because they think it was Celestia who usurped the power of the throne and banished her sister out of spite and a desire to rule alone. They don't believe the history books. They've decided to rewrite their own personal history of Equestria to support their world view. We had a briefing about them, just after I joined the department, actually. There was a fear that they would try something exactly like this, some kind of attack in the city. Either here or Canterlot were deemed to be the most likely targets according to Royal Guard intelligence. So they got the target right, but they couldn't stop the attack from actually happening...I guess they get a C-. Could do better.' He snorted ruefully, which led to him coughing a few times as well.

Rosebush frowned, both at the cough and at her fiancee's words. 'So why don't they just attack the Princess? Why not try to assassinate her?'

'They know that's not going to work,' Dawn replied. 'They can't kill the Princess. She's too powerful. They know they'd get their asses handed to them, or at best they'd be gunned down by the Royal Guard.'

'Couldn't they have released their gas in Canterlot?' Rosebush suggested. 'Would that have had an effect on her?' Dawn shrugged.

'I dunno, but don't they say that she's never been ill? Maybe it wouldn't do anything to her at all, maybe it would kill her. But assassinating the Princess isn't what the NLR want. They want to undermine Equestrian society so that we overthrow the Princess for them. They don't have the numbers or the firepower to carry out a coup, and even if they did they know that Celestia would be able to kill them all anyway. The only way they think they can win is to turn the country against her, and the only way they can do that is through a joint campaign of disinformation and terror. If she lacks public support then they hope that we will turn to Luna as the alternative. What they seem to fail to remember, or maybe they deliberately forget, is that Celestia and Luna are co-regents. They both rule together. Even if they did somehow get ponies to rise up against Celestia, there's no way Luna is going to stand idly by and let them get rid of her sister. She's not going to rule according to their laws and their wishes any more than Celestia would. But there's no reasoning with terrorists. They have their agenda and that's that, they're gonna stick to it no matter what, because they've convinced themselves that it's the right thing for them to do.'

'Well hopefully the Guard can round them all up and...do whatever Celestia decides,' Rosebush replied. 'All those poor foals and mares and stallions, it's awful. I can only imagine what it was like to see it for yourself.'

'I didn't really see much,' Dawn replied. 'The Lieutenant just shouted for us to back out. All I saw was one pony down on the platform. It's Blaze you wanna talk to if you want to know what it was like down there. He went in at the start, then he got pulled out to come to the hospital...then as you know, he went back to the scene again.'

'He's as brave as his brother...' Rosebush smiled. 'But not as handsome.' She got up from the chair she was sitting in and moved to kiss dawn on the forehead. 'I have to get going now, I'll be back tomorrow to take you home...and don't worry, I'll have some real food waiting for you. Not this cheap hospital crap.' She chuckled and gave him another kiss, on the lips this time. 'I love you.'

'I love you too...' Dawn replied, smiling. Being visited by his fiancee had given him a lot of his strength back, and he was sure he would just fine by tomorrow. He was looking forward to going home, and he was looking forward to getting back to work. He waved a hoof as Rosebush departed his room, before resting his head back on the pillows. Rest was what the doctor had prescribed, and he wanted to make sure he was strong enough to get back on shift with his brother and the rest of his crew. Striker and Coppertop were both also recovering well, and Dawn was sure they would be back to work soon. He closed his eyes, and was soon drifting off into a pleasant slumber.

Valet Parking

'Come on, sweetie! We don't want to be late for your brother's hoofball game!'

'Ok mommy!' Daisy Daze skipped happily through the parking lot. She was cheerful enough; her mother had taken her shopping in one of her favourite toy stores in midtown, as well as to a pizza place for lunch, meaning she had a full belly and a new doll to play with once they got home. Her brother's hoofball game came first, however. He was a rising talent in the Hooflyn Junior High school circuit league, and his family never missed one of his matches. Today would be no different, though they would have to make the drive out to the other borough, back where they lived. Daisy clambered into the large station wagon, a necessary purchase for the family with mother, father, two foals and a dog, plus her brother's sporting equipment. Her mother, Daisy Gleam, made sure her daughter was fastened securely into the child seat in the back before taking her position and starting up the car.

'What do you think the score will be today, sweetie?' Gleam asked her daughter as she checked her mirrors and began to reverse out of the parking spot.

'I think they're gonna win by four goals to one!' Daze replied.

'And will your brother score again like he did last week?' Gleam asked, before slamming on the brakes and popping the car into neutral as a family pushing a pram suddenly appeared behind the vehicle. The father raised a hoof apologetically and they continued on their way. 'Sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to stop so suddenly,' Gleam apologised, putting the car back into gear and pressing the gas pedal. 'Do you think your brother will score?' she asked again. This time, however, distracted by the near accident with the family behind, she placed the car into first gear, jolting them forward instead of backward. The car smashed into the concrete wall, drawing a scream from the back seat as Gleam threw up her hooves to shield her eyes as the windshield buckled. The car bounced and slumped forward before stopping. Gleam applied the handbrake and turned off the engine, breathing heavily. 'Oh gosh...oh no...' She turned to her daughter. 'A-are you alright, sweetie?'

Daze nodded slowly, her lip quivering, alarmed by the sounds and the sudden jolt. 'I-i'm ok, mommy...'

Gleam looked back around. Then it was her turn to scream.

'Hey bud, you brother's gonna be back on our next shift, right?' Dark Flash called to Blaze across the apparatus floor where he was checking some of the Rescue's gear.

'Yeah, they should all be back,' Blaze replied with a nod. 'Why, you miss him?'

'Nah.' Flash shook her head with a grin. 'It's just that these replacements all came from a Ladder Company, and you know my opinion on truckies!' Blaze shook his head and chuckled.

'Yeah, well, when you get to the Rescue, you'll understand our opinion on both truckies and nozzle jockeys!' he retorted.

'I don't wanna join the Rescue,' Dark Flash responded. 'I joined the department to put out fires, not to become a spokespony for some power tool company!'

'I'll have you know that we not only use power tools, but also manual tools as well, thank you very much,' Blaze continued the back-and-forth banter. 'Sometimes doing something by hoof is better.'

He braced himself for the inevitable masturbation joke in response, but Dark Flash was interrupted by the alert tones sounding in the apparatus bay.

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue. Battalion.'

'Alright, Box 0750, West three-nine between 9th and 10th, car into a building!' Flagstaff shouted from the housewatch station as the rest of the Rescue crew scrambled out from the break room. Blaze packed away the gear he had been working on, making sure it was all stowed and returned to its correct place before climbing aboard. As the rig pulled clear of the building, he could see Dark Flash making a suitable jerkoff! motion with her hoof. He smirked and gave her a mock salute as they turned onto 8th Avenue, sirens wailing, airhorn blaring.

'Manehattan calling Battalion 9?'

'Battalion 9, go ahead,' Firebrand replied from his SUV, following the Rescue up the avenue.

'You're getting the minor technical response. Engine 65, Engine 1, Engine 24. Ladder 4, Ladder 26. Ladder 7 will be your SOB Support Ladder. You're getting Rescue 1, Squad 18, Rescue and Safety Battalions, Tac 1. Reporting a car into the wall of a parking garage, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand answered.

'Another of Manehattan's great drivers, I guess,' Flagstaff grunted. 'Ponies really need to learn how to drive properly. I mean, take Fairway here. What is it now, no accidents with the rig in fourteen years in the department?'

'Fourteen and a half,' Fairway replied, expertly maneuvering around a slow-moving delivery truck to illustrate Flagstaff's point, as well as showcasing exactly why he had such a long-stranding record of clean driving. It wasn't long before they were on 9th Avenue and racing down to the scene. With the relatively light weekend traffic, it was mainly delivery trucks and buses that had to be dodged, and within three minutes they were on 39th Street.

'Oh boy...that's not a car into a building. That's a car out of a building,' Fairway muttered, peering ahead through the windscreen. Blaze turned to look.

Sure enough, the four-story parking garage had a sizeable hole in the third floor exterior wall, from which protruded the front half of a large station wagon, hanging precariously out over the street. A small crowd of onlookers were gathered foolishly close to the structure, being ushered back by a loud and angry police mare. Engine 1 and Ladder 24 were already on the scene, stopping short and blocking traffic. 24 Truck was in the process of raising its aerial ladder beside the stricken vehicle, from where it could be moved in a number of ways depending on the orders of the incident commander, which was Chief Firebrand. The Rescue parked up and Blaze and the others climbed down.

'Anypony in that thing?' Grey Spike called out to the chauffeur of Ladder 24, who was sitting at the rear turntable controls and moving the ladder around.

'Two occupants!' he called back. Two Pegasi fireponies were in the air beside the car, checking the state of the victims and the stability of both the car, the wall, and the floor of the parking garage. 'Driver in the front, passenger in the rear, in a foal seat.'

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan, have all the units continue in emergency mode. We have a car hanging from the fourth floor of a five storey parking garage with two occupants, K,' Firebrand radioed to the dispatcher, before placing his white helmet firmly on his head. The car was balanced precariously, held by the rubble of the broken wall and the fact that it had bottomed out on the concrete floor; the front wheels were dangling over the four-storey drop, along with at least half of the vehicle.

'Alright, Rescue, get up to the fourth floor with a griphoist and straps,' Firebrand ordered. 'Get it fixed on to the car if you can do it safely, but watch for movement. Work with Ladder 24 to secure the car so we can get the occupants out. We'll use the Pegasi if we can. If you can secure the car then we can winch it back into the structure.'

'On it, Chief,' Grey Spike replied, giving directions to his fireponies as Firebrand continued to issue orders over his radio to other arriving units. Ember Blaze grabbed cribbing blocks to be placed in front of the rear wheels, assuming the back of the car could be safely approached, in order to hopefully stop it from moving forward while the griphoist, a kind of heavy duty manual winch that could be used to drag large objects or restrain them, was set up.

The fireponies approached the garage, making sure to stay well clear of the frontage beneath the dangling car in case it should tip over and fall. Inside, it was a quick ride up the elevator to the fourth floor with their gear. The rest of Ladder 24 were already there, assessing the situation. A foal was wailing mournfully from the back of the car, which, while not exactly wobbling, was clearly very precariously balanced. Any serious shift of weight forward could send it tumbling, with almost certainly fatal consequences for those within it. Blaze and the others quickly sized up the situation. There were indeed two victims in the car, a mare in the driving seat and a young filly in a foal safety seat in the back. Potentially the filly could be extracted from the back doors, but the driver's door was hanging out over the edge. She couldn't get out herself, and if she tried to crawl through to the back seats, it could upset the balance of the car and send it tumbling. Members of Ladder 24 were pleading with her to remain in her seat, taking over from bystanders who had been doing the same thing until the MFD arrived. If she took matters into her own hooves to try and save herself and her daughter, then it could result in both their deaths. She had to rely on the fireponies.

'Help her, please! Save my daughter!' the driver was screaming, pointing frantically at the back seat as the fireponies tried to calm her down. Simply rushing up and opening the door could result in just as dangerous a situation as if the mother tried to crawl out of the vehicle, for it could provide just enough force to tip the car over. Until it could be secured properly, they couldn't simply rush up to it. One of the fireponies from Ladder 24 was using his magic to try and stabilise the car, but it was too heavy for him to simply move or to lower down to the street gently. While all unicorns knew telekinesis spells, they were mostly for lifting small things; teacups, toothbrushes, paper, plates and the like. Objects could be held in place, but that was mentally taxing for the unicorn in question and could only be kept up for so long. Only the strongest and most knowledgeable unicorns could have the power to lift something that weighed several tons, which was why there was still very much a place for the fire department in such rescue operations.

'Just hold still, ma'am, ok?' the Lieutenant of Ladder 24 was repeating. 'The Rescue is here, they're gonna secure your vehicle first, but you need to stay calm and hold still for them, ok? They'll stop your car from moving and then we can get you and your daughter out of there.'

'Please save her!' the mother repeated. 'Please!'

'We're gonna get you both out of there, ma'am,' Grey Spike assured her, calling out in his strong, firm voice. 'My name is Captain Grey Spike, Rescue Company 1. We'll have you out of there in no time, alright?' He turned to his crew. 'Flagstaff, relieve their unicorn and hold that car steady. Blaze, Oak, High Line, set up that griphoist. Use that pillar for support.' He gestured to a thick concrete pillar holding up the ceiling. They sprang into action, with High Line and Oak Wood prepping the griphoist itself as Blaze unfurled the ropes that would attach the car to it. Together they tied the ropes around the pillar. The heavy-duty wire rope would hold numerous tons of weight, and Blaze and Oak unfurled enough to reach the car. Carefully, monitored by Grey Spike and, from below, Chief Firebrand, Oak looped the wire around the rear axle of the car, securing it and giving a wave of a hoof to Blaze and High Line, who began to work the levers of the griphoist, acting as a winch and slowly winding the rope in, pulling the car inch by inch away from the precipitous edge and back into the safety of the interior of the parking garage.

'Battalion 9 to Rescue 1, looking good from down here,' Firebrand radioed. 'Bring her all the way in. EMS is on scene, we're sending them up to you now, K.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4,' Grey Spike acknowledged. As soon as the front wheels of the car were back on solid concrete, Grey Spike halted the operation and the fireponies from Ladder 24 hurried in, helping the driverout of the car and removing the foal seat and its occupant, reuniting the foal and her mother with a tight and loving hug.

'Oh, thank you...thank you so much!' the mother gripped her daughter tightly. 'Thank you all...you saved us! Oh gosh...I dont't know what happened, even. I was just reversing out of the space, and someone was walking behind, so I stopped, and then I started again, but we went forwards...oh, I'm sure it was my fault but I just don't know what happened, but...thank you...' she rambled on. Paramedics arrived and checked over both patients, who had suffered no apparent injuries from their ordeal.

'Rescue 1 to Battalion 9. All victims accounted for, car secured and made safe,' Grey Spike radioed down to Firebrand. 'Reckon we're done up here.'

'10-4, Rescue 1. You guys can take up. Good job up there. We'll hand this one over to the Department of Buildings for stability checks,' Firebrand replied.

'Alright Rescue! Pack up your gear and back to the rig. We're taking up,' Grey Spike called. Blaze grabbed the ropes and helped unfasten them. The car had been pulled far enough from the edge that it wouldn't cause any further instability, and the handbrake had been applied by the driver, which had made it somewhat more difficult to pull the vehicle, but it would at least hold it in place now.

They headed downstairs to the rig after exchanging a few words with the crew of ladder 24, who were staying on the scene. The gear was packed away and up they climbed into the cab. Grey Spike used the data terminal to set their status to available. It didn't take long for a radio message for them to come in, as they were reversing out of the block.

'Manehattan calling Rescue 1, are you available, K?'

'Rescue 1, we are 10-8 and available,' Grey Spike replied. 'Got a run for us?'

'10-4 Rescue, take it in. Box 1145, Spring Street station on the for a pony under a truck.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4, we're on the way,' Grey Spike responded. Fairway reversed onto 9th Avenue, and Oak Wood and High Line, who had been helping to direct traffic as the rig backed up, leaped aboard into the open rear compartment. Fairway gunned the engine and Grey Spike hit the air horn, and they were off, racing south to answer their next alarm.

Back To Work

'Hey, look who it is!'

There was another round of applause as Ember Dawn entered the firehouse. After his discharge from hospital, under department policy, he had spent another week recuperating at home before being allowed back to work after a full physical exam at headquarters. The same applied to his fellow injured fireponies, and Coppertop and Striker, were already present; living closer to the firehouse had its advantages, and Dawn had had to take two subway lines to reach it. Celestia Station, where he left the subway, had been fully deep cleaned as a precaution, though there was no evidence that the nerve gas had spread into it from the neighbouring Bus Terminal station. The city had decided, prudently, that it could not be too careful when it came to the lives of its citizens.

Striker was the first to greet him, giving him a slap on the back and a hoof bump. 'Good ta have ya back, buddy. Good to be back, too, am I right?'

'Yeah, it's real good to be back,' Dawn replied with a nod and a grin as he looked around at all the friendly faces, his brother included. Their warm welcome made him feel that he was definitively now part of the firehouse, not a veteran but certainly somepony that the more seasoned members considered to be a dependable and decent firepony. Acceptance was something that every probie craved- the nod of approval from the senior pony on the crew, the pat on the back from the officer after a tough call. To know that they belonged in the job, that they had made the right call in following their dream, and in Dawn's case, following in his brother and father's hoofsteps.

'I dunno man, I'm gonna miss those guys from the truck,' Dark Flash suggested mischievously. 'It was nice to get something done for once when the slackers were off the team!' Everypony chuckled, including Blaze, who gave her a knowing smirk as on the last shift she had been complaining to him about the exact opposite.

'Alright Engine, roll call!' Coppertop announced. 'I'm sure you're all sad to see me back in command...' There was a quick chorus of agreements, which made the veteran officer smirk. 'Striker!'

'Present, Lieu!' Striker replied.

'Dark Flash?'

'Here, Lieu!'

'Deep Blue?'

'Copy that sir!'

'Ember Dawn?'

'Here, Lieutenant!' Dawn replied, completing the company roll call.

'Alright, let's see. Blue, chauffeur as always. Striker, you've got the nozzle. Dawn, backup, Flash, control,' Coppertop read out the day's riding list that would assign each member a seat in the rig and a specific task at a fire or other incident. Dawn was happy enough to still be the backup; he was still a probie, after all, and still had a lot to learn, and Striker was a fine teacher, using his wealth of experience to help guide the younger firepony with hints and tricks of the trade picked up over years of service in all the different positions that members of an Engine Company were expected to take. As he gained more experience, he would be rotated to other positions, with the nozzle being the ultimate goal. That was where every enginepony wanted to be, for it was the nozzlepony who actually extinguished the fire.

Once the morning announcements had been read out, everypony set about the routine work of firehouse drudgery- checking each piece of kit on board each rig to make sure it was in working order after the previous tour. Each tour was meant to make sure everything was ship-shape at the end of their working day, but that wasn't always possible if the unit had been at an incident right before the change of personnel, so to make sure the tools were checked at the start of each shift as well, just in case they might have suffered some damage or wear and tear. A blunted saw tooth or fraying rope could be a danger on the fireground, the difference between life and death, potentially, and so while the task was tedious, every firepony the city over took to it with gusto, because they needed to know they could rely on their gear at every incident they went to.

After that, it was cleaning, polishing, sweeping and mopping the apparatus bay and making sure the rigs themselves were shiny, both for maintenance reasons and to impress and inspire the public whenever they set eyes on the gleaming red and white vehicles of the Manehattan Fire Department. For the Engine, there was then building inspection, or BI, a routine where line companies of the department would visit various buildings within their first-due district to check on fire safety issues and, if necessary, issue citations for failures such as locked emergency exits or improper storage of oil or gasoline. It also had a secondary function, which was to allow the companies to identify potential dangers and problems, unusual situations that they may come up against in the future if a fire or other incident should occur in that building. There were dozens of potential issues that could throw up problems that would force their response to differ from the norm; solar panels or cellphone towers on the roof, guard dogs kept on site, chemicals being stored, weakened floors, missing staircases, non-functional elevators, unusual designation of floors or apartment numbers, renovations changing the layout of an otherwise familiar type of building, security bars on the windows, and countless others.

That took up most of the morning, along with a call to assist Ladder 4 at a stuck elevator with a pony reporting difficulty breathing inside, and another two calls to commercial fire alarm activations that turned out to be accidental. Then it was time for lunch, this time cooked by Flagstaff and consisting of toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. In the early afternoon there was some company training in the rear yard, this time in the use of ground ladders and their correct methods of extension and placement. Two medical calls filled in some time as the clock wore on and the early darkness of the beginning of winter started to set in. Then, at just before five in the afternoon...

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Rescue. Battalion.'

'Box 7140, West 47th at 12th Avenue! Water rescue, everypony goes!'

Blaze and Dawn mounted up as the bay doors opened, ready to disgorge several dozen tons of metal onto the streets of Manehattan. Headlights and flashing emergency beacons illuminated the avenue as they pulled out, the Rescue taking the lead. It was a quick drive to 12th Avenue that ran along the West River, pushing through the crosstown traffic.

'Manehattan calling Battalion 9, you have the water rescue matrix, reporting a pony in the water at Pier 84. Ladder 4will be your water rescue unit, Rescue 1, Squad 18, TAC 1, Engine 25, Engine 1, Ladder 7 and Marine 1, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4.'

Pier 84, formerly a docking site for ocean liners and cargo ships before that, had long since run into disuse thanks to the shift of shipping out to the larger container terminal just across the harbour in the district of New Pony, which could take the much larger vessels needed for bulk transport a lot more easily. As a result, city planners had turned the pier into a riverside park, with trees and plants, benches, an area for yoga and meditation, and a chance for ponies to get away from the bustle of the busy streets for a while and enjoy some relative calm by the river. After dark on an early winter's night, however, it was not a particularly inviting place, with chill air above and chill water below.

A couple of hardy souls were out walking their dogs on the pier, however, but where they had been wandering around, they were now clustered around the railings at the far end of the pier, overlooking the river. At Grey Spike's instruction, Fairway drove the Rescue along the pier, as they knew it was strong enough to take the weight and had done many times. The pier was well maintained, and used to carry heavy forklifts and thousands of tons of cargo- more than sturdy enough to hold a few emergency vehicles.

The Engine stood fast at the street, while Ladder4, designated as the water rescue unit, drove onto the pier with the Rescue and Battalion. The civilians were shouting and pointing, trying to direct their attention to a particular spot in the river. After parking up, Fairway directed the Rescue's roof-mounted searchlight in the direction they were pointing as the rest of the crew climbed down.

'He's over there!' somepony shouted to Grey Spike. 'Somewhere, we lost sight of him!'

'Yeah! I dunno if he jumped or fell or what,' somepony else chimed in.

'Alright, Ladder 4, prep the life ring and magic and standby the rescue swimmers. Rescue 1, start getting geared up for a dive operation.' Firebrand ordered, his firm voice carrying across the pier and helping to calm the fears of the onlookers. The professionals were on the scene. They knew what to do.

'Marine 1 calling Battalion 9 on the 800MHz, K?'

Firebrand ducked back into his SUV to answer the call. 'Battalion 9 on the 800, go ahead Marine 1.'

'We have a three-minute ETA with a southbound current, K,' came the voice of the officer of Marine Company 1, one of the city's fireboat companies. As well as a monstrous 140ft vessel, the largest fireboat in the world along with its sister in Marine 9, capable of pumping the same amount of water as fifty Engine Companies through a dozen nozzles and deck guns, Marine 1 also operated a smaller and much faster rigid-hulled inflatable boat for water rescues and medical responses. That was what was racing its way toward the pier at 40 knots through the inky blackness of mid-river, and somewhere between the two, it seemed, was a victim, male according to the onlookers who had called the emergency number.

Fairway scanned the searchlight slowly across the surface of the water, trying to locate the victim. Blaze helped Oak Wood and Flagstaff with the bulky diving gear, form-fitting wetsuits and SCUBA gear that would allow them, if necessary, to search the murky waters should the victim have succumbed to the chill and the weight of his waterlogged coat and any clothing he may have been wearing, and sunk to the bottom. Dawn and the rest of Engine 25 stood by in case they were needed, but chances are they would be sitting idle until the operation was completed. This kind of rescue work was handled best by the specialist units, the Rescues, Squads and fireboats, in this case.

As the gear was prepped and flashlights scanned the darkness, Fairway brought the searchlight around and spotted something. 'Chief!' he pointed with a hoof. 'Over there, next pier!'

Eager eyes followed the beam of the searchlight and spotted the victim. There was, indeed, a pony in the water, a stallion judging by the shape of his muzzle, as reported. His muzzle was practically the only part of him still above water. He had been carried by the current slightly south of the pier the fire units had been directed to, and was now bumping up against the thick, algae-strewn wooden pilings of the next pier along.

'Alright Ladder 4, get your swimmers in the water!' Firebrand ordered. Fairway kept the searchlight trained on the unfortunate stallion. The throb of an outboard engine could be heard in the background as Marine 1 made their approach to the scene from the south. A police helicopter was usually assigned to a water rescue incident whenever one was available, which would carry police divers to the scene, but that usually took long enough that by the time the chopper could be scrambled to collect the divers, the incident was already over. That would likely be the case here, as there were already fire department swimmers, divers, and a boat on scene, as well as a police patrol boat. Both boats added the power of their searchlights to illuminating the underside of the pier as two fireponies from Ladder 4, clad in dry suits, jumped from the pier and into the frigid water to hopefully grab the victim and carry him to one of the waiting boats.

It was too risky to bring the boat in any closer. The West River was tidal, and the waters lapping against the pillars could carry the boat against them if it wasn't held in just the right place, potentially damaging it and, more importantly, potentially crushing the victim between the hull and the pier. Equally, there was a danger that the boat's wake and turbulence would force water up over his head or knock him from the tentative safety of the piling he was clinging on to. Likewise, the fastest potential method of getting him to safety, sending a Pegasus firepony out to carry him to land, was fraught with danger. A panicking victim in the water had long been known to be a potential threat to a rescuer, as it was common for them to thrash about or grab frantically at whoever was trying to help, inadvertently making it harder to save them and leading to the danger of drowning for both. A Pegasus had additional risk, as if their wings got wet and the feathers waterlogged, it would impact not just their airworthiness, but also their buoyancy should they be pulled into the water or unable to remain airborne.

The two swimmers from Ladder 4, therefore, represented the safest method of bringing the stallion to safety. As they drew closer to him, one of them tossed a life ring attached to a rope, calling for the stallion to put it on if he could do it safely. He shook his head and clung firmly to the pillar instead, forcing the swimmers to close the distance themselves. One swimmer managed to coax the stallion into letting go of the piling and grabbed hold of the victim, supporting him with hooves under his forearms. The other swimmer placed the life ring around the victim's head for added buoyancy before starting the swim to the fireboat which awaited nearby. The crew helped them to bring the exhausted stallion aboard and quickly wrapped him in aluminium heat-retaining blankets before ushering him inside the cabin for medical treatment. An ambulance waiting on the pier would have to move to another location where the patient could be transferred from water to land for transport to a hospital, but there were several spots close by where that could be conducted.

For everyone else, it was time to head back to their stations. The pony was safely out of the water along with the rescue swimmers, and there were no other victims and no other action that needed taking. Dawn was disappointed not to have had anything to contribute, but it was a reminder that not every incident could be as dramatic as his last, even if a life was saved this time. Engine 25, Rescue 1 and Battalion 9 packed up their gear and returned to the firehouse to await the moment their services would be required once again.

Push On

'So, you had another date last night, huh?'

Ember Dawn gave his brother a nudge and winked at him. 'How did it go? What did you two get up to?' he asked. The two brothers were preparing the lunch for the whole firehouse, salad and soup this time around. Neither of them were exactly expert chefs, but everypony was expected to take their turn and try their hoof at cooking something. Legendary meals would be photographed and posted on the firehouse notice board to annoy the other shifts and boast that the best chefs were on one particular tour of duty, while terrible dishes would be consigned to the wall of shame. Most, of course, fell somewhere in between.

'Yeah, another date,' Blaze replied with a nod as he stirred the large pot of vegetable soup. 'Don't tell me this is all I'm gonna hear all day again.'

'Oh, you can guarantee it,' Dawn grinned. 'What's this now, the fourth, right? Where did you take her?'

'We went to the ice rink,' Blaze replied. 'You know, at the Rockepony Center.'

'Since when can you skate?' Dawn chuckled. 'Oh wait, yeah...we used to go, didn't we? With Dad, when we were about...I dunno, six? Seven? You have a long memory, huh?'

'It's like riding a bike,' Blaze assured his brother. 'You don't forget. Maybe you should take Rosebush there?'

'Ah, it's too far,' Dawn replied. 'All the way to midtown just to fall over and embarrass myself? I can do that in my own home.'

'I bet you do, frequently,' Blaze teased. 'Every time you come home drunk. Unless Rosebush makes you sleep on the couch then, of course.'

'Nope. Our couch isn't even big enough to sleep on,' Dawn retorted, slicing up bread rolls to go with the meal. 'Hey, make sure you and Licorice get a big couch, otherwise you might find yourself pretty cramped when she makes you sleep on it.'

'Come on, it's four dates.' Blaze rolled his eyes. 'It's not like we're announcing our engagement.'

'But you like her though, right?' Dawn gave him another nudge.

'Yeah, of course. But let's hold off on talking about the size of our furniture for a while, huh?' Blaze grinned, turning the gas off. 'Soup's ready...we'd better get the bowls.'

'Lunch, yo! Lunch!' Dawn called, banging a saucepan to alert the rest of the fireponies, who were scattered around the firehouse performing various tasks. He grabbed the bowls and Blaze served the soup with a battered and well-used ladle which was a veteran of the firehouse. The rest of the crews trickled in to be fed, a tasty treat in the middle of the working day to set them up for the afternoon. Fireponies needed plenty of calories, for they could burn them off at a prodigious rate when performing a rescue or battling a fire, which was why there was plenty of dessert usually offered as well. Today it was cookies and muffins, calorie-dense and infinitely palatable to the hungry crews. They munched away, and the meal was not added to the hall of fame, or the wall of shame. It was just another feed, one of countless hundreds for the long-serving members, and just like so many, it fell at the perfect time.

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Battalion.'

'I'll eat your cookie for you!' Blaze called after his brother, as Dawn disappeared out of the break room, leaving the Rescue crew lounging in their chairs to finish their meals. Despite Blaze's promise to eat his brother's food, that didn't happen. The bond of firehouse life meant that each pony knew that they needed the energy and sustenance. As a result, the meals abandoned by the Engine would be in exactly the same state when they returned.

'...Reporting fire on the 14th floor. You have Engine 40 first due, Engine 25, Engine 34, Ladder 35 and Ladder 4, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-4.'

Firebrand replaced the radio in its cradle as Pumpkin Punch, his driver and aide, guided the SUV through traffic. They were going to 10th Avenue and 53rd, where apparently an apartment was burning. Engine 25 parted vehicles ahead of them, making their run much easier as they headed up 8th Avenue.

'Engine 40 to Manehattan?'

'Go ahead Engine 40.'

'Box 0783, we made contact with the doorpony. He says they have a fire on the 14th floor but we didn't see anything from outside. We're going to check the alarm panel, K.'

'10-4, Engine 40. Battalion 9, received?'

'Battalion 9, 10-4, we're 10-84,' Firebrand replied, as they pulled up outside the building. It was a tall structure, though far from the tallest in the borough, some twenty stories of luxury apartments, rented out to the highest bidder. Engine 40 was parked up outside, next to a hydrant in case it should be needed.

Fireband got out of his car and looked up, a stiff wind blowing his mane as he surveyed the exterior of the building. There was no fire belching out of a window, nor any visible smoke. Or was there? He peered at the 14th floor. There was no smoke coming out, but there was one window that was starting to look a bit discolored.

'Engine 40 to Battalion 9?'

'Go ahead, 40,' Firebrand replied into his radio.

'The alarm panel is showing an activation on the 14th floor, Chief. Heat detection and sprinklers, apartment 1405.'

'10-4, Engine 40.' Firebrand switched from his personal radio to the SUV's radio to call the dispatcher. 'Battalion 9 to Manehattan?'

'Go ahead, Battalion 9.'

'Transmit a 10-77 for our box, we have a fire on the 14th floor,' he informed them. The discoloration of the window combined with the confirmed alarm activation told the experienced Firebrand that there was, or at least had been, a fire, without even visiting the fire floor. The discoloration was due to the soot and ash produced by a fire burning in the apartment, but there was every chance the sprinklers had knocked it down already. Nevertheless, it was always better to be safe than sorry, and transmit the 10-77 signal- fire in a high-rise multiple dwelling.

'Engine 40, get a line up to the 14th floor. Engine 25, back them up and bring a second line. Ladder 35, primary search on the fire floor. Ladder 4, primary searches on the floor above,' Firebrand issued his orders, following the well-practiced routine, honed over the many years of the department's service.

Ember Dawn helped Striker grab the nozzle and several lengths of hose, tied up in easy to carry bundles which could be joined together on the fire floor. A high-rise fire was always fought using the building's internal standpipe system, a network of pipes that could provide pressure and water for their hoses, either with its own pumps, a gravity-feed from a roof tank, or after hooking up an Engine Company to a street-side outlet and using its pump. If the system was out of order for some reason, however, hose would have to be stretched from the street, which could require an inordinate amount of hose lengths that would have to be joined together.

Fortunately, the building was well maintained, and the standpipe system, confirmed by the building engineer, was fully functional. Engine 40 and Ladder 35 piled in to one of the building's elevators, and Engine 25 and Ladder 4 into the other. The ride up was short, less than thirty seconds, both elevators stopping on the 12th floor- two floors below the fire, as per standard procedure. To exit on the fire floor could be fatal if the flames had already spread into the hallway outside the elevator and caused its mechanisms to fail, trapping the fireponies. As a result, elevators were always stopped two floors down, and the crew walked the rest of the way up, just to be on the safe side.

Walking up stairs in full turnout gear was tiring, which was why, despite the potential risks, fireponies always rode the elevators in high-rise buildings whenever possible. In some of the major skyscrapers that dotted Manehattan's skyline, it could take up to an hour to climb all the way to the top, and upon arrival the crews would be utterly exhausted from lugging their gear up a hundred flights or more, and be in no fit shape to actually fight the fire anyway. Fourteen floors was more manageable, but it was still much faster to take the elevator, and so the crews found themselves on the twelfth floor of the high-rise.

Ember Dawn, as backup, stuck behind Striker as they located the fire stairs and began the climb. There was no indication of any flames or smoke, but the sound of a ringing fire alarm could be heard above them. The staircase had positive pressure, designed to keep smoke from flowing into it from a fire in the building, so that it could be used either for evacuation or for emergency service access from below.

At the fourteenth floor doorway, they halted, to pull their fireproof hoods and helmets on and get their face masks in place. Lifegiving oxygen flowed into their lungs as the fireponies from Engine 40 hooked up their hoseline to the standpipe system and charged it. This was the calm before the storm, like paratroopers or Pegasi assault troops waiting for the light to change from red to green so they could hurl themselves from the safety of their aircraft and into the unknown and dangerous skies. Striker and Dawn stood by with a second hoseline. If it was needed, it could be hooked up to the standpipe on the floor below, but most apartment fires were handled by a single hose, and as the first-due company, that was Engine 40's responsibility. Ladder 35's job was to search for victims, in the fire apartment and elsewhere if necessary, and they opened the stairway door as Engine 40's nozzlepony aimed the hose through it, just in case.

They didn't need it. There was no fire in the hallway, and only a light haze of smoke. The door to one apartment was open, and proved to be the source of the smoke, which was steadily seeping out from the room beyond. Engine 40 and Ladder 35 advanced down the hallway, the truckies banging on apartment doors, shouting that the fire department was here and that any residents who hadn't already evacuated should leave. The other apartments on the floor would be entered and thoroughly searched once the flames had been knocked down, but the immediate need was to clear the burning apartment. Though the open door suggested that the resident had fled, there was no guarantee that was the case, or that everypony who lived in the apartment had made it out, or that somepony else hadn't gone in to try and fight the fire with an extinguisher and been overcome.

Dawn and Striker, along with Coppertop and Dark Flash, awaited at the stairway door. If needed, they could quickly hook up their line and move to back up Engine 40, most likely if the fire was found to have already extended to one of the adjacent apartments through the walls. If they weren't needed for that, they could help the Ladder searching the rest of the floor, or take over from Engine 40 once they got tired or their air supply ran low.

But as Engine 40 approached the apartment door, ready to make entry, a gout of flame suddenly roared out of the room, like the tongue of a dragon, licking across the ceiling. The fireponies scurried back down the hall as the heat washed over them. Their bunker gear could handle temperatures in the hundreds of degrees, but anything above that would soon lead to burns despite the protective gear, leading to a mad scramble

'Battalion 9 to all units, urgent, urgent, urgent!'

Their radios crackled as Chief Firebrand broadcast a call. 'All units, be advised. The window of the fire apartment just failed!'

The failure of an exterior window would not usually have too much of an effect on an apartment fire, but the circumstances conspired to make sure that was not the case this time. The apartment was high up, and it was a windy day, which meant that the usual exit route for the smoke and heat, out of the now-broken window, was cut off by the inrushing wind. As a result, thanks to the apartment door being left open, the only other way it could go was out into the hall, funneled by the wind into a blowtorch effect, the breeze acting like the bellows of a furnace and superheating the blast of fire which had erupted over the heads of the attack team. A wind-driven fire was much harder to fight, and much more dangerous, than a fire in an unventilated apartment would be. Fireponies used ventilation strategically, to deliberately manipulate the direction of heat, smoke and fire. A window here, an open door there, a broken skylight to draw the worst of the fire's energy upward as appropriate. An uncontrolled ventilating of a fire could be disastrous, because the safety of both victims and fireponies could be placed in extreme jeopardy.

'Back out, back out!' somepony called on the radio, as Firebrand repeated his warning, though the fireponies on the 14th floor didn't need him to tell them that something had clearly changed. The hall quickly filled with smoke that banked down, driven out from the apartment by the wind to accompany the fire, driving down visibility. The ponies of Engine 40 and Ladder 35 crawled back along the hall to the doorway where they had entered, while at Lieutenant Coppertop's order, Striker and Dawn hurried down one flight of stairs to hook their hoseline up to the standpipe system as the radio came alive with calls.

'Engine 40 to command, urgent! We have heavy fire in the public hallway on the 14th floor!'

'Ladder 4 to command, urgent! We have fire extending into apartment 1505, directly above the fire apartment!'

'Ladder 35 to Ladder 35 Irons, what's your location?'

'Ladder 35 to Ladder 35 Irons, what's your location, K?'

'Ladder 35 to command, mayday, mayday, mayday! We have a missing firepony!'

10-77

'Ladder 35 to command, mayday, mayday, mayday! We have a missing firepony!'

Those words were guaranteed to send chills down the spine of even the most experienced officer in any fire department, and the MFD was no different. Chief Firebrand, at the command post in the lobby of the building, now had a much different situation on his hooves than he had when he had rolled onto the block behind Engine 25. No longer was there an unconfirmed fire that might have simply been somepony burning toast or even just a false alarm. Now, they had a wind-driven high-rise blaze that had engulfed the fire apartment and belched out into the hallway, and was threatening to spread to the floor above. To top it all off, a firepony was reported missing, out of contact with his officer and the rest of the company.

'Division 3 to Manehattan, we're 10-84 at the box,' Deputy Chief Misty Morning informed the dispatcher as her SUV pulled into the block. The transmission of the 10-77, working high-rise fire signal, had summoned the Rescue, the Squad, High-Rise Unit 1, the Field Communications Unit, and numerous additional chiefs, engines and ladders, some of whom had arrived and some of whom were still responding in, and while Misty Morning was on the block, she was not at the command post yet, meaning Firebrand still had control of the incident. He issued an order to his aid, Pumpkin Punch, who acted as the radio contact while the Chief was busy.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan?'

'Battalion 9, go.'

'Transmit a 10-66 for our box, we have a mayday for a missing member, K.'

The alert signal rang out on every department radio that was tuned to the Manehattan frequency. '10-66 has been transmitted for Box 0783, 1560 10th Avenue, between 53rd Street and 54th Street. 10-66 has been transmitted for Box 0783, for the address 1560 10th Avenue, 53rd to 54th.'

A 10-66 was the signal for a lost, trapped, injured or missing firepony, an alert to the rest of the department that one of their own was potentially in trouble. It brought a major response- more engines, more ladders, more Battalion Chiefs, another Division Chief, another Rescue and their collapse unit, and numerous extra medical resources which would be entirely devoted to rescuing and treating the fireponies who may be injured. It was an extension of the HOOF Truck concept, units whose only task at a particular incident would be to rescue their own if the need arose.

Ladder 24 was acting as the HOOF Truck, and under the direction of Firebrand, they headed into the building to assist. Rescue 1, newly arrived at the incident, was also directed into the building for the same purpose. Misty Morning made her way to the command post, taking control of the operation from Firebrand, who she sent up to the 14th floor to oversee the rescue.

Meanwhile, on the fire floor, Engine 40's mad scramble for safety had been successful, and at the stairwell door, they opened up with their hose, spraying a stream of water at the roiling flames that were belching out of the apartment at ceiling level. It made little difference to the great heat, so at the orders of the captain of Engine 40, Striker and Dawn brought their line alongside, making sure it wasn't caught on the corners of the stairwell as it wound up from the floor below. Striker took aim and opened the nozzle, adding a second strong stream to that of the first line. Again, it made little difference. Their streams were not hitting the seat of the fire, merely the superheated gases which were billowing out. Whatever was actually burning was inside the apartment, and without successfully gaining safe access to the apartment, they couldn't hope to get water onto it.

The hallway was rapidly becoming completely untenable, filling with thick smoke which had nowhere else to go. There was also the danger that it would get sucked in through the open stairwell door and flood it, making it extremely difficult for more fireponies to make the climb and organise themselves at the staging area, which would be two floors below. But they had to get into the hall somehow in order to find the missing firepony, the Irons firepony, carrying the forcible entry tools, from Ladder 35. He was somewhere in there and his life was in danger if he was still in the hallway, as the temperature was becoming unbearable even for somepony wearing full protective gear.

Ember Dawn was not afraid, but he was nervous. Conditions had deteriorated rapidly, from a routine apartment fire into a spreading inferno with a missing firepony to worry about, and they, the first two Engines on the scene, weren't even able to actually fight the fire because they couldn't get anywhere near it. That was deeply frustrating, for it was their sole main purpose. It was why they had been sent into the building and up to the 14th floor, and despite their best efforts and that of their officers, they weren't making any headway in regaining the hallway and reaching the apartment door. Nor were they able to push forward so that the HOOF Truck could search for the missing firepony, whose rescue had now become the primary objective of this phase of the incident.

There were not many places he could be. The building had a linear layout, after all. He could be in the hallway, in the fire apartment, or in one of the other apartments. Both Ladder 35's officer and Chief Firebrand had made repeated attempts to contact him over the radio, but with no success, something which did not bode well. To search the fire apartment or to even get anywhere near the other apartments on the floor would require the fire to be brought under some semblance of control, and as Striker and Engine 40's nozzlepony continued to spray water at the flames, there was clearly no chance of them being able to stop this fire by themselves.

Elsewhere in the building, however, action was being taken. Rescue 1 had been committed to the search for the missing pony, along with the HOOF Truck, who rode the elevator to the 12th floor and climbed up the attack stairwell to join the other fireponies who were battling to push forward. The Rescue, however, turned the other way, and made their way across the building to the southern end, where they found another stairwell. They climbed to the 14th floor, where Captain Grey Spike gave them orders.

'Alright, Blaze, Flagstaff. you're with me to search the fire floor. High Line, Oak Wood, take the wind curtain to the 15th floor and join up with Ladder 4 to deploy it.'

'Copy, Chief!' Blaze acknowledged, along with the other members. They had their tasks and they knew what to do. High Line and Oak Wood continued on up the stairs, while Blaze, Flagstaff and their Captain masked up. The stairwell was under positive pressure, just like the other one, and there was no smoke in it, but as soon as they opened the door they would be in the thick of it. They knew there was fire burning, and they also knew there was a missing firepony somewhere out there. They also knew they couldn't safely make entry more than a few feet into the superheated hallway until the fire had been controlled, which was why Oak Wood and High Line had been sent up one more flight.

The wind curtain device they carried was an ingeniously simple piece of kit. It consisted of a large sheet of fireproof material weighted down with metal weights for stability and rigidity. It could be unfolded, attached to the window frame or something inside the building with strong straps, and then lowered from a room above the fire over the window of the fire apartment which had failed from the heat. In doing so, the curtain would effectively block the surge of the wind into the room and cut off, or at least hugely cut down on, the blowtorch effect which was driving the flames out into the hallway and obstructing the progress of the hoses and the search teams. Together with the ponies of Ladder 4, the two Rescue members prepared the curtain and carefully unrolled it out of the window, lowering it down from above to form a barrier over the broken window of the burning apartment.

It worked like a charm, not quite like turning off the gas to a stove, but not too far off. The curtain stopped the wind from rushing in through the broken window, and the blowtorch of fire which had been roiling out into the hallway died down. With the dwindling of the blaze, the hallway once more became tenable for the fireponies to advance into, and Striker and the nozzlepony of Engine 40 pushed on at the direction of their officers, making steady progress, cautiously shuffling forward in case the curtain should fail and the fire should be subject to the bellows-like effect of the onrushing wind again. But it didn't fail, and soon they reached the apartment door. Engine 40, the first-due engine, made the entry along with Ladder 21, who had arrived to relieve Ladder 35 so they could search for their missing member.

Rescue 1 entered the hall from the other end, though Dawn could not see his brother through the thick smoke. While Engine 40 knocked down the fire in the apartment, Rescue 1 and Ladder 21 searched each apartment along the hallway, and that was where they found the missing firepony. He was behind the closed door of an apartment, the safest place to be given that the hallway had been an inferno. He had been separated from his company by the belching flames, which had forced him to scramble the other way down the hall as he had moved beyond the fire apartment's door. With the heat threatening to overwhelm him, he had used his tools to force entry into a locked apartment and shut the door behind him. The reason for his lack of communication was also made clear; the heat in the hall had partially melted his radio, meaning he could neither call for help or safely leave the apartment until the fire had died down. Apart from some minor burns to his side where the radiant heat had overwhelmed his protective gear, he was unharmed.

Rescue 1 helped him down the stairs to the staging area, where paramedics were waiting to treat him. The elevator would take him down to an ambulance, but Rescue 1 had to return up the stairs again, this time to the 15th floor to link up with Oak Wood and High Line. The fire had spread through the pipe chases and electrical conduits into the apartment directly over the fire, and another hose line had been stretched there to extinguish it. Together with Ladder 4, the Rescue searched through all the apartments on the 15th floor, rescuing an elderly couple who had been sheltering in their apartment. Apart from them, the floor was clear, with most residents of the building being at work as it was the middle of the day. Had the fire occurred at night, it could have been a very different prospect, with numerous potential victims trapped in their rooms.

As it was, there were no civilian injuries. Engine 40 and Engine 25 extinguished the fire in the original apartment, aided by the employment of the wind control curtain that kept conditions manageable despite the breeze blowing outside. Striker and Dawn, hot and tired, were relieved by another company, and together with Deep Blue, Dark Flash and Lieutenant Coppertop, they made their way down to the staging area on the 12th floor to rest while other units performed the overhauling and secondary, more detailed, searches of the building. With the missing firepony found, the 10-66 signal had been rescinded, turning around many of the specialist units which had been rolling in as they were no longer needed. An hour after the first emergency call had come in, the fire was declared under control by Deputy Chief Misty Morning.

Once the companies were relieved, they headed first to the staging area on the 12th floor, and then down to the street to pack up their equipment and, if needed, grab an energy drink or some chilled water from the RAC Unit. Dawn and Blaze found themselves in the lobby as they emerged at the same time from the two adjacent elevators, their work done, the task of salvage and overhaul turned over to other units.

'That looked like a bad one for a while there,' Blaze commented, his face mask swinging against his neck as he walked, carrying his tools back to the Rescue. 'Could have gone either way...that wind curtain saved us a lot of work.'

Dawn nodded. 'Yeah...I didn't even get into the hall but I could feel the heat. We only made any progress once that wind was cut off.'

'Gotta watch that in high-rise fires,' Blaze reminded him. 'If a window fails unexpectedly then boom, you're in trouble if you've pushed ahead too far. The apartment door was open, right?'

'Yeah.' Dawn nodded. 'It was open when we got there. I guess whoever lived there forgot to close it.'

'It can be worse if it's closed when you get there,' Blaze added. 'If the window has already failed and you open that door, then you're standing right there when that fire turns into a blowtorch. There's no safe way to make entry like that. Sometimes you can punch a hole through the wall from the next apartment if the hall is already involved, outflank the fire, you know? Hit it from the side so you're not exposed to it like that. But it depends what the wall's made of, of course. Other times, you're on your own.'

Dawn nodded as they made their way outside. The street was full of vehicles, flashing red and white lights all over the place, but the fire was under control. Other companies were already starting to take up from the scene and return to their firehouses. Misty Morning was at her command post in the lobby, in discussions with other Chiefs and the police liaison officer. There were many issues to resolve- clearing the street as soon as possible, rehousing displaced tenants of the fire building, accounting for anypony who appeared to be missing- but the fire itself, the main problem, was resolved.

The Rescue was parked down to the left, while Engine 25 was outside the building, and Blaze turned to Dawn, giving him a hoof bump. 'Good job up there, brother.'

'Thanks, big bro.' Dawn grinned, heading over to the engine. He was hot and sweaty and tired, but it was another job well done for him, for his company, and for the department. No injuries, other than those minor ones to the temporarily missing firepony, had been incurred, and the fire had been held to the original apartment and the one directly above, under difficult operating conditions for the fireponies on the 14th floor. All in all, it was a result they could be proud of.

Whiteout

'...And now for the weather. Winter is definitely here! It's been four months since the year's hottest day, and two and a half months since Hurricane Gilda, and it's turning cold overnight folks, with a nor'easter rolling in. Winds could gust up to 20 miles per hour, and, yes, there's snow on the way. It's not quite Hearth's Warming yet, but it sure will look like it. Two or three inches are expected but we could get as much as six, so watch out on your morning commute tomorrow, when snow will still be falling. Temperatures could drop to minus five overnight but should rise steadily through the morning, with highs of three degrees in the afternoon. Stay safe out there, folks!'

'That's your weather. Now, with just three weeks left until Hearth's Warming, a lot of ponies are wondering where to get the most requested toys of the season for their foals. Our special correspondent Amethyst Moon has been investigating...'

'Hey, turn that crap off, will ya? I'm trying to concentrate!'

Striker's annoyed call cut across the break room, and Ember Blaze, High Line and Dark Flash, who had been watching the tv news, turned to look.

'Concentrate on what?' Dark Flash questioned.

'This!' Striker held up a small bottle, inside which he had been working on assembling a model ship. 'My dad got it for me for my birthday. Guess he was trying to be a smartass.'

'I wonder where he gets that from...' Blaze smirked. 'What ship is it?'

'It's the ENS Canterlot,' Striker replied, drawing some wry chuckles. 'At least it will be if you turn that tv off while I'm working!'

'Ha...there's a sense of humor for ya, huh?' High Line grinned. 'I guess he heard you bragging about being...what was it, the twenty-seventh-due engine to that fire, huh?'

'Yeah, yeah. Hey, we only got that run because we made such good time on our relocation that we were already on the bridge when they transmitted the seventh alarm!' Striker retorted. ' Any other engine from midtown would have still been stuck in gridlock somewhere at about Hoofston Street.'

'Oh, shit...' Dark Flash suddenly muttered. 'That reminds me...hey, turn the tv up!' She looked back at the screen, but it was too late. The news report had come and gone. 'Damn it...'

'What's wrong?' Blaze asked.

'That report about the toys. There's some new must have for colts, it's like...shit, I can't remember the name. Some kind of airship thing? Like it has its own little motor and you can fill the balloon...'

'Gasbag,' High Line corrected her, drawing a scowl before she continued. 'Fill it with air and it'll fly around and fire rockets or whatever. I was hoping they'd tell me the name of it, because I'll be damned if I can remember. My son wants it for Hearth's Warming. Like, that's all he wants. Even if he didn't get any chocolate, he'd still be happy if he got that. I was gonna go take a look in Pony's department store after shift.'

'Eh, you don't really need to know the name,' Striker called. 'Just say hey, excuse me, where's the thing all the colts want? They'll know what you mean.'

'Thing is, it's like 200 bits, and that's a lot of money,' Dark Flash added. 'I mean I could get him a game console for that. All this thing does is fly around.'

'Yeah, but it shoots rockets,' Striker pointed out with a grin. 'When you're...what is Sand Star now, seven, right? When you're seven, all that matters is that something shoots rockets. If it could shoot missiles and cannons too, that'd be even better.'

'Does it light up?' Blaze asked. 'When I was seven, I had this fire truck toy. Press buttons on it, the lights would flash, the siren would go, the air horn, the works. If you filled the tank it'd even shoot water from the deck gun.'

'Oh yeah! Hey, I had that same toy,' Striker replied.

'Me too!' High Line added. 'What a machine! Nothing like your little squirt gun out there on the back of your rig,' he teased Dark Flash and her apparatus.

'At least we have water!' she retorted. 'The only water you carry on the Rescue is whatever's in your bladders. Oh, and water on the brain, too.'

'Look out, wise guy alert!'

As the banter continued, the first flakes of snow began to fall outside the firehouse.

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, this is Celestia Ground. Cleared for pushback and start from gate one zero two. Follow taxiway Apple one and hold short of taxiway Castle.'

'Cleared for pushback, follow taxiway Apple one, hold short Castle. Royal Air Equestria one one five.'

Silver Soar glanced across at his co-pilot, Open Skies. Both stallions were dressed in the smart white shirts and black pants common to most commercial air crew across Equestria, but always particularly associated with Royal Air Equestria, the national flag carrier and the largest airline anywhere on the planet. The bright tail, featuring the national flag, was a familiar sight in the skies above Equestria's major airports, including Manehattan's Princess Celestia International, its biggest.

Flight 115's route would take the two pilots, eight cabin crew, and two hundred and sixty eight passengers on a four hour flight from Manehattan to Las Pegasus, trading the snowy northeast for the deserts and baking heat of the southwest. Many ponies made the trip from Manehattan as winter set in, to escape the chill and make hay in the sun of the known party and gambling hotspot, where the casino slots never fell silent and spectacular shows from the likes of Sapphire Shores and The Great And Powerful Trixie would wow audiences every evening. Manehattan had its theaters, its museums, its culture and its tourist hotspots, but it did not have legal gambling, which was a big lure for many of the city's big spenders that enticed them down to visit Las Pegasus and empty their wallets.

Their aircraft for the flight would be an Equestrian Aerospace EA-90, not the newest nor the biggest, but the most dependable aircraft in the fleet, able to hurry ponies through the air at almost six hundred miles per hour to a maximum range of four thousand miles, more than enough for them to reach Las Pegasus easily. Silver Soar and Open Skies were experienced pilots, both with hundreds of hours in the nose of an EA-90. Silver Soar also had a pair of combat wings affixed to his shirt below his pilots' wings, since he had flown jets for the air force before retiring to the civilian life and retraining as a commercial pilot.

Wiping frost from his windshield, the driver of the powerful tug attached to the nosewheel of the jet began to reverse, pushing the plane back out of its gate and into the taxiway, making the turn and bringing the EA-90 onto the taxiway's centerline. With a signal from the driver, the ground crewpony, huddled as far as he could get into his orange fluorescent jacket, disconnected the tug, and the driver pulled clear.

The passengers, ensconced either in the austere plastic of economy class or the plush luxury of business or first class, would hear a dull whine, growing steadily into a hum as the pilots started up one of the engines. The process was then repeated with the second engine on the other wing. Pre-flight checks were being continually carried out, both before pushback, during pushback, and during taxiing, to make sure all the aircraft's systems were ready for takeoff. Everything seemed to be in working order.

Silver Soar nosed the jet forward, following the directions assigned by the ground controller in the tower overlooking the airport, which was only intermittently visible thanks to blowing snow. Conditions were not ideal for flying, with low visibility, low cloud, gusty winds and snowfall, but everything was well within safe operating limits. Thousands of commercial flights had taken off and landed safely in snow, wind and rain, even thunderstorms, over the years since powered flight had been pioneered.

At such a big airport, the taxiing could take time, but traffic was relatively light as the morning rush was only just getting underway. Leaving early, 7am, would ensure that the partygoers would arrive in Las Pegasus with almost a full day ahead of them to get drunk and visit the salad bars of whatever casino or hotel they happened to be staying in. The jet followed the instructions of the ground controller who guided them down the taxiways to the end of the runway.

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, contact Celestia Tower on frequency one two one decimal five zero. Have a safe flight.'

'Going to tower frequency, one two one decimal five zero. Royal Air Equestria one one five thanks you.' Open Skies retuned the radio as Silver Soar stepped on the hoof brakes to bring the bulky aircraft to a stop. The runway lights blinked off to their left, where a four-engined Air New Zebrica monster was starting its takeoff roll, snow billowing out behind it as its engines rose to full power, sending a rumbling not just through the ground, but through the waiting EA-90 as well.

'Celestia Tower, good morning, Royal Air Equestria one one five holding short runway two seven,' Silver Soar spoke into his headset microphone as the giant airliner rolled past his side window. The language of aviation required numbers to be spoken individually, thus twenty seven would always be spoken as two-seven for clarity.

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, Celestia Tower, good morning. Position and hold runway two seven,' the efficient voice of the tower controller responded over the radio.

'Position and hold, runway two seven, Royal Air Equestria one one five,' Silver Soar replied, releasing the brakes and opening the throttles a little, enough to swing his aircraft around onto the runway centerline, where he applied the parking brake as he watched the Air New Zebrica jet lumber into the air like a pregnant Pegasus. Now there were more preflight checked to be performed.

'Elevator trim?'

'Elevator trim set.'

'Flaps ten.'

'Spoilers retracted?'

'Spoilers retracted.'

'Anti-Ice on.'

'Anti-ice on.'

'Landing lights on.'

Their checks were complete, and RAE 115 was ready.

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, winds are two niner zero degrees at fifteen knots. You are cleared for takeoff, runway 27, caution the wake turbulence.'

'Cleared for takeoff, runway two seven, we copy the winds and wake turbulence, Royal Air Equestria one one five,' Silver Soar replied. The passengers in the back would be adopting the familiar positions depending on their disposition. The kids, aviation nerds and lovers of noise and speed would be eagerly peering out of the windows, perhaps recording on their phones, anticipating takeoff, especially the unicorns, earth ponies and other non-flying species. Those of a more nervous nature would be gripping the armrests, or perhaps the hooves of their traveling companions.

Silver Soar, meanwhile, was gripping the throttles. Open Skies placed his own hoof atop his captain's, standard procedure for both pilots to initiate the takeoff and open the throttles together. First, they pushed them approximately one third of the way forward, and then monitored their instruments. Engine exhaust temperatures and thrust ratings had to match for both engines; if they didn't, the jet would be pulled to one side during takeoff by the differential, and it could also indicate a deeper problem. But everything was normal, and so they pushed the throttles all the way to ninety percent power. Full power was wasteful; ninety was more than enough to get them airborne.

The jet rolled down the runway, gaining speed despite the wet surface. Snowplows did the rounds every so often, clearing away the snow as it built up and keeping the runway clear, but damp. Their engines roared.

'V1,' Open Skies reported, referring to the speed at which the jet was now committed to takeoff as there was not enough runway left to safely brake.

'Rotate.'

The nosewheel left the ground as Silver Soar pulled back on the stick, in conjunction with his copilot.

'V2.' They were airborne.

And immediately, they were in trouble.

A loud bang from over Silver Soar's left shoulder made him glance back. Simultaneously there was a blaring alarm and a blood-red light illuminated on the control panel.

Master Warning.

Within a second, more lights were shining and flashing.

Master Caution.

Oil Pressure.

Fuel Pressure.

Primary Hydraulics Failure.

Fire.

'Fire in the number two engine!' Open Skies called.

'Shut down engine number two,' Silver Soar ordered immediately. 'Positive rate of climb, gear up.' He flicked the landing gear lever to raise the undercarriage. They were ascending, and with one engine out, anything they could do to reduce drag and retain their speed was vital. Open Skies cut power to the engine, but the fire warning light remained lit.

'Extinguishers.' SIlver Soar flicked a red-gated switch, discharging Halon gas through the burning engine, a torch on the left wing unseen to the busy pilots, but illuminating the passenger compartments, to the terror of those within who could see the orange glow. The flames died down, but were not extinguished, and what was worse, the damage was not confined to the engine.

'Raise flaps,' Silver Soar ordered. Open Skies flicked the lever, but there was another problem.

'Flaps are still stuck on the port wing, skipper,' the co-pilot relayed. That would add to their drag and increase the instability of the jet, especially at low altitude.

'Mayday, mayday, mayday, Royal Air Equestria one one five, we have a fire and failure in the number two engine,' Silver Soar spoke into his mouthpiece. 'Requesting vectors for immediate return to Celestia Airport.'

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, Celestia Tower, roger. Climb to two thousand five hundred and remain on this frequency. Turn right heading two niner zero. Say souls on board and fuel remaining.'

'Climb two thousand five hundred, turn right heading two niner zero, Royal Air Equestria one one five. We have two seven eight, two hundred seventy eight, souls on board. Fuel remaining two three seven seven two gallons,' Silver Soar responded, gently banking the jet, increasing the power on the one remaining engine. The aircraft could safely fly on one engine for hundreds of miles if needed, but all they had to do here was circle straight back to the airport, where specialist air crash rescue firefighting teams would be waiting, alerted by the tower, as well as a contingent from the MFD who assigned an automatic second alarm to the airport whenever an inbound aircraft had declared a mayday. Units from the borough of Princess, where the airport was located, would even now be on their way to stage and standby.

'Captain, look at the gauges,' Open Skies tapped one of the digital dials. It displayed the capacity of the fuel tank inside the port wing, where the burning engine was located, and it showed that the tank was rapidly draining.

'Fuel leak...' Silver Soar grunted. He spared a glance out of his side window, straining to look as far back as he could. He did not like what he saw. There was still black smoke pouring from the engine, as well as flickers of flame inside its shattered cowling, but there was also a steady stream of white vapor spraying from the back of the wing- the leaking jet fuel. The aircraft had two other fuel tanks, one in the starboard wing and one in the belly, so running out of gas was not a concern, but if a spark or am ember from the engine caught the stream and ignited it...

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, Celestia Tower. Turn right heading three four zero. Vectors for a straight-in approach to runway two seven. We are holding all other traffic for you. Crash trucks are rolling.' The controller continued to provide instructions. Silver Soar repeated them and pulled on the control column again to turn the jet, but the controls were sluggish. The primary hydraulic system was down, and the secondary system was holding together, but clearly the engine explosion had done more damage than it had seemed at first.

'Fillies and gentlecolts, this is your captain speaking,' Silver Soar flicked a switch to activate the on-board public address system. 'Due to a fire in our number two engine we are currently returning to Celestia International where we will be performing an emergency landing. Please remain calm and remain in your seats. Obey all instructions from your flight attendants, who will instruct you on the brace position and evacuation procedures. Thank you.'

Whether that would sew more panic or more calm remained to be seen, but a silent cockpit was sure to strike terror into the hearts of the passengers. Snow pelted the windscreen as the jet made the turn slowly. they were in the low clouds, not an ideal position to be in, but the controller had given them an operating altitude above the height of the tallest structures in the city, so Silver Soar wasn't too worried about the visibility at the moment.

That soon changed, however. There was a mass collective scream from the cabin, audible even through their headsets. The captain looked back out of the window. Trailing behind the jet was no longer a stream of vapor, but a column of fire, like a comet's tail.

'Shit...' he muttered. 'The fuel leak's ignited...'

Another warning light began to flash. 'Skipper, we're losing the secondary hydraulics!' Open Skies warned.

'Switch to emergency backup,' Silver Soar ordered. Things were steadily going from bad to worse.

In the streets below, ponies on the early morning commute were able to catch an occasional glimpse of a trail of fire in the sky, flitting between the clouds overhead. Calls came in to the MFD's communications office, variously reporting an aircraft on fire and a meteor in the sky. Since they already had units rolling to Celestia International for a mayday call, the department could do little else than reassure the callers they were already aware of the incident.

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, descend to two thousand, turn right heading zero one zero.'

'Descend two thousand, turn right heading zero one zero, Royal Air Equestria one one five.'

Silver Soar pushed the nose down gently. The altimeter clicked down. They were still in the clouds, and still on fire.

'Skipper, backup hydraulic failure!' Open Skies called, a note of alarm in his voice now which had not been present even a minute earlier. Silver Soar pulled back on the stick to steady their descent, but the aircraft did not respond to his commands. Unlike more modern jets that used fly-by-wire and fiber optic cables to connect the pilot with his control surfaces, the EA-90 used hydraulically boosted mechanical linkages to physically move the elevators, ailerons and rudder.

'Shit...' Silver Soar grunted, trying again. The nose of the jet bobbed slightly, like the head of a swimmer doing the breast stroke, but the altimeter continued to tick down.

'Celestia Tower, Royal Air Equestria one one five, be advised we have a complete hydraulic failure,' Silver Soar informed the airport. Now they were in real trouble. Normally, even with a total hydraulic failure, the jet could be nominally steered using differential thrust from the two engines, increasing the output of one while decreasing the output of the other in order to turn the craft and adjust its rate of climb or descent. But with engine two shut down due to the fire, that wasn't an option. Finally, they dropped out of the clouds.

'Sweet Celestia...' Open Skies breathed. Ahead of them was the sweeping vista of the borough of Manehattan, still a mile ahead but looming large. The towers and skyscrapers of downtown were just to the left of their flight path, and the towers of midtown just to their right.

'Emergency restart checklist for engine two!' Silver Soar ordered, starting through the procedure already as he knew it off by heart, flicking switches. It was their only chance, their only choice. They couldn't steer the jet with no hydraulics, and there were skyscrapers ahead that would already be filling up with workers, high rise hotels with tourists, and residential towers full of sleeping ponies. If they could regain the use of the other engine, they might just be able to avoid hitting any of them, though reigniting the engine meant potential danger for the aircraft. The ignited stream of fuel was only catching alight some several feet to the rear of the wing where it came into contact with embers from the engine. If restarting the engine made the fire worse or caused another explosion, then it could spread rapidly to the fuel tank itself and cause it to explode, turning the jet into a fireball with one wing missing. The alternative, however, was to leave their fate and the fate of those on the ground in the hands of chance.

The two pilots rattled through the checklist as there was little time to lose. The hydraulic lines ran through the fuselage of the jet, meaning the engine explosion must have caused some shrapnel damage to the aircraft. There was no guarantee the engine would start at all; it had clearly been heavily damaged, but it had still been turning before they had shut it down. Perhaps that was all that was needed?

'Alright, alright, scratch the reignition,' Silver Soar commanded. 'Just get the blades spinning. Maybe the windmill effect will give us some control.' Open Skies did just that, letting the turbine blades spin freely in the slipstream where they had previously been locked in place to prevent the exact effect they were now seeking to replicate. The spinning blades increased the drag to the jet, causing its nose to move to the left. Silver Soar could counteract by increasing the thrust from the surviving engine to move the nose right, cutting thrust to move it back left, increasing power to maximum to try and raise the nose.

That was how he guided the stricken airliner through the gap between the two forests of tall buildings, downtown and midtown, toward the West River. With such limited control, that was their only option now. They were losing height and there was no way they could get back to the airport.

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, be advised we are unable to return to Celestia International. We are going to attempt a ditching in the West River,' Silver Soar informed the tower. There were a few moments of silence.

'Royal Air Equestria one one five, roger. Notifying fire and rescue. Celestia be with you.'

'Copy, tower. Royal Air Equestria one one five...this will be our last transmission.'

Silver Soar concentrated on the difficult task ahead. Not just difficult, but almost impossible. Even with the slight control over the differential thrust, the plane was basically unflyable at this point. They were dropping lower, mercifully past the skyscrapers and out over the river, following it almost due north. There were several barges and small ferries in the channel below. The landing lights were supposed to be on, but Silver Soar didn't know if they were actually still working. Perhaps they had died when some electrical circuit was cut by whatever had burst out of the engine nacelle when it had exploded.

'Keep her out in the channel...' Open Skies urged. Out of his starboard side window, the streets and buildings of Manehattan rolled by. They were slowing, below two hundred knots, then down to one fifty. Their height was dropping steadily as Silver Soar fought to keep the jet on track.

Two hundred.

An emotionless computerized stallion's voice informed them of their altitude, as well as a plethora of other issues.

Too Low, Gear.

At this altitude, there was an automatic warning played on repeat if the landing gear was not down, but they were going for a water landing, and that needed the gear to be up, or else the jet could easily cartwheel as the wheels acted like scoops and added massive drag to the jet.

One hundred.

'Nose left, nose left!' Open Skies called. Silver Soar tried, cutting power to the starboard engine.

'Flight deck to cabin, brace, brace, brace!' Open Skies quickly spoke into the intercom. Passengers fearfully adopted the position, bent over in their seats with their forelegs crossed over the back of their heads. Flight attendants tightened their lap and shoulder restraints. More than a few prayers to Celestia were spoken, aloud or in the silent privacy of the mind.

Fifty.

'We're drifting!' Open Skies warned. The gusty wind, blowing at close to twenty knots, was threatening to overcome their attempts to stay clear of the shoreline.

'Son of a bitch...' Silver Soar grunted, wrestling with the controls, cutting power right back as far as it could go. The small wavelets below were thrown into stark relief as the wind continued to blow. Piers passed by. The wind kept blowing.

'Whoa, whoa, abort, abort!' Open Skies cried suddenly. 'We're not gonna make it!' He pointed wild-eyed with a hoof. Ahead of them, one of the piers jutted out farther into the river than the others, only now visible through the curtain of snow which had cut their visibility during the descent. Atop it lay a large warehouse or similar structure.

'Fuck...fucking shit...' SIlver Soar swore, opening the throttle to the starboard engine.

'Come on...come on you bastard, come on!' he roared, pushing the throttle to the firewall. The engine screamed, wakening hundreds of sleeping ponies.

Terrain. Terrain.

Whoop-Whoop.

Pull Up.

Whoop-Whoop.

Pull Up.

The emotionless warning voice bleated out its repetitive alarms, but there was little that the pilots could do at this point except pray. They were too low, surely. Yet the nose began to rise as the turbine raced, burning fuel and spinning the blades and producing thrust. It rose and rose and they hopped up over the warehouse roof like some kind of foal's toy. By some miracle, the prayers to Celestia worked.

For a moment.

Clearing the roof and opening the throttle had caused the engine's torque to pull the jet to starboard, away from the open channel of the river, and now they were facing inland. Ahead, there were no longer piers. There were buildings. Apartments, shops. Ponies.

'Sweet Celestia...!' Open Skies gasped. 'Do something! For Celestia's sake, do something!'

Silver Soar cut the power again, willing the nose to swing to port, but it was much too late. Not only were they now short on altitude, they were short on speed, despite the burst of throttle. The nose had risen, bleeding off precious forward motion. There were buildings and streets, cars and trucks and buses, foals and mothers and fathers looming in the windshield.

'Celestia forgive us...' Silver Soar muttered. Apart from a heart-stopping crunch and the noise of tearing metal, his final words were the last thing to be documented on the cockpit voice recorder of Flight 115.

Clipped Wings

Beep-Boop.

'Engine. Rescue. Battalion.'

'Rise and shine, sleepyheads!' somepony called. Ember Blaze scrambled out of his bunk. What was the time? Seven thirty- normally he woke an hour earlier than that whenever he was on an overnight tour at the firehouse. Today, it had been the house alarm that roused him, and he slid straight into his boots, positioned beside his bed, pulling up his turnout gear, pants and then jacket. The bunk room was one floor above the apparatus bay, meaning a pole had been provided for rapid access. He slid down it. Several other members of the Rescue and Engine crews were also tumbling out of their beds, while others were already awake and downstairs preparing breakfast or taking showers.

'Box 0711, West 57th and 11th! Explosion in the area!' came the cry from the housewatch, followed a moment later by, 'Hold it...ok, the ticket just changed. Wait...it changed again...ok, Battalion and Rescue, you're rolling to West 53rd and 12th for an aircraft down in the river. Engine, you're rolling second due to 58th and 11th for an explosion!'

Blaze clambered into the cab of the Rescue. Confused signals were coming from the housewatch printer. Perhaps the data terminal on the rig would explain things better?

Not really. Captain Grey Spike examined it as the bay doors opened. 'Ok boys and girls...uh...says aircraft down but it also says structure fire...but we're going to the river...sounds like somebody fucked up somewhere.'

They rolled out along with the Battalion, followed by the Engine, purportedly heading to a different location.

'Manehattan calling Battalion 9?'

'Battalion 9, go.'

'Alright, we're getting a bunch of calls on this. We're getting an aircraft down in the West River at 53rd Street, and also an aircraft down into a building at 57th and 11th. We're also getting calls for an explosion in the area, for an explosion and fire at 1160 11th Avenue, for a building collapse at 56th and 11th, and for a building collapse at 58th and 11th. You're getting the major technical response. Engine 40, Engine 25, Engine 65, Engine, uh...standby...' The dispatcher cut off, and as soon as she did, another voice came over the air.

'Engine 40 to Manehattan, urgent! Urgent!'

'Go ahead Engine 40.'

'Transmit a 10-60 for this box! Whatever box it is, uh...for the aircraft down. We have...we, uh...we definitely got something here, I dunno if it's a plane or what, but something definitely exploded! Transmit the 10-60, K!'

'10-4, Engine 40...' The dispatcher read out the box and the signal. 'Alright Battalion 9, on the 10-60 you're getting Engine 40, Engine 25, Engine 65, Engine 24, Engine 1, Engine 3, Engine 74 and Engine 8. Ladder 4, Ladder 35, Ladder 24 and Ladder 3. Battalion 8, Battalion 6, Battalion 11 will be your Resource Unit Leader, Battalion 10, Battalion 2. Division 3, Division 6. Squad 18 and Squad 1 with its second piece. Rescue 1, Rescue 4. Ladder 25 and Ladder 21 will be your SOB Support Trucks, Engine 44 will be your Haz-Tech Engine. Ladder 7 will be your HOOF Truck. Rescue and Safety Battalions, Field Comm and Field Comm Battalion, Hazmat 1 and the Hazmat Battalion, Tactical Support Unit 1. Engine 33 will be transporting Collapse Rescue 1, Engine 79 will be transporting Collapse Rescue 3. SOB Compressor, SOB Logistics. Battalion 35 will be your Air Recon Chief. Satellite 1, Mobile Command 1 and RAC 1. Battalion 9, received?'

'Battalion 9, 10-4.'

The list of units assigned on the 10-60 major emergency signal exceeded the entire complement of the majority of smaller departments across the nation. Only the MFD and a few of the other major cities could hope to pour so many resources into a single incident as a default response, and to alert them all so rapidly, without even knowing the specifics of what precisely had happened.

'Manehattan calling Battalion 9?'

'Go ahead, K.'

'Be advised that Princess had the crash box out for Celestia Airport, reporting an aircraft in distress with an engine fire. Unconfirmed at this time if this incident is related or not, K,' the dispatcher informed Chief Firebrand. It seemed likely, extremely likely in fact, but there couldn't be certainty until the identity of the downed aircraft could be confirmed, if indeed there actually was a downed aircraft and not simply a gas or steam explosion.

'Engine 40 to Manehattan!'

'Go ahead, Engine 40.'

'Advise all incoming units, uh...11th Avenue is impassable at 57th Street. Have all units stage at 10th Avenue and 57th for now, unless the Chief wants a different staging area, K!'

'10-4, Engine 40. Battalion 9 received that report?'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand replied. 'Have all first-alarm units coming from north of 57th respond to 59th and 11th, all units coming from the south on the first alarm respond to 55th and 11th. All additional units are to stage at 57th and 10th for now, K.'

'Engine 40 to Manehattan, roll every available ambulance you got, to this position!'

The wail of sirens split the early morning air, deadened, like all sounds, somewhat by the wind and the blowing snow, yet also amplified in strange and unpredictable ways by the sound waves bouncing off of the tall buildings of midtown. Blaze had been awoken by the alarm, not by an explosion, and none of the other members seemed to have heard anything despite the crash site being relatively close to them, but Engine 40 was reporting something had definitely happened.

Rescue 1 swung onto 11th Avenue at 50th Street, aiming to spear north against traffic as advised by Engine 40. There were a few cars coming south at a fair rate, even ignoring the oncoming emergency vehicles as the Engine and Battalion followed them onto the avenue. Up ahead there was not just snow blowing across the road, but also smoke, thick and black and oily.

'Oh boy...yeah, we've got something, that's for sure...' Fairway muttered as he navigated between the few vehicles that were coming the other way, seemingly trying to flee the scene, and with good reason. As they reached 54th Street, they started to see debris in the roadway ahead of them. Trails of fire were dotted here and there, seemingly with no cause, burning freely on the tarmac and concrete. Windows were broken in several buildings, and this was just the periphery of the disaster area. There were also a number of suitcases lying in the road and on the sidewalks, as though Discord had had his chaotic way with the intersection and decided to redecorate with randomness.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan. Transmit a 10-60 Code 2 and a third alarm for this box,' Firebrand ordered as they surveyed the devastation, even though most of it was obscured by smoke and snow. 'We have a major incident here. We'll try and get you confirmation of the involvement of an aircraft.'

'10-4 Battalion 9.'

Rescue 1 and Engine 25 pulled up at 55th Street. One car was burning up ahead, a trail of flame leading to it from seemingly nowhere, originating in the middle of the street. Blaze, Dawn and the others climbed down from their rigs, looking around in some degree of shock, despite their training.

Through gaps in the swirling smoke, more burning vehicles could be seen. There was clear damage to the top of the building on the southwest corner of the intersection. Fire was burning atop the building on the northwest corner. Ponies were coming through the smoke, bloodstained, soot clinging to their fur, dazed expressions on their faces, stumbling, sobbing. Broken glass littered the street.

The smoke curtain parted, and the fireponies were able to see farther along the avenue. The scene it revealed only got worse. More ponies were standing in the street. Some were lying on the ground. Even farther down, a large image of the Equestrian flag could be seen.

Firebrand peered ahead through the acrid smoke, trying to get a good size-up of the incident. He saw the flag and reached for the radio.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan?'

'Go ahead Battalion 9.'

'We have a confirmed aircraft down at this location, K. 57th and 11th. Notify EMS we have multiple casualties, potential for large numbers of patients. Have them roll a second MERV and a second MRTU to this box, K.'
'10-4, Battalion 9.'

'Alright!' Firebrand called. 'We have an aircraft down. Looks to be Royal Air Equestria, so let's assume it's carrying passengers and not freight. Engine 25, building on the northwest corner, fire on the roof. Stretch a line and extinguish it. Rescue 1, gear up. I want you to conduct a primary search of the aircraft in conjunction with Ladder 25. You'll go in from the rear, they'll go in from the front, sweep the fuselage if you can get inside it.'

'What if we can't get in, Chief?' Grey Spike questioned.

'If you can't make access, then report back for another assignment,' Firebrand replied, a grim and determined expression on his face. Grey Spike nodded and turned to his fireponies.

'Alright, gear up, masks and hoods, forcible entry tools. Oak Wood, bring an air chisel in case we have to cut through anything. I don't want a saw that might ignite anything.'

Oak Wood scrambled for the chisel, while Blaze grabbed his Hoofigan and axe. The standard tools of a firepony were not designed to break into an aircraft's fuselage, but they could pry apart twisted metal or help to open a door, and even if they couldn't get into the plane, they would be assigned a different task that would no doubt require the tools.

More units were arriving now, responding from all over the neighborhood. Those coming from the south were pulling up alongside the Rescue and Engine 25, giving more personnel and equipment to be used. Clearly, this was a large-scale incident. Ember Dawn and Striker stretched a hose line while Deep Blue hooked the engine up to a hydrant. The building on the northwest corner of the intersection was a four story structure with fire burning on the roof and who knew where else. It seemed clear, in the broadest sense, what had happened; the plane had come in low, scraping the rooftops before striking something and plunging into the street where it had exploded. The extent of the damage it had caused remained to be seen, but it clearly extended over several blocks at a minimum.

'Division 3 to Battalion 9 on the 800Mhz?' Deputy Chief Misty Morning's voice could be heard.

'Battalion 9 to Division 3, go ahead, K,' Firebrand replied over the SUV's radio.

'Alright, so we have an aircraft down there?' Misty Morning asked. 'That's confirmed?'

'10-4, Chief, visual confirmation,' Firebrand replied. 'Make of aircraft unknown but I have visual confirmation that it is a Royal Air Equestria jet.' The large Equestrian flag on the tail had told him that.

'10-4...and this is extending over multiple blocks?' Misty Morning questioned.

'10-4, Chief. We have units at 55th and 11th and there's damage here. I also have Engine 40 at 59th and 11th and they have damage up there, too,' Firebrand explained. 'We have multiple buildings damaged or burning. I ordered a third alarm, do you wanna push it up to a fourth?' he suggested.

'10-4,' Misty Morning replied. 'I'll transmit a fourth alarm. I'll be 10-84 in two minutes. Where's the command post?'

'I'm at 55th and 11th right now, but I suggest you set up your command post at 57th and 10th Avenue and start sectorizing this incident,' Firebrand explained. 'I can act as south sector command, maybe make Battalion 10 north sector command?'

'10-4, Chief. I'll set up my command post at 57th and 10th, you'll be south sector command until we can get another Division on the scene to take over,' Misty Morning ordered. 'Priority one is to evacuate those buildings as best you can, and gain access to the fuselage if there's anything left. Get as many victims out as you can. Priority two, stop those fires from spreading. Is is just buildings burning or do we have jet fuel burning too, K?'

'We have jet fuel burning,' Firebrand replied. 'Multiple spot fires at my location. I'm sending units north now to investigate further. Rescue 1 and Ladder 25 are going to try and gain access to the fuselage from each end of the plane if they can, K.'

'10-4, Battalion 9.' Misty Morning signed off. From her command post, she would oversee the whole operation until the arrival of the Manehattan Borough Commander, the next highest ranking officer, who, given the nature and scale of the incident, would soon find himself handing over command to the Chief of Department, Starfire Storm, who was likely already on her way to the scene.

Ember Blaze pushed on through the smoke with the rest of the Rescue, their masks at the ready. Ponies were stumbling through the street, and the fireponies directed them down to 55th Street, where paramedics would soon be arriving, if they were not there already. It was like walking through a warzone, with the crackling of the flames, the wail of sirens instead of bombs filling their ears, the sobs and cries of the wounded and confused, the bodies on the ground. As they emerged from the veil of smoke, a scene of utmost carnage greeted their eyes.

The tail of the jet airliner sat incongruously intact, resting against the side of a laundry store on the right side of the street. On the left, a row of six-storey brownstone residential buildings, three in total, were bathed in flame, as though somepony had ordered a napalm strike on them. Globs of burning jet fuel dripped down from the facades and burning window frames. One of the building was missing most of its top floor. Across on the right side of the street lay the remains of the fuselage, most of it nestled up against another pair of six-storey dwellings. The walls of the lower two floors had caved in where they had been struck, and most of the aircraft's passenger compartment now sat precariously below the unstable structures, bent and battered but still broadly intact. The nose section had snapped off and now lay in the intersection of 57th and 11th Avenue. The starboard wing had split off at some point and careened into a short strip mall of so called taxpayers, single-storey commercial buildings. There was a laundromat, a bakery, a hoof-and-hornicure store and a grocery store, all of which were ablaze, the ruptured fuel tank of the wing providing a plentiful source of energy for the inferno that was beginning to spread. There were half a dozen cars which had been smashed, overturned or squashed completely. Several were in the roadway, not parked, suggesting they had been occupied when disaster had struck. Ponies, Zebras and Griffons were wandering about listlessly and aimlessly, while others cradled the wounded in their hooves.

'Celestia...' Flagstaff grunted. 'What a mess...'

'Alright, that fuselage looks to be mostly intact,' Grey Spike called.

'I don't think that building is stable, Cap,' Blaze replied. Rivulets of dust were falling from the broken wall of the structure above the fuselage. 'Should we get Ladder 25 to start shoring it up?'

'Negative on that, the Chief told them to prep for entry too,' Grey Spike pointed out, before keying his radio. 'Rescue 1 to Battalion 9?'

'Battalion 9, go.'

'Chief, the fuselage is mostly intact but it's resting partially inside a pair of heavily damaged brownstones. We can try to gain entry but we're gonna need at least one unit for shoring, or else the whole thing might come down on top of us.'

'10-4, Cap,' Firebrand replied. 'I'll relay that message to command, have them direct the Squad and Collapse Rescue to assist, K.'

'10-4, Chief,' Grey Spike signed off and continued his advance. 'Alright, let's check it out, see if we can find a way inside,' he ordered, leading the way. Smoke billowed up from the burning stores to their right, the burning residential buildings to their left, and several ribbons of combusting fuel in the street. At least one car was aflame, either doused in jet fuel or suffering from a punctured gas tank of its own. Blaze followed. The nerve gas attack had been chilling with the seeming calmness of the scene on the station platform, but this was the exact opposite. This was the visceral fear, audible and tangible. It was a horror that could be felt, touched, smelled. The smell of jet fuel, the smell of smoke, the smell of blood.

Snow underhoof impeded movement somewhat, but the streets were not impassable by any means, even with debris and smoke and burning fuel. The Rescue pushed on. They were the only unit in sight, with Engine 25 having been directed into the burning building at the corner of 55th and 11th Avenue, the Chief overseeing operations from the intersection, and smoke blocking the view of Engine 40 and the other companies coming from the north side of the crash site.

The fuselage was nestled into the smashed buildings. The exterior wall had collapsed up to between the second and third floors, with incongruous domestic scenes exposed to the cool winter air, unmade beds, bathtubs still full of water, foal's toys tossed aside in panic. Blaze could only imagine the feelings of fear that the residents must have felt when the sudden roar of the jet filled their ears, followed by their world collapsing around them. There could well be victims trapped inside the building as well as in the aircraft. Given that multiple structures had been affected by the crash, there could be as many casualties on the ground as there were on board. Even with units streaming in to the scene from across the city, it would take precious time before all of the buildings could be searched and cleared and the fire brought under control.

Grey Spike began assessing the stability of the fuselage and the buildings it was resting against. The tail was still intact; unlike the nose, it had not split from the main body of the fuselage, denying them a potentially easy access route. The fuselage was dented, with jagged gashes torn in the metal skin in many places. Some of the windows were cracked or shattered, but the doors appeared to be intact. To make matters worse, the plane was not level. It was partly on its side, leaning to the right, meaning the roof and right side of the fuselage had taken the brunt of the impact with the building, bending and crumpling its structure.

'Looks like the fuselage is holding up the third floor,' Grey Spike grunted. 'That's not good. We need to get inside without shifting it or we might be in a world of hurt.'

'It looks like the nose has broken off, Cap,' Flagstaff pointed with a hoof to where the cockpit and the front third of the jet lay in the next intersection. 'We should be able to get in from the front.'

'Yeah, but the Chief told us to search from the back,' Grey Spike pointed out.

'We can grab a portable ladder and get up to the rear door,' Blaze suggested. 'I dunno if we can open the door without causing it to shift, though.'

'Rescue 1 to Battalion 9?' Grey Spike called.

'Battalion 9, go.'

'The fuselage is on its side but it's in two parts. We can gain access to the rear fuselage through the break. Suggest Rescue 1 and Ladder 25 search the main section, that's the section that's in the collapse zone, and you assign another unit to search the forward section and cockpit, K.'

'10-4, Rescue 1, standby,' Firebrand replied, relaying a message to Misty Morning, who in turn assigned the northern sector commander, Battalion 10, to assign another ladder company to search the front section of the jet. 'Rescue 1, Ladder 25 will back you up. We have Squad 18 and Collapse Rescue 1 coming in to assist. Search the main fuselage, K.'

'Rescue 1, 10-4.' Grey Spike turned to his crew. 'Alright, mask up, fillies and gentlecolts. We're going in.'

Move Fast

Progress report for Manehattan 0-60 40th Alarm, unusual occurrence Box 0711. Deputy Chief Misty Morning reports an aircraft down at 57th Street and 11th Avenue, with the involvement of an undetermined number of structures. At this time she reports dividing operations into North Sector under Battalion 10, and South Sector under Battalion 9. We have a command channel established. Chief Misty Morning reports that the scene of operations extends approximately from 55th Street to 59th Street, and from midway between 12th and 11th Avenues, to midway between 11th and 10th Avenues. We have three hose lines stretched and in operation. Primary searches of the aircraft are underway. Searches of the exposures will be delayed due to the wide spread of affected structures, collapse potential, and heavy fire conditions. At this time by orders of Deputy Chief Misty Morning, special call two additional tower ladders, one additional Satellite company, and one additional Rescue company. This incident remains doubtful will hold, K.

The scene at the plane crash was barely-controlled chaos. With so few units yet on the scene, it was impossible for Firebrand or Misty Morning to achieve all of the tasks that were required immediately. They had to prioritise what they did with each unit, and how many resources they committed to each action. The problems facing the emergency services were numerous and varied, not least among them actually figuring out the true scope of the incident. It was clear that multiple buildings were affected and that there could be hundreds of passengers on board the plane. It was still relatively early in the morning; the residential buildings could still be packed with workers getting ready to head out, foals and families preparing for the school run. There was the danger of structural collapse where buildings had been damaged. There was burning fuel, and no guarantee that there wouldn't be an explosion of some kind, either from a rupturing fuel tank or a potential gas leak. Burning fuel could flow into the drains and river and cause environmental damage. The integrity of the scene would have to be preserved for potential criminal investigations, and certainly for one conducted by the Equestrian Bureau Of Air Safety, who had the responsibility for investigating any accident involving a commercial or private aircraft, helicopter, airship or balloon, as well as Pegasi accidents.

All of these problems had to be taken into consideration when planning the operation, but until sufficient personnel and equipment could arrive on the scene, they could not all be remedied. That was why Rescue 1 was assigned to search the aircraft, the most likely source of mass casualties, and Engine 25 found themselves entering a burning building along with Ladder 4- the truck would search, and they would extinguish. In this case, the fire was on the roof, requiring a laborious climb up several flights of stairs to reach it. There was little smoke in the building, other than what was coming in through open windows from outside, but the fire alarm was sounding and there had clearly been panic among the residents. Some were streaming down the stairs, obstructing the ascent of Ember Dawn and the rest of his unit. Ponies with wide eyes and foals clutched in their hooves or riding on their backs were trying to get outside and to safety as quickly as they could, hardly a surprise given what had just happened, but not conducive to rapid progress by the fireponies.

The ponies of Ladder 4 set about searching and clearing each room, starting on the top floor, while the Engine stretched their hose line from the standpipe and prepared to open the bulkhead door onto the roof. Even if they extinguished the rooftop fire with ease, that would undoubtedly not be the end of their involvement in this rapidly unfolding and complex incident- there was too much to do, and not enough fireponies to do it.

The control firepony, Dark Flash, opened the bulkhead door once everypony had masked up.. Smoke wafted in as Striker pushed forward, Dawn right behind him, guiding the hose through the door and onto the flat roof of the structure. Visibility was limited thanks to the smoke, although it was being pushed inland by a stiff breeze blowing from the West River. The roof was aflame, or rather, something spread across it was.

'Shit...' Striker grunted into his facepiece. 'Engine 25 Nozzle to Engine 25! Looks like a fuel fire, Lieutenant! We're gonna need foam up here!'

'Engine 25 to South Sector Command,' Coppertop called, using the new designation for Chief Firebrand's command post.

'South Command, go ahead Engine 25.'

'We have a jet fuel fire on the roof of 725 11th Avenue, Chief,' Coppertop informed him. 'We're gonna try to extinguish it with our foam. I'll let you know if we need any more resources, K.'

'10-4, Engine 25.'

Each engine company carried several cans of foam concentrate which, when introduced to a stream of water, would rapidly expand to form a protective blanket over a flammable liquid fire, helping to smother it and prevent fresh oxygen from reaching it. Spraying water directly onto a burning liquid would just push the liquid around and not extinguish anything; in some cases, it could even make things worse by causing a more intense fire or an explosion, depending on what exactly was burning. Specialist Foam Tender engines carried larger quantities, and there were also several Foam Tankers with hundreds of gallons on board, at least two of which were already on their way to the scene as a result of the nature of the incident. A plane crash, especially one that had just taken off, could involve vast quantities of burning jet fuel, and that certainly seemed to be the case here.

Coppertop put a call down to Deep Blue, standing by at the engine's pump panel, to bring two foam cans and a special foam nozzle to the roof. The nozzle would mix the foam concentrate and water before expelling it in a far more gentle fashion to the normal powerful blast of water used in regular firefighting, in a fashion more similar to the fog spray that was often used to cool objects or fight electrical fires from a safe distance if no other option was available. That was because violently spraying the foam would not cause it to form a protective blanket; instead it would simply splatter it ineffectively across the surface of the burning fuel, and then push the flaming liquid around the roof, spreading the fire.

The rooftop bulkhead door was closed so as to keep smoke out of the stairwell as the attack team awaited the foam. Deep Blue hurried up with the cans and the nozzle, before returning to the rig to monitor the pressure as the hose line went into operation. The regular nozzle was replaced by the foam eductor, and the inlet pipe placed into the first can of foam so that it could be discharged through the hose.

'Engine 25 Nozzle to Engine 25 Chauffeur, start water!' Striker called down to the street over the radio.

'Engine 25 Chauffeur, starting water!' Deep Blue replied, setting the pump into operation and providing pressure and water for the standpipe system. Water flowed from the hydrant into the engine through the supply line, then onward into the standpipe connection, and up to the roof, where Striker had the nozzle aimed at the burning fuel. The fluffy yellow-white foam began to spill forth from the hose, and Striker played it back and forth across the burning rooftop, aiming to obtain complete coverage of the fuel to block out the oxygen and starve the fire, and hopefully prevent any rekindling. It accumulated steadily, like snow contaminated by volcanic ash or nuclear fallout.

'Engine 25 Nozzle to Engine 25, we're knocking it down!' Striker informed Coppertop, who stood at the doorway supervising the operation, while Dark Flash kept the door propped open and made sure the hose line was not snagging on anything inside the stairwell.

'10-4 Nozzle, keep hitting it!' Coppertop ordered, keeping an eye on the level of foam concentrate remaining in the can. Each can only gave enough foam for a couple of minutes of continuous operation, and the can would have to be replaced with the second one when it was empty. Ember Dawn kept hold of the line behind Striker, helping him to swing it back and forth steadily to make the foam rain down on the burning fuel. He couldn't help but wonder; jet fuel on the rooftop must have meant that either the plane struck the building, or that it had already hit something else that had caused a fuel leak. This building had been lucky. The occupants were evacuating in good order, and the engine had been assigned to fight the fire and keep it from spreading. But what else lay out there beyond the smoke?

Rescue 1 looped around toward the front of the shattered main fuselage section. Several bodies lay in the street between it and the nose section. Some were strapped into chairs, while others were not; possibly passengers thrown free, or maybe unfortunate passers-by who were simply on their way to work or school when disaster overtook them. There was something else on the ground, too.

'Hey, Cap!' Ember Blaze called, glancing warily down at the tarmac beneath his hooves. 'Cap, we got a fuel leak coming from somewhere!'

'Shit, that's all we need...' Grey Spike grunted, but looking down at the ground and taking a sniff confirmed it. 'Yeah, that's jet fuel alright...' He looked around. Of one wing, there was no sign. The other wing was buried deep within a row of burning stores and already well ablaze. That left only one source, and Grey Spike turned to the underside of the fuselage, examining it at the point where the center spar that connected the wings to the body passed through. The center spar was the single strongest component of the aircraft, and that was where its belly tank was located. Sure enough, the exterior of the fuselage had been dinged, scraped and battered by its impacts with buildings and the ground, and a steady stream of pungent liquid was flowing out from the damaged section and out across the road.

'What's the gradient on this street?' Grey Spike called to his ponies. 'Which way's it gonna go?'

Blaze and Flagstaff tried to determine which way the fuel would flow. That was important not just for environmental protection, but also their own protection. The street had a slight north-to-south tilt, meaning the fuel was flowing back the way they had come.

'Shit...Cap, it's flowing south!' Flagstaff shouted. All eyes turned south of their current position, for south of them lay the string of burning taxpayer stores.

'Celestia...' Grey Spike muttered. 'If it catches light...' He keyed his radio. 'Rescue 1 to Command, urgent, urgent, urgent!'

'Go ahead, Rescue 1,' Misty Morning's voice came through in reply from her command post. Once different sectors of control had been established, units operating in each sector would normally send their messages to the Chief in charge of that sector, but this was an urgent message and needed to be sent directly to the incident commander for her attention.

'Chief, we have a major fuel leak from the plane's belly tank,' Grey Spike informed them. 'The leak is running right into a row of burning taxpayers. If it ignites it'll run right back to the fuselage and burn any survivors alive before we can get them out. We need Hazmat or Squad to bring their damming equipment forthwith to the front of...' He looked for an address on one of the buildings. 'In front of 760 11th Avenue, K.' Before the Chief could acknowledge, Grey Spike was issuing orders of his own. 'Oak, High Line! Back to the rig, grab the speedy-dry and a leak control kit and get back here!'

The two fireponies scurried off back through the smoke. Speedy-dry was an absorbent, a sawdust-like powder that could be spread on the ground to either absorb a substance, for example oil leaking from a car engine after a crash, or be placed strategically to prevent something flowing in a certain direction, for example stopping a hazardous chemical flowing into the water system- or, in this case, jet fuel flowing into the burning buildings. While they waited for Oak Wood and High Line to return, Grey Spike and the others looked for any other way to stem the flow of the fuel or to stop it from trickling steadily toward the flames. The starboard wing of the jet had sliced straight through the front of the buildings, rupturing the fuel tank and causing an explosion which had started a fire that was now raging throughout all of the attached structures. It was possible that natural gas was also involved, for the explosion could easily have severed a gas line somewhere inside the buildings.

The belly tank of the jet was ruptured in at least one spot. The leak could be plugged, but normally such actions would be undertaken in conjunction with Hazmat Company 1, who were the experts in such matters. Rescue companies received plentiful hazmat training and could accomplish all but the most complex operations by themselves if necessary, and this was just such a situation. While Chief Firebrand or Chief Misty Morning could speak to the Hazmat company or the Hazmat Battalion on the radio or cellphone, those units were a good distance away; not only were they based in the borough of Princess, but at the receipt of the airport crash box, they had been assigned as standard procedure to head over to the airport, even farther from the crash site than their firehouses.

'Rescue 1 from Ladder 25?'

'Go ahead, Ladder 25,' Grey Spike replied.

'Ladder 25 is approaching the crash site now. You want us to check the main section of the aircraft, K?' the captain of the truck company asked.

'10-4, Ladder 25,' Grey Spike answered. 'Link up with us, southeast corner of 57th and 11th. We have Squad 18 and Collapse Rescue 1 bringing in shoring and cribbing, but proceed with extreme caution once you get on scene. The fuselage is resting against two heavily damaged buildings and there's a major collapse danger, K.'

'10-4, Rescue,' the captain replied. 'Do we have EMS on scene?'

'Ah, unknown at this time,' Grey Spike replied. Surrounded by smoke and flame, the Rescue crew were essentially operating in their own little world. There were no other emergency personnel visible yet. A quick check of a watch would show they had only been on scene for a little over three minutes, but they had already penetrated right to the heart of the disaster zone. Paramedics would surely be arriving very shortly if they were not already on scene, but they would not enter a dangerous area. Only the Rescue Medics were trained to attend to victims who were trapped in rubble or other hazardous situations where there was a consequent danger to rescuers as well, and there were likely to be far more victims than medics in any case. Any survivors would have to be brought to a triage area, probably somewhere on 11th Avenue between 57th and 58th Streets. Meadowbrook Memorial Hospital was very close by; as well as paramedics and ambulances, the hospital would most likely send out at least one field trauma team of doctors and nurses with specialist equipment, in case field amputations had to be performed to free a victim.

Ladder 25 appeared through the smoke, the only other emergency workers visible to Blaze and the rest of Rescue 1, though even now they knew several hundred were either on scene or on their way, a mixture of fireponies, police, paramedics and doctors. The scene was fast moving and dynamic, as exemplified by the flowing jet fuel. Things could change very quickly and everypony needed to be alert for potential dangers and changes to their environment. Grey Spike held a quick conversation with Ladder 25's captain, setting out their plan.

The aircraft's fuselage lay in a dangerous position, but it had to be searched for survivors. It was sufficiently intact that, looking at it from the outside, Blaze could well imagine there would be some, if not most, of the passengers who were still alive. Those near the center spar, the strongest part of the aircraft, and those in the tail, statistically the safest place to be in most crashes, would have the best chance of survival, provided medical care could reach them quickly. That required Rescue 1 to make entry to the airliner in order to make sure it was safe for paramedics and safe for victims to be removed without causing a potential collapse, a shifting of the fuselage, or an ignition of the belly fuel tank.

Oak Wood and High Line returned as Grey Spike conferred, bringing the speedy-dry material with them. At their captain's direction, they began to spread it in the path of the flowing jet fuel, hoping to stop the spread entirely, or at least slow it down long enough for Squad or Hazmat to bring more effective diking and damming equipment that could be used to collect the spilled fluid. They passed the leak control kit over to Grey Spike; the hope was that they could use it for a temporary stop, to plug up the hole from which the fuel was flowing. Hazmat would be able to effect a more permanent solution to the fuel tank problem, either by sealing the leak more thoroughly or by draining and offloading the fuel into drums or perhaps a tanker truck. But a solution was needed quickly, because the fuel flow was not going to stop until something was done about it, and the specter of another explosion loomed.

'Alright, Flagstaff, get as close to that leak as you can. Use your magic to apply the putty and try to seal it up,' Grey Spike ordered the unicorn mare, who took the kit from his hoof. It consisted of a malleable putty, non-reactive, which could be moulded into an appropriate shape to theoretically plug any hole temporarily. Ideally, an operation such as this would also see an Engine Company standing by with a charged hose line, just in case there was any sudden ignition of the fuel or the vapor it gave off, but the first alarm engines were all committed to fighting fires in the various burning buildings, meaning Rescue would be on their own with just Ladder 25's pressurized water extinguisher at hoof in case of trouble.

Flagstaff moved in, wearing her mask just in case. The fuselage of the jet creaked and the rubble of the building hung ominously over her head, the bare floor joists and boards protruding at jagged angles, like a dragon's teeth. Plaster dust drizzled down on her as she made her approach. In an emergency, she would be able to throw up a protective magical shield around herself to protect her against fire or collapse, but she would need to be paying close attention or to get a warning shout from the rest of the fireponies who were watching on just in case. She could also teleport a short distance, though if the building were to come down, she would most likely not be able to escape the collapse zone via such a method.

'Rescue 1 Can to Rescue 1. Applying the sealant now, Cap,' Flagstaff called over the radio. There were tense moments as she worked on the ragged cut in the tank, with flammable fuel continuing to spill out close to her. She used her magic to remove part of the sealing putty and apply it to the hole, then some more, and a bit more until finally the leak was plugged, at least temporarily. That was enough for rescue work to take place, and Hazmat 1 would be able to forge a more permanent solution to the problem once they arrived. What mattered right now was that the fuel stopped flowing toward the blazing buildings nearby, and Flagstaff had ensured that, in combination with the application of speedy-dry to the ground.

Now their focus could finally turn to their main forte, searching for and saving victims, and that meant getting inside the aircraft.

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.

Search And Clear

Progress report for Manhattan 10-60 4th Alarm, Unusual Occurrence Box 0711, West 57th Street and 11th Avenue. At this time, Assistant Chief Honeysuckle reports she has a confirmed aircraft down into multiple buildings. We have a partial collapse of two six-storey brownstones, a collapse and fire in a row of five taxpayers, heavy fire throughout three six-storey brownstones, and fires in at least two additional buildings. We also have structural damage to approximately four other buildings. We have confirmed survivors on board the aircraft. EMS is establishing a triage area and patients are in the process of being transferred and counted. EMS reports we have a total of two black tags, three red tags, eleven yellow tags, and six green tags. We have six lines stretched and in operation, two tower ladders in operation. Trucks are conducting primary searches of the affected buildings. Marine Company 1 is standing by to provide water relay and we are putting Satellite 1 into operation. By orders of Assistant Chief Honeysuckle, transmit a fifth alarm for this box and special call two additional tower ladders and two additional Battalion Chiefs. This incident remains doubtful will hold, k.

With the initial entry made and the primary searches of the jet completed, Rescue 1 found themselves reassigned. They were in high demand thanks to their expertise and training, while the more routine work of extracting injured passengers would be left to the SOB Support Ladders, supported by Squad 1, who had now arrived at the scene with their second vehicle that carried rescue and Hazmat supplies. Rescue Medics were inside the jet, checking on patients and identifying which ponies had the most severe injuries and required rapid evacuation to the triage area and thence on to hospital. Things were slowly falling into place as more and more units arrived at the staging area, providing personnel and equipment to deal with the widespread problems that faced the emergency responders.

Rescue 1, having completed the search, had been in contact with Chief Firebrand at the south sector command post, still obscured from their vision by blowing smoke, which made it difficult for the Chief to establish exactly what was going on, forcing him to rely on radio reports from the units under his command. Now, however, Deputy Chief Misty Morning had relocated from the command post at the orders of Chief Honeysuckle, and had now set up an operations post at the intersection of 57th Street and 10th, just north of the main fuselage and closer to the medical triage area. The nose section of the jet remained sitting in the intersection, where it had collided with at least one car and a soda delivery truck, which had spilled much of its load across the street, with cola siphoning away into the drains. The cab of the truck was a crumpled mess, reduced to a kaleidoscope of broken metal fragments and shards at all angles, like some metal flower in bloom.

The nose of the jet had been searched by other companies, finding survivors just as the Rescue had in the main section, but the fuselage and the passenger within it remained in danger. The buildings they had crashed into were unstable, as indeed was the fuselage itself. Collapse Rescue 1 were in the process of attempting to stabilise the fuselage so that the passengers could be brought safely out without any danger of it shifting or rolling during the operation. Wooden cribbing and metal struts were being slipped into place as gently as possible, in order to provide support and stop any possibility of movement. If the fuselage were to roll from its present position, it could either cause further damage to the building or possibly threaten the rescuers, as well as causing further injuries to the passengers who were still inside.

Captain Grey Spike met up with Chief Misty Morning at her relocated operations post for their next assignment. She gave Rescue 1 a new task; to search the two partially collapsed buildings above the downed jet for any survivors who may have been inside at the time of the crash. The buildings were not stable; the front walls had caved in under the impact, and there was damaged to internal walls and floors as well, with beams knocked out of true and plaster cracked and loose, but that was why a thorough search of the structures was so important. If they became more unstable at some future point of the operation, or if there was a further partial collapse, it would be too dangerous to send rescuers into them, and might jeopardize the evacuation of passengers from the jet as well.

The flight attendant had been taken to the triage area for treatment, carefully led as far as possible from the bodies of her co-workers which were lying broken in the street in an attempt to shield her from the worst of the trauma she was clearly already suffering from. More units had arrived in scene now, with several engine companies stretching hose lines, both to cover the jet in case of fire and to help extinguish the blazes in the multiple dwellings opposite, and the row of stores just to the south. The heat from the taxpayer blaze, stoked by jet fuel, could be felt clearly when standing in the street outside of the aircraft. There was a danger of it spreading to the damaged brownstones, which could exacerbate the structural damage and also threaten the passengers with toxic smoke and heat, hindering the rescue operation.

That was why two tower ladders had been brought in, driving straight through the smoke to park in front of the inferno. Two engines accompanied them to help slake their thirst, for their high capacity nozzles could pour heavy duty and accurate streams of water onto the fire from above, giving the option of attacking flames in otherwise inaccessible places and pushing the fire in a certain direction, cutting off its spread to the exposure buildings. In this case, the jet and the damaged buildings had to be protected, and the two ladders were set up, their buckets, each containing two fireponies, rising into the smoke to begin their relentless assault.

Grey Spike returned to the rest of the Rescue crew with their new orders. 'Masks on, everypony, some of that smoke is getting into those buildings,' he ordered. 'Flagstaff and Blaze, you're with me. We'll search the corner building. The rest of you, search the other building. Any survivors who are trapped or need extrication, put out a radio call. If they can walk, get them out to the street.'

'10-4, Cap!' Fairway replied, hustling with his team over to the building they had been assigned to clear. Blaze followed his captain, who approached the damaged corner structure. The first two floors had been opened up to the chill wind, curtains and hung up washing flapping in the breeze. Ponies had been living perfectly normal lives in the apartments within until their world had suddenly been turned upside down and torn apart by the crash. Some may already be dead, but other residents could easily be trapped inside, especially on the upper floors if the staircases had been damaged or destroyed.

'Take care in here,' Grey Spike warned his ponies as they passed by the front of the broken fuselage, where other units were offloading wounded passengers strapped down to backboards. Rubble from the collapsed curtain wall of the building littered the street underhoof, bricks and glass and plaster. The main entrance of the building had been taken out, the door crushed beneath the bulk of the fuselage which now blocked the most obvious entry point, the huge hole in the wall. There was space to potentially squeeze through, but squeezing for fireponies in full gear with air tanks and helmets was not exactly easy.

'Let's check round the back,' Grey Spike ordered, leading the way onto 57th Street, hoping to find a gate or alleyway that would grant them a way in to a rear door or service entrance. There were worrying cracks in the side wall of the structure, suggesting the impact of the aircraft had indeed caused more than just superficial cosmetic damage. At the end of the building was an alleyway leading into the rear where a string of large trash bins were stored, along with the ubiquitous and often inexplicable stack of pallets so common to back passageways in the city. There was also a rear door to the building, which was what they were seeking. Grey Spike tried the handle and found it locked.

'Irons, you're up.' He stepped aside. 'Get us in there.' Blaze approached the door. Working as the Irons firepony for the tour meant he carried the Hoofigan and axe for forcible entry, and he positioned the fork end of the versatile tool against the door. Flagstaff used her magic to hold the axe.

'Hit!' Blaze called, and she slammed the flat head of the axe against the other end of the Hoofigan. Blaze repeated the call twice more until the lateral motion of the angled forks cracked the lock and the door swung open for them. Grey Spike took the lead again and headed inside, lighting up his flashlight. There was a hallway ahead and a couple of doorways, which were searched to reveal utility and laundry rooms with no victims to be found inside. The hallway was dark and led from the back door to the front lobby, which was now a shambles. The roof and side of the fuselage dominated the room, having removed the exterior wall and much of the ceiling. The bottom few rungs of the staircase had been turned to splinters, but it was accessible and climbable, though not necessarily safe or stable. The building had an elevator but it was unusable due to the structural damage. They performed a quick but thorough search of the lobby, looking behind and under the desk and in the superintendents' office, finding nopony.

'Alright, careful here...Rescue 1 to Operations, have another company bring a portable ladder into the rear of the corner building, southeast corner...we'll need it to help evacuate victims down a damaged staircase, K,' Grey Spike put out the call, and Chief Misty Morning replied.

'10-4, Rescue 1.'

'Alright, up we go.' Grey Spike climbed over the gap, testing the stairs with one hoof before applying more weight. They were constructed of thick, sturdy wood, and they held, taking his weight despite the damage to the first few steps. Blaze followed, with Flagstaff bringing up the rear as they ascended to the first floor of apartments to search for victims. With the staircase still intact, it was always possible that the entire building had self-evacuated and joined the shocked throng of ponies who had been wondering about in the streets with dazed expressions on their faces. But some ponies might have been trapped due to structural damage which might have rendered them unable to open their doors, a common find in earthquake-prone areas. That, after all, was basically what had happened to this building, struck by an earthquake without any kind of warning.

The first floor contained a hallway with four doors, each leading to an individual apartment where, until minutes earlier, a pony or perhaps a whole family had been living out their lives. Two of the doors were open, suggesting the occupants had fled, but it was always possible the impact had knocked them open and that there was still a resident trapped somewhere inside who needed help. Grey Spike set them to check the street-side apartments first, as they were the ones that would have taken actual physical damage from the impact of the plane. The first door was open, and Grey Spike and Blaze stepped inside carefully, testing the floorboards with one hoof before proceeding in case they would not hold their weight.

As expected, the apartment was a shambles. The outside wall had collapsed, meaning the two fireponies were able to look out across the street, with snow swirling in through the newly created opening, driven by the strong wind coming off of the river a block away. The wall that separated the bedroom from the lounge had disappeared, and the bed now lay teetering on the edge of tipping and falling down onto the roof of the jet which lay wedged firmly against what remained of the floor, the stronger timbers having caused scrapes of bare metal where they had scratched the paint away. Other structural members had turned into matchwood under the force of the impact and the collapsing walls. Water dribbled down from a severed pipe somewhere in the apartment above, while part of the dividing wall separating the apartment from its neighbour had also been smashed, allowing a small glimpse into the adjacent living space. The bathroom door had flopped forward onto the carpet, while the plates and dishes in the small kitchen had been strewn across the floor and shattered. There was no sign of any resident being present, the open front door having suggested flight in terror, and understandably so given the violence and surprise of the crash and the damage it had done to the apartment.

Blaze searched the bathroom with negative results, while Grey Spike did the same with the bedroom, finding it equally empty. A newspaper was spread open on the kitchen counter, perhaps indicating what the resident had been doing at the moment of impact. With the apartment cleared, they moved out and rejoined Flagstaff, moving down to the next apartment on the street side of the building. This time the door was locked, and just like the rear entrance to the building, it would have to be forced. Blaze got to work with the Hoofigan, but all it took was placing the tool against the door jamb. There was no need for Flagstaff to strike it with the axe, because something somewhere was clearly damaged by the crash, and the door simply fell into the apartment with a thud.

Grey Spike stepped inside and began the search, while Blaze followed. This apartment was in an even worse state than the first one. Most of the floor was missing and what remained had been forced upward by the fuselage of the jet, snapping floorboards and pulling the carpet away from the walls. The bedroom had collapsed entirely into the lobby below, a shattered mass of broken wood and brick with the remains of the bed poking incongruously out, the sheets draped over the rubble like a burial shroud, though Rescue 1 had already conducted a quick primary search of the rubble pile when they entered the building, and seen no obvious signs of any victims being trapped within it. Nor did they find anypony in the apartment. Perhaps the occupant was away on holiday, or had already gone to work for the day, escaping the horrors which had been unleashed upon their home and their neighbors.

Now, they had to search the apartments on the other side of the hallway. These were located away from the impact site, and thus would logically have sustained less damage, but still needed to be checked- experience had shown that some ponies could, quite literally, sleep through anything, and if they could sleep through an earthquake, then theoretically they could sleep through a jet slamming into their building, too.

'Fire department!' Grey Spike called, banging on the first apartment door. 'Anypony in there? Is anypony trapped on the first floor? Anypony?'

He got no reply, and repeated his call twice more. If there was a way to prevent having to force the doors, by alerting any remaining residents who could open them themselves from inside, that was usually considered preferable if at all possible, rather than causing unnecessary damage- although in this case, the building was likely to be rendered uninhabitable anyway thanks to the structural damage, meaning it might be a moot point. With no reply, Blaze and Flagstaff then forced the door and they searched the apartment, along with the other which had an open door already. Nopony was present, and so they climbed up to the next floor and repeated the process, doing the same again and again until finally reaching the top floor, where the sound of sirens from the street below was reduced from a piercing shriek to a more manageable background noise, so common to residents all across the whole city of Manehattan.

Here, too, there were four apartments, all with their doors closed. Grey Spike tried calling out to alert any residents, but again he got no reply, just like the other floors below. They set about cracking each door for a search, only to come face to face with a surprised elderly couple as they entered the second apartment. The stallion was reading the morning newspaper, while his wife was cooking hay pancakes. To add to the surreal nature of the scene, the tv, on mute in the background, was displaying a large banner proclaiming BREAKING NEWS- Plane Crash In Manehattan, while the two concerned news anchors discussed the situation from their desk.

'Sir, ma'am!' Grey Spike stepped into the apartment. 'You need to come with us.'

'What's that, sonny?' the stallion questioned, looking over.

'Oh! Look dear, some nice fireponies are here,' his wife informed him helpfully.

'You need to come with us, we need to evacuate this building,' Grey Spike repeated. 'There's been an accident.' He pointed to the tv screen, prompting the stallion to lower his paper and squint.

'I can't read that! Where are my glasses?' he grumbled.

'Oh, they're just here, dear!' his wife replied. When she moved away from the stove, Grey Spike went over and turned off the gas to the appliance for safety.

'There's been a plane crash,' Grey Spike informed them, as the stallion read the headline thanks to his glasses. 'There's damage to the building and we need to evacuate it.'

'There's been a plane crash!' the stallion announced redundantly. 'Oh, I wondered what the noise was!' Grey Spike rolled his eyes. It was always amazing what ponies could disregard or ignore, or simply not notice, despite the noise and the building surely shaking after the plane slammed into it. Grey Spike remained with the couple to make sure they were going to follow him out, and sent Blaze and Flagstaff to clear the two final apartments, which turned out to be empty. With the whole building searched and seemingly cleared, it was time for them to leave, back to the street outside as soon as possible, both so they could be redeployed and so they could get back to safety in case of a further collapse of either building. They were cleared, but there was still much to do.

Complications

Progress report for Manehattan 10-60 5th Alarm, Unusual Occurrence Box 0711, 57th Street and 11th Avenue. At this time, Car 3, Chief of Department Starfire Storm, reports we have an aircraft down into multiple buildings. We have heavy fire throughout five single-storey taxpayers, heavy fire throughout three six-storey brownstones, a partial collapse of two six-storey brownstones, damage to four other buildings, and fire in an additional three buildings. Passengers from the aircraft are being extricated and moved to triage. At this time, EMS is reporting eight black tags, fifteen red tags, twenty seven yellow tags and nineteen green tags. We currently have nine lines stretched and in operation, four tower ladders in operation, and two Satellites for water relay. Marine 1 continues to stand by to provide additional water if required. By orders of Chief of Department Starfire Storm, we are currently establishing a north staging area at Columbine Circle, and a south staging area at 53rd Street and 10th Avenue, for additional resources not yet on scene. Searches of most buildings will be delayed due to heavy fire and damage. Primary searches of 780 and 785 11th Avenue have been conducted and are negative, with the exception of a total of six residents who have been evacuated with no reported injuries. Special call two additional tower ladders, one additional Division Chief, the planning vehicle and one additional SOB Support Ladder. This incident remains doubtful will hold, K.

The elderly couple were only too glad to leave their building once Grey Spike had persuaded them to look out of the window and see the carnage unfolding below for themselves. They had been ushered down to the street and to safety, where other fireponies and police were waiting to help take uninjured survivors to somewhere warm, either in a city bus commandeered for the purpose, or in the lobby of an undamaged building, perhaps into a coffee shop where they could be given a cup of something hot and calming to soothe their nerves after the ordeal. The aircraft passengers had no such luxury, however, for they were whisked instead to the medical triage area set up just north of the scene. Due to space requirements, this had to be set up outdoors. There was no large warehouse or empty store which could be used for such a purpose, nor indeed a building with a doorway wide enough for stretchers and wheelchairs to be constantly moved in and out.

As a result, the victims who had to be treated were being gathered in the street, on the large colored tarpaulins that indicated the severity of their wounds. Once patients had been rapidly evaluated by paramedics or doctors from the disaster team who had rushed down from Meadowbrook Memorial, they were shuttled as quickly as possible into somewhere warm; an ambulance for the critical patients, one of the MERV or MRTU medical vehicles for the yellow-tagged moderately injured, and onto one of the city buses for the green-tagged walking wounded.

Those who had been assigned black tags were moved into the lobby of a hotel, out of sight of the news cameras to await the inevitable with at least a tiny modicum of dignity. They were the ones deemed to be beyond help, even with Meadowbrook hospital just couple of blocks away. In a normal situation, a car crash for example, a patient in such a dire state would be rushed to the emergency room and every effort would be expended to save their life. Some of them might well be saved with diligent care and a fully prepared trauma team and surgical theater, but that simply wasn't an option in a mass casualty incident. With so many critically injured passengers and passers-by, those given red tags by the medics in the triage process, who were quite likely to survive with good hospital care but would certainly die if they didn't receive it, they had to take priority over those who were so badly hurt that they were highly likely to die even with prompt care. That was the sad calculus of triage, but it was a necessity.

'Car 3 to Division 3, K?'

'Division 3, go ahead.'

'We've received the passenger list from the airline. They report that there were a total of two hundred sixty eight passengers and ten crew on board, K. I'm relaying that information to the medical branch director and both sector commanders. Make sure we get proper records of exactly how many patients and bodies we recover from the aircraft,' Chief of Department Starfire Storm ordered in her usual stern but efficient voice. She was the latest in a long line of Chiefs of Department, and like many of them, she had risen through the ranks holding every single intermediate rank in the MFD- Probie, Firefighter, Lieutenant, Captain, Battalion Chief, Deputy Chief, Deputy Assistant Chief, Assistant Chief, and finally the ultimate coveted prize of the highest-ranked uniformed member of the MFD, the Chief of Department, answerable directly to the Mayor and the mayoral appointee, the Fire Commissioner.

Division 3, Deputy Chief Misty Morning, was tipped by many to follow in Starfire's hoofsteps, as she was a veteran of the department with excellent prospects and plenty of nous and leadership skills rather following Starfire's mould. '10-4, Chief,' Misty Morning replied. 'We'll co-ordinate our patient counts and try to get seat numbers if we can. Be advised that the fuselage has split into two sections and we do have some confirmed victims ejected from the aircraft, K.'

'10-4,' Starfire Storm responded. 'Do you need any additional fire resources?'

Misty Morning looked around from her command post at 57th St. and 11th Avenue. As operations chief for the plane crash, she was directly responsible for overseeing the firefighting and rescue, while Starfire Storm and Honeysuckle co-ordinated the overall response, including strategic planning, working with other agencies, and deciding based on reports from Misty Morning and the sector chiefs exactly what next steps would need to be taken to mitigate the incident, save lives and protect property. That meant that she had to be in a position to directly observe as much of the ongoing operation as possible.

She could see the fire and the smoke, the debris-strewn streets, the stretcher-bound victims being wheeled and carried hurriedly to the triage area. The majority of the action was south of her; there seemed to be only superficial damage to buildings north of 57th Street. It was the area between 55th and 57th which had suffered the most damage, and the worry for the chiefs in command was that the majority of buildings in that section were residential, including the ones which had been damaged and the ones that were on fire. While the structures directly hit by the fuselage had been searched and cleared by the Rescue, those that were ablaze had not, and that task was made more difficult by the fact that the fire was not confined to a single floor. Burning jet fuel had been spread across the rooftops and drizzled down the front facade of the buildings, potentially cutting off the escape route for ponies who might attempt to flee, only to find the sidewalk and street outside their front doors engulfed in fire.

A very broad, early and simplistic picture of exactly what had happened could now be drawn up, based on the information Misty Morning and the other command chiefs had received from various units, including the Pegasi spotters and remote-controlled drone- the air recon chief aboard a police chopper had not responded due to the weather, with low cloud, wind and blowing snow. It seemed that the jet had come in from the river, clipping the rooftop of at least one building on 55th Street, where a water tower was now reported to be leaning dangerously. It had crossed 55th Street and its left wing had struck at least one more building, igniting the fuel tank if it hadn't already been burning, and leaving a pool of fire on the roof which Engine 25 had extinguished. It had then skipped several buildings, drizzling flames into the street, before drifting again and clipping the trio of now-burning brownstones on the left side of the street, ripping at least part of the wing away and spreading burning fuel everywhere before the fuselage dropped into the street, striking the ground and sliding across the road, smashing into the residential buildings as the starboard wing sliced into the row of stores which were now burning merrily as a trio of tower ladders attempted to check the blaze with their heavy-caliber streams. They were having limited success, however, as there was a major supply of jet fuel feeding the flames.

Foam tenders and tankers had been assigned to the scene, and one was already present along with Satellite Company 1, a modified engine that could pump higher volumes of water and thus supply numerous hose lines or several higher-capacity streams. The Satellites also came with a fair supply of foam themselves, to supplement those carried on every engine, but to extinguish essentially an entire aircraft's fuel supply would need more than the frontline units could hope to supply. There were several more tankers en route, the remainder of the department's foam fleet, but they were still a long way away, coming from other boroughs.

For now, they would have to make do with what they had. That was enough to keep the incident in check and stop the fires from spreading out of control, but not to extinguish them completely, nor to properly treat every injury. More ambulances were arriving at the staging area every minute, both those operated by the MFD and others that were controlled and dispatched by individual hospitals through the emergency phone dispatch network. Paramedics and fireponies, as well as police officers, were doing their best to treat the steady flow of injured ponies coming not just from the jet, but from the damaged buildings too, as well as those caught up in the street, pedestrians and drivers finding themselves very much in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Starfire Storm had asked if she needed any more fire resources, and the answer was yes. '10-4, I could use at least one more tower ladder and two or three engine companies, personnel only, to assist with stretching additional hose lines,' Misty Morning replied over the radio. With such a widespread incident the need for fireponies outstripped the availability. There were so many tasks to complete; stretching hoses, searching apartments, extricating patients from damaged vehicles, evacuating the aircraft, properly shoring up the damaged buildings, replacing the temporary seal on the leaking fuel tank with something more permanent and effective, bringing foam to supply the tower ladders and master streams, treating the wounded, shutting down utilities to compromised structures to prevent further fires, removing and searching through debris where it was safe to do so.

While there were now large numbers of police officers and medics at the scene, many of those necessary actions could only be carried out safely by the fireponies, for they were the ones with the training and equipment that was needed. It wasn't safe to run into a burning building without full turnout gear and breathing apparatus, after all- and not exactly risk free even with that outfit. More specialist tasks such as shoring up the damaged buildings couldn't be done by just any fire unit, either. Only the Rescue Companies, Squads and Collapse Rescue vehicles had the right supply of cribbing, struts and lumber to be used for such a job. Rescue 1, fresh from searching the buildings, was now directed by Misty Morning to assist Collapse Rescue 1 with shoring up the overhanging floor and exterior wall that were located above the fuselage of the jet, and risked further damage and injury if it should collapse on top of the plane while the evacuation was still underway. There were several hundred passengers still to remove, a delicate and slow operation, especially for those who were seriously injured and had to be removed on backboards for safety.

It was not an easy task to accomplish. Applying too much stress to any particular part of the building could result in a further collapse, and even the movement of a single pony could cause that. Great care had to be taken not to disturb the aircraft wreckage, either, though it was already partly propped up by other units, who had placed metal struts on both sides to try and stop it from rolling or tipping over as the fireponies evacuated the passengers from it. That could easily be disastrous, and had to be prevented at any cost.

Meanwhile, with the rooftop fire extinguished and a truck company brought in for overhauling, Engine 25 had been redeployed. Their hose line had been left in place, not normally something that would happen, but their resources and expertise were needed elsewhere. Chief Firebrand had ordered the engine to move up to 56th Street and 11th Avenue and to hook up to a hydrant there to help out with the trio of blazing brownstone residences, which were stretching the resources of the units already trying to fight and contain the fire. Flames were licking across the windows and smoke was billowing out from within where the fire had taken hold. With the wing of the jet having smashed into the buildings and spilled burning fuel everywhere, the free-flowing liquid had found every possible route to follow gravity, following into air vents, cracks in the roof, under the bulkhead door and through open windows, spreading throughout the buildings and compounding the problem of trying to fight it. The buildings were not constructed to be internally watertight, which was why calls for water leaks were commonly received in such buildings from the apartment below the one where the actual problem was. In this case, it wasn't water flowing, but jet fuel.

Engine 25 repositioned by walking, while Deep Blue drove the rig around to the next intersection, navigating through the debris and nosing carefully and slowly through the blowing smoke with all the lights on and an occasional blast of the air horn to alert any first responders or survivors who might be in the roadway. Once she arrived, she parked up and dismounted, hooking up the engine to a hydrant on the corner, the only one not already in use. Other engines were feeding the tower ladders that were trying to darken down the fire in the stores on the other side of the street. Due to their positioning, the corner of 56th and 11th was as close as Deep Blue could bring the engine to the fire buildings, which were at the other end of the block.

The rest of the crew set to work pulling more hose lengths- they would need plenty to stretch a line to the nearest of the three buildings. Other supply hoses already criss-crossed the street, running to the tower ladders and smaller attack hoses running into different buildings to extinguish spot fires or prevent the spread from the brownstones into the exposures. Things were starting to stabilise with more units on scene, but the three burning buildings were a cause for concern due to the spread of fire within them. Lieutenant Coppertop ordered Striker and Dawn to take the nozzle and backup positions, as they had done with the rooftop fire. They were going in again, but this time, the situation was not quite so clear cut.

Beginnings

It was a cold and grey morning in early spring, much like any other in Manehattan. Though the winter was over, its chill had not yet left the coastal city; the trees were still mostly bare. That was why Ember Blaze, a five year old colt, and his scrawny younger brother Ember Dawn, were inside in their room, and not playing in the street as they would likely be doing were the weather more conducive to it.

Instead, the older colt, a copper-brown earth pony just like his brother, though with a red main and tail to Dawn's dark blue, was busy colouring one of his many drawings. He liked to draw; perhaps he would be a painter or a graphic designer one day. Their mother, Morning Glow, was an artist; at least, an amateur one. She worked as a library assistant for the city, while the old stallion of the family also worked for a municipal agency. Blaze Beater was a firepony, and not just any firepony. He was a long-standing member of Rescue Company Number 1, the best of the best. Currently, he was off-duty, in the lounge down the hall, and, like many fireponies of his vintage, incongruously smoking a pipe.

Ember Blaze worked on his drawing, but found himself being distracted by shouts from outside. He tried to ignore them. Probably just some neighbourhood kids braving the weather for a game of hoofball. But the shouts persisted, and with a frown, Blaze got up and went to the window to see what was going on. His eyes widened as soon as he reached the window, and he turned to shout.

'Dad! Daddy! There's a fire across the street!'

He got no response from the lounge. 'Daddy!' he called again. But Blaze Beater wasn't in the lounge any longer. Ember Blaze watched in shock as he saw his father galloping across the street. He was off duty, but he was still a firepony, and up he went, up the fire escape of the six-story tenement building. The fire was burning on the third floor, already venting out of two windows at the front of the structure. Blaze found himself joined at the window by his brother.

'Look! There's daddy, see?' Blaze pointed, guiding Dawn's vision. Their father was already at the third floor, finding an open window, and in he went from the side, disappearing into the burning building.

'Where did daddy go?' Dawn gasped. 'Where is he? There's a fire!' He pointed out the obvious.

'Don't worry, bro. It's daddy! This is his job,' Blaze assured his younger sibling. 'He does it all the time!'

That may have been true, but neither brother had ever seen their father in action like this before. Ponies were gathering in the street, while others were making their way down the fire escape from the higher floors, fleeing for their lives. Thirty tense seconds passed, then thirty more, and then finally, Blaze Beater reappeared, but he was not alone. Slumped across his back was the prone figure of a mare, slumped, unconscious. Blaze Beater pushed his way through the descending ponies onto the fire escape and carried her down to the street.

'See? Daddy's ok!' Blaze grinned. 'He saved somepony!'

Dawn clapped his hooves happily. 'Daddy hero! Daddy hero!' he repeated. But Blaze Beater wasn't done, and up he went again, pushing through the throng. Some of their neighbours knew he was a firepony, and others simply saw the authority he exuded and let him pass. Into the inferno he went again, as the wail of sirens began to fill the street.

'Daddy gone again!' Dawn cried, but Blaze calmed him.

'Look, fire trucks, see? Look there!' He leaned as far out as the safety window would allow, pointing. Racing down the block came two big, red vehicles, white-and-red lights blazing in the spring gloom. The first vehicle pulled past the fire building before coming to a halt with a loud hiss of air brakes. The larger vehicle, the one with the huge ladder mounted on top, came to a stop right in front of the burning structure. Fireponies jumped down from the cab, slamming doors and opening compartments. More sirens were approaching, coming from all directions, sounding as though they were inside the colts' bedroom. Another truck with a ladder appeared from the same direction, coming to a halt as the first one began to raise its ladder, swinging it toward the third floor and the windows there which were not involved in flame.

Hoses were stretched, unrolled and fitted to the hydrants, after a firepony had opened them with a great theatrical flourish of water to check that they were working. Other fireponies helped distressed occupants off of the fire escape, while another tended to the fire victim removed by the valiant Blaze Beater. Moments later, he emerged again from the fire apartment, with another figure on his back; this one was smaller, much smaller. It was a foal.

Once he reached the ground, he carefully laid the foal down. He exchanged words with some of the fireponies, who passed him on their way up the fire escape with a hose line. Others were scrambling up the truck's ladder, while Pegasi from the second truck were flying up to the higher floors, tools and gear in their hooves. Some went up to the roof, others into the floor above the fire. More vehicles were arriving; an ambulance, a chief's car, another engine, another ladder- and there, swinging into the block, came the majestic Rescue Company Number One, Blaze Beater's own crew.

Dawn and Blaze had seen the rig often enough at firehouse open days to recognise it immediately, and they cheered as it roared down the street and pulled up to a stop. By now the street was alive with fireponies. They seemed to be everywhere, and within three minutes of their arrival, water was spraying out of the burning windows as the hose line was called into action to extinguish the blaze within. Paramedics from the city's emergency ambulance service were treating the two fire victims, loading them carefully onto stretchers.

Whatever the reality, both brothers were convinced. There was no way those two ponies would have had any chance of survival if not for their dad, who so bravely took action without even his helmet. That was when they both made up their minds. That was the day that they both wanted to become fireponies.

Some twenty two years had passed since that fateful day. The city of Manehattan had seen many changes in that time, but in many ways, it remained fundamentally the same. It had grown to a vast, bloated population of nearly ten million creatures, but it still consisted of five boroughs- Manehattan, Hooflyn, The Ponyx, Princess, and distant Stallion Island, connected to the rest of the city only by a magnificent suspension bridge and a couple of ferry services. Equestrian development over the past century had been extremely rapid; whereas a hundred years ago Manehattan would have been served by steam locomotives, airships and paddle steamers, today it played host to sleek electric trains, jet aircraft and vast supertankers. Magic was great, and it was very useful, but technology had stepped in to fill the gaps that it could not. Teleporting services existed, for instance, but they were very expensive- only the most powerful unicorns could transport somepony more than a few hundred feet, and to move three hundred ponies and their baggage halfway around the world? Magic rapidly faded out for that purpose in favour of the fast and efficient airliners. Ponies didn't trot around or take pony-pulled cabs; they drove in cars and trucks and buses.

A hundred years ago, the Manehattan Fire Department relied entirely on pony power. Rickety old wooden ladder trucks and steam-powered pumpers were pulled by fireponies who would sometimes gallop themselves to exhaustion trying to make it to the fire, leaving themselves all but incapable of actually acting once they arrived. Even magical firefighting was in its infancy, because the science behind fires was only very vaguely understood. The intricacies of ventilation, the fire triangle, hydraulics, water flows, pressure, hazardous materials and a hundred other factors were barely on the curriculum for prospective fireponies, if they were taught at all.

The days of wooden hydrants and iron ponies lay well in the past, however, and the department was now widely considered to be the finest in all of the land. There was no doubt that it was the largest, but then it needed to be. Manehattan was a huge city with a massive population, all of whom needed protecting, not just from fire, but from a myriad array of potential dangers which could be unleashed upon them at any time. Day or night, rain or shine, spring, summer, winter or autumn, disaster could strike at any moment, and the MFD needed to be available to respond no matter the circumstances.

The department had a staff of almost twenty thousand, which included fireponies, administrative staff, and paramedics. The city's municipal emergency medical services had been folded into the MFD fifteen years earlier, meaning they were now responsible for providing medical care as well as fire protection. Spread across the city were two hundred engine companies, one hundred and fifty ladder companies, and innumerable special units, all organised into fifty Battalions and fifteen Divisions that split the city geographically. Each borough had three Divisions, and each Division had several Battalions of units assigned to it. Most of the special units, which included the Rescue Companies, one per borough, were assigned to the Special Operations Battalion, or S.O.B. which was officially pronounced as in the word that means to cry, but leading quite naturally to the unofficial motto of Rescue One, painted on the windshield; The Toughest S.O.B.S In Town!

Today was a special day in the MFD. Today was the day when probies, probationary fireponies fresh from the Academy, were assigned to their firehouses. Other fireponies who were moving from one company to another did so on the same day, which was how two brothers found themselves reunited.

Ember Blaze had been a member of the Manehattan Fire Department for seven years, joining straight after college when he was twenty years old. A college degree was a requirement for any firepony who wanted to become an officer, and Blaze had decided to gain a head start by obtaining his degree in Fire Sciences, with a minor in Personnel Management. He had worked his way through a few companies. An engine here, a ladder there, all working to his ultimate goal. He wanted- no, he needed- to join Rescue, and now, today, that was exactly what he was doing.

The firehouse was located in midtown Manehattan, in the borough of the same name, the one that epitomised the city to any outsider or tourist. It housed Rescue Company 1, Engine Company 25, and Battalion Chief 9. A low, squat building some forty years old, the firehouse was quite an attraction for visitors to the city, both because of its proximity to many of the major tourist spots, but also because it housed Rescue 1. The rescue was the oldest rescue company in Equestria, founded some ninety-five years ago by a former Chief of Department after a particularly bad structural collapse where half a dozen victims were left to die in agony in the ruins because nopony had the tools to extricate them. The rescue had been joined by four others over the years, one per borough, and were sometimes described as toolboxes on wheels thanks to the variety of specialised equipment they carried in their boxy structures.

While Blaze was moving to Rescue, his brother, Ember Dawn, was receiving his first assignment as a firepony. Engine 25 would be his home, and he was both excited and, secretly, terrified. There was the potential for physical danger, of course, but more than that, he didn't want to let his father or his brother down. He knew he had to be as strong as them, as brave as them, as resourceful and courageous as them. Their father had retired from the department years ago, as Deputy Chief of Rescue Operations. Ember Blaze had given a fine account of himself thus far in his career, and Dawn wanted so dearly to prove himself in the same way.

His chance had finally arrived. He was in his new firehouse, and when a call came in, he would respond. It was a big, big responsibility, but it was one he had been building toward for the last twenty two years. Unlike Blaze, Dawn had worked a couple of other jobs before joining the department. The family had run into financial trouble for long enough that they couldn't afford to send their second son straight to college, and instead he had to wait. He could have joined the department anyway, so long as he was content to remain a firepony and not an officer, but he wanted more. He wanted Rescue, and that needed a college education as well. Only the best for the Toughest S.O.B.S In Town!

'Everypony gather round!'

Chief Firebrand, a thirty year veteran of the department, called the roll. The dark red earth pony stallion was in charge of the 9th Battalion, a responsibility he shared with two other chief officers on a rotating schedule. Firebrand would be the commanding officer of both Ember Blaze and Ember Dawn, and both ponies joined the cluster of other ponies who gathered round as ordered.

'Alright. Good morning everypony,' Firebrand continued. 'First things first, personnel changes! As you may have noticed, we have two new faces here.' Some of the other fireponies nodded, and Firebrand went on. 'Now there's something peculiar about these two, and some of you might have already clocked it. Now as you all know damn well, every firepony is a brother or sister to every other firepony, but these two, well they're actual honest-to-Celestia biological brothers, and what's more, they are the sons of somepony you older bastards, like me, might remember.' He chuckled, and a couple of others did too. 'They are the sons of Blaze Beater, and if you don't know the pony, you know the name. I have every confidence that both of these ponies will live up to the high ideals and standards set by old Blaze Beater, so please make them both feel right at home here in the 9th Battalion. We have Ember Blaze moving to Rescue 1 from Ladder 110 out in Hooflyn, and the engine is getting their new probie, Ember Dawn, right from the Academy. Welcome aboard to both of you.'

The other ponies slapped the brothers on the back, welcoming them to their new home with hoof bumps and words of encouragement. It was a new start for both of them. They were quickly introduced to the members of their units. The Rescue rolled out with a total of five fireponies and an officer, and the engine had a crew of four fireponies and their officer. There were a lot of names, a lot of faces, for the newcomers to learn, but learn they would. Learning on the job was part of being a firepony.

'Alright everypony, in other news,' Firebrand continued on. 'The MFD half marathon run around Mane Park is now accepting applicants, so get your names on the list while you can. We're being advised yet again to avoid double parking on side streets, as if we don't know that already, and...' he checked his notes. 'And the hydrant on the corner of 40th and 9th Avenue is now back in service. Alright, that's it. Thank you fillies and gentlecolts. Now get to cleaning up those rigs.'

The ponies dispersed to clean up their vehicles as ordered, always an important order of business at the start of a new shift, as mundane as it may seem. Ember Blaze approached his brother with a grin.

'Hey, ED. Finally made it, huh?' He went in for an appreciative hug, getting one in return from his younger sibling. 'Damn, it's good to see you here...it's good to be here, too.'

'Yeah...finally made rescue, huh?' Dawn smiled, more than happy for his brother; ecstatic. 'I'm so proud of you, big brother. I love you.'

'I love you too, bro,' Blaze replied. 'I wondered if this day would ever come, for both of us. I tell you what, I'm so glad it finally did. Now we just gotta wait for you to join me here on rescue, huh?'

Both brothers grinned and shared another embrace, before heading off to their assignments, to greet and help their fellow fireponies. Before they could, however, a two-toned beep blared out across the apparatus floor, followed by a computerised voice.

Beep-boop.

'Engine. Battalion.'

A run. A maiden run for Ember Dawn, the firefighting virgin. The housewatch pony called out more details from his station.

'Engine and Battalion, Box is 1210, address is 156 West 50th Street between 10th and 11th, structural fire! Engine goes first due!'

Driving Under The Influence

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

Ember Blaze sprung from his bunk. Fireponies on a 24-hour shift slept at the firehouse, and it was common enough for them to be roused from the depths of sleep and expected to hurl themselves down the metal pole to the apparatus floor below in the middle of the night with no time to prepare.

Blaze had his boots and bunker pants by his bed, standard practice when sleeping. He was able to swing his hooves into the boots and pull up the pants, adjusting the braces over his shoulders, in a couple of seconds, before hurrying to the pole. A tradition in the fire service, not every firehouse still possessed the slick metal pole that could transport a firepony from the bunk room to the apparatus floor in a moment, ready to board their rig without having to worry about descending a flight of stairs in a mad rush which could easily lead to a trip and an injurious fall. Then again, there had been several cases of fireponies falling down the pole hole and suffering serious injuries, so each fire department had to judge for itself as to which method offered the safest route down.

Blaze slid down the pole with practiced ease, and ran for the rig, pulling on his jacket and helmet. Dark Flash, from the Engine Company, was the unfortunate pony picked to have housewatch duty- the pony responsible for greeting any visitors, keeping an eye on things, and recording incoming phone calls, department messages, and alarms- during the overnight hours. That kept her awake while the others slept, which, depending on one's temperament, disposition, and natural body clock, could either be a very good or very bad thing. Dark Flash seemed to relish it, for she was sounding altogether too eager when she called out the run.

'Rescue goes! Box 7173, West 123rd Street and Broadway. Motor vehicle accident!'

The Rescue crew climbed on, and Fairway rolled them out into the darkness, just a toot of the air horn. Ponies were sleeping; not in the firehouse any longer, but elsewhere. It was the dead of night.

'What time is it?' Flagstaff asked with a yawn. She did not like the reply from their Captain.

'Four-oh-five AM,' Grey Spike answered, drawing grumbles from every crewpony. Blaze had been in the middle of the most wonderful dream, involving cake and flowers and fireworks in some fashion he could no longer recall. But now he was called into reality.

'Manehattan calling Rescue 1, K.'

'Rescue 1,' Grey Spike answered.

'Rescue 1, we're getting more information now that this is a car struck by a train, K. Rescue 1 received?'

'Rescue 1...10-4...' Grey Spike frowned, and so did everypony else. There were very few surface train lines in Manehattan, and most of them were far to the north of 123rd Street. Several subway lines did come to the surface in the northern areas of the borough, but they were all most decidedly grade-separated from any streets that they ran alongside, either in cuttings or elevated tracks.

'Hit by a train? How?' Blaze mused.

'Hey, who knows,' Flagstaff shrugged. 'Any dumbass stupid enough to be out driving at...what was it? Four-oh-five AM? They're probably drunk, or fucked in the head or something. No telling what they'll manage to do to themselves.'

The Rescue roared north, sparing the siren as traffic was so light, quite the rarity in Manehattan, but then it was 4 in the morning. They passed Columbine Circle and continued on up Broadway.

'Battalion 13 to Manehattan.' The radio crackled.

'Battalion 13, go ahead, K.'

'Box 7173, we have a confirmed vehicle struck by a train...uh, a subway train. We are requesting power off from Transit on the A-Line from south of 110th Street to north of 125th Street, both directions, K.'

The members of Rescue 1 shared a concerned glance. A car shouldn't have been able to get anywhere near the tracks of the A-Train subway line. Yes, they emerged from underground at about 120th Street, but they did not run down the road like a tram would. What exactly had happened?

A minute later, the dispatcher got back to the Battalion Aide who had transmitted the call. 'Battalion 13, MTA is advising that as of 0408 hours, power is off in both directions on the A line between 110th Street and 135th Street, K.'

The MTA, the Manehattan Transit Authority, operated the subways and buses in the city of Manehattan, serving all five boroughs. Their dispatchers were responsible for coordinating any emergency responses with the MFD. In this case, a car had apparently struck a subway train, as incongruous as it sounded to the crew of Rescue 1. Power had been removed to the tracks, which relied on electricity to move the trains, as a result of the incident, meaning the tracks were safe to walk on.

A couple of minutes later, Rescue 1 arrived on scene. They had not been cancelled on route to the job, which sometimes happened when an incident was deemed to be less serious than it seemed in the initial emergency call. Not in this case, however. Any serious subway accident could often see a major need for the Rescue. The subway network of the city of Manehattan was expansive, the largest and most complex in Equestria, with several hundred stations, some of which, despite the name, were above ground. Parts of the various lines ran above the surface, and that was where the potential- remote potential, but potential nonetheless- existed for cars to come into contact with the rail line.

That was exactly what had apparently happened in this instance. There was a sizeable hole in the brick wall which separated the road- Broadway- from the subway tracks which rain through the middle of it, in between the two lanes of traffic. Somepony had clearly driven their car right through the protective barrier, somehow or other, by accident or design.

Numerous emergency vehicles were on the scene already. Police cruisers were trying to stop vehicular traffic, and ambulances were parked up awaiting patients. Fire Companies were in position on both sides of the cutting down which the subway line ran. It was some fifteen feet below the level of the road, one lane of vehicular traffic running down each side of the cutting, which had a thick brick wall that was in theory meant to prevent anything like this happening.

The crew of the Rescue climbed down from the rig. Having so far to travel to the incident, despite the light traffic, they were the last normally-assigned unit to have arrived at the scene, apart from the Squad, the kind of mini-Rescue and mini-Hazmat unit, which was coming from downtown. Red Rock, the Chief of Battalion 13 and the incident commander, was peering down into the hole in the wall. Grey Spike approached him.

'Rescue 1 reporting in. What have we got?'

'Take a look for yourself, Captain,' the Chief replied, pointing with a hoof. Grey Spike and the rest of the unit moved forward to see.

On the tracks below was a subway train, six silver train cars in a line, stationary when they should have already been up in the Ponyx on the way to the end of the line. There were barely any subway services actually running at such an hour of the morning, but, in the way of things, when somepony had bad luck, then it just seemed to stack up, and that was why the train had been passing by just seconds after the sporty red car with alloy wheels and a rear spoiler had somehow smashed through the wall and plunged onto the tracks below. Now it lay contorted, on its side and bent in the middle, having the shape of the average banana rather than the average car. A dent in the far brick sidewall of the cutting showed where the vehicle had smashed into it before dropping onto the rails below. Momentum had carried it back far enough that it had been lying half across the northbound track and had been struck bodily by the oncoming train, rolled onto its right side, and smashed into a contorted mess.

Fireponies had deployed several extension ladders down into the cutting, and paramedics were peering into the car. Fireponies held flashlights, and the car had already been chocked and cribbed with wood and plastic supports to hold it in place.

Grey Spike shook his head. 'Ponies will always find some way to fuck up their day, huh?'

'Too right, Captain,' the Chief replied with a sage nod of his head at Grey Spike's wisdom.

'Got the rest of the collapse matrix coming in?' Grey Spike asked, getting another nod. The collapse matrix- which despite its name was not limited to collapses- was the assignment of MFD units that were dispatched on technical rescue or other unusual or major incidents. There were two sections, the minor and major technical responses. The minor matrix was for incidents like this; relatively small scale, such as a pony under a train, scaffolding collapse, debris falling from a building, or a pony trapped in machinery. The major response saw the assignment of a huge number of special units from SOB, and was reserved for incidents of a large scale or a particularly tricky and technical nature, such as cave-ins, trench rescues, major building collapses, plane crashes, and train derailments. The minor response to this car accident meant that the Rescue and Safety Battalions, Chiefs specialising in both of those aspects of firefighting, a Tactical Support Unit, a truck with a variety of additional specialist gear, and a SOB Support Ladder, a regular Ladder Company with additional training and equipment carried in a second vehicle, would be assigned to provide extra help if it was needed.

'We got the car stabilised. One patient, some dumb kid. Might know he's drunk out of his mind,' the Chief replied. 'I'm guessin' the cops are gonna enjoy grilling him about this one, assuming he pulls through. He's pinned in there pretty good, but he seems more cut up about his pride and joy of a car than he does about himself.'

'Maybe if they can get him to sober up he'll realise what a mess he's made,' Grey Spike mused. 'What do you want us to do, Chief?'

'Get down there and take a look at the victim,' he replied. 'Let me know what you think the best way of getting him out is gonna be. The medics say he's stable but we wanna get him out as soon as we can. Plus, Transit are already asking when we're gonna have the A Line open and running again.'

'Jeez, the guy only just crashed, Chief!' Flagstaff commented.

'Yeah, but you know what Transit is like,' Red Rock replied. 'Anyways, check that car and we'll decide on a plan of action, Captain.'

Grey Spike nodded and led his company down the ladders to the track bed. The train's driver stood nearby, shaking his head. 'The hell, dude...he just came out of fuckin' nowhere. Like, I thought I was dreaming. I saw this in a movie once I think. That's what it was like. Car just comes out of the sky and boom! The fuck...'

The car was crumpled up around the impact point, the front of the train showing moderate damage as a result. The car, however, had naturally come off worst. Inside was a dark grey stallion and several bottles of beer; open, empty bottles. The impact of the car with the brick dividing wall and then with the wall of the cutting had crumpled up the front end significantly, and the side had been stove in by the train, as well as being rolled over. Two fireponies were on top of the car trying to gain access to the driver, who they could reach, but not free.

Grey Spike ordered Blaze and High Line up onto the car to check on the driver for themselves. They replaced the other ponies, and Blaze peered down with his flashlight mounted to his helmet. The stallion was clearly pinned in by the steering column and also the driver's door. He tried to wave a hoof at the beam of light shining in his eyes. 'Come on, bro...quit it! That's fucking bright...' he muttered.

'Alright, take it easy, buddy,' Blaze replied. 'Just relax, ok? We'll have you out of there in no time.' The two fireponies examined as best they could from their vantage point, while others awaited their report. Blaze and High Line climbed down and returned to their officer.

'He's stuck in there for sure,' High Line explained. 'Best bet is gonna be to peel the roof off and get him out that way. Steering column's pinning his hind legs, but once we get the roof off we can use the spreaders on that.' Blaze nodded in agreement.

'Alright, get to it,' Grey Spike nodded, and they scrambled up the ladders while he got on the radio. 'Rescue 1 calling Battalion 13. We're gonna take the roof off and then extract the driver with a backboard. Have the Ladder Companies set up extra cribbing around the car, K.'

'10-4, Rescue 1,' Red Rock replied. The Chief issued the orders while the Rescue crew grabbed their gear, the hydraulic spreaders, hydraulic cutters, and an air chisel to help take the roof off the car. Once it was more secure and unlikely to wobble or move during the operation, Blaze climbed back onto the car to reassure the driver while the tools were set up. Where before he had found a pony concerned only about the brightness of his torch, now the young stallion was almost in tears.

'A-am I gonna die...?' he asked, with a trembling lip, perhaps having sobered up enough to realise his predicament. 'Please, I don't wanna die...please! H-help me!'

'Easy, buddy, easy,' Blaze answered. 'We're gonna get you out ok? You're not gonna die. The paramedics say you're stable, ok? Now we're gonna cut the roof off of your car and get you out, nice and safe. Alright? What's your name, buddy?'

'M-my name?' the stallion sniffled. 'Uh, m-my name is Iron Powder. Can you...can you not take the roof off? I mean...my dad...he gave me the money to buy this car and he'll kill me if you take the roof off...!'

'Sorry, pal.' Blaze shook his head. 'It's the only way to get you out safely. But I wouldn't worry about the roof. I, uh, somehow think the rest of the car is kinda beyond saving anyway.'

'Really?' Iron Powder closed his eyes. 'I-i guess I really fucked up...'

'Hey, don't sweat it. Just so long as you recover from this, that's what matters,' Blaze assured him. 'What happened, anyway?'

'I was just driving,' Iron Powder explained. 'You know, cruising. And I guess the pedal stuck or something, 'cause I was racing down to the end of the road and there was this wall and I just went through it...I dunno. I don't remember...'

'Alright, buddy. Don't worry about that now. Just relax for me, ok? Try not to move, 'cause they're going to be cutting the roof off, so just stay still, alright Iron?' Blaze requested.

'Yeah, ok...' Iron Powder closed his eyes again. Blaze climbed down from the car and Flagstaff moved in to provide a magic shield that would protect the driver from any sparks or shattered glass. Fairway and High Line got to work with the air chisel and the cutters, slicing through the roof posts of the car after knocking out what remained of the windshield. With the roof gone, the medics were able to slide a backboard in between Iron Powder and the seat, and gingerly he was removed and placed into a rescue basket, a simple but ingenious device that was basically a rigid and easily transportable plastic stretcher with sides and hoofrails, so that ponies could carry it, and so that the victim would not fall out of it. Straps allowed the basket to be hoisted with ropes and pulleys, too, and that was what the fireponies did with Iron Powder.

One of the Ladder Companies swung its aerial out over the subway cutting, and ropes were lowered. The rescue basket was attached and made firm, and slowly but steadily, it was lifted to street level, with a Pegasus firepony flapping alongside and keeping watch, making sure the ropes did not get snagged on anything or entangled in each other. Once up on Broadway, Iron Powder was loaded into an ambulance and hurried away to hospital.

'Alright, good job, Rescue,' Chief Red Rock gave a nod and a firm hoof shake to Grey Spike. 'You guys can take up. I'd better tell Transit they're not gonna get their line reopened any time soon...or maybe I should let the cops do that? After all, they're the ones who are gonna be conducting the crash investigation. Far as I'm concerned, we could just lift the car off the tracks with magic and be done with it.'

Grey Spike chuckled. 'Don't worry, Chief. Just put all the blame on the cops in your report.'

'Oh, don't you worry, I will,' Red Rock laughed, turning away to oversee efforts to recover the wreck and restore the subway line to working order. The Rescue crew returned to their rig. It had been another successful operation; another routine operation, all things considered. They headed back south to their firehouse. It was not yet 5AM; perhaps they could scrounge a little more sleep before their shift ended.

Blast From The Past

The Rescue rolled out first, then the Engine, and finally the Chief. Swinging north a few feet to the junction, then turning east one block to 7th Avenue. From there it was a straight run south, through Celestia Square. Normally a busy tourist site, packed with crowds, the Square had a strange feeling to it. Ponies were running, heading north, seemingly in panic. Some were streaming across the Avenue, despite futile attempts by police units to keep them out of traffic. The Avenue itself was gridlocked. Despite Grey Spike standing on the Rescue's airhorn, the cars and buses ahead of them could barely move out of the way of the emergency vehicles. Pedestrians were fleeing in terror, getting in the way of vehicles and causing chaos.

They managed to make one block's progress inside of a minute, and Grey Spike's hoof stuck out of the Rescue's window, pointing to the right. Deep Blue and Pumpkin Punch, the Chief's driver, followed what the Captain was suggesting, and they swung right onto the street. Here, they made much faster progress, racing east to 9th Avenue and turning south again. 7th Avenue was completely clogged, but 9th Avenue was not.

'Engine 65 to Manehattan, urgent!'

'Engine 65, go ahead, K.'

'Box 0779, transmit the 10-60! We have a major steam explosion, K!'

'10-4, Engine 65.' The alert tones sounded across the radio net. '10-60 has been transmitted for Box 0779, 7th Avenue and 38th Street, for a steam explosion. 10-60 has been transmitted for Box 0779, 7th Avenue at 38th Street, steam explosion. Manehattan calling Battalion 9?'

Firebrand answered immediately. 'Battalion 9, K.'

'Battalion 9, on the 10-60 signal, are you ready to write, K?,' the dispatcher asked. The 10-60, major emergency signal, brought in a huge response from the department, and Firebrand needed to know which units were coming in and make notes on their designations. Manehattan was unique among the five boroughs in that it had a comprehensive steam network in midtown and downtown. High pressure and high temperature steam was pumped through subterranean pipes and conduits, used for several purposes, mainly as a source of central heating for many of the large hotels and office buildings, and also being pumped to several hospitals, where it was used to sterilise medical equipment.

'Battalion 9, on the 10-60, your full assignment is Engine 65, Engine 24, Engine 25, Engine 1, Engine 3. Ladder 4, Ladder 24, Ladder 6. Ladder 35 will be your HOOF Truck. Rescue 1, Rescue 4, Squad 18 and Squad 1, Battalion 7. Ladder 25 will be your SOB Support Truck. Ladder 9 will be transporting Collapse Rescue 1. Hazmat 1, Hazmat Battalion, Field Comm, Rescue and Safety Battalions, Tactical Support Unit 1. Engine 33 will be your Communications Engine, Engine 44 will be your Hazmat Tech unit. Battalion 8 will be the Resource Unit Leader, Battalion 4 will be the Safety Officer. SOB Compressor, SOB Logistics, RAC 1 and Division 3. Battalion 9, received?'

'Battalion 9, 10-4,' Firebrand replied, copying down each unit as it was read out. Knowing exactly who was responding to the scene was vital if efforts were to be coordinated properly. A major incident needed plenty of Chiefs to keep tabs on the various units and sectors that might be needed to control the situation.

As they turned onto 38th Street, a roaring sound filled their ears. Crossing 8th Avenue, Ember Dawn peered out over his shoulder, trying to look ahead at the situation, but the Rescue blocked his view, forging a path through the traffic. Here, too, ponies were running in terror. Now, it became clear exactly why.

On 7th Avenue up ahead, a geyser had erupted from the earth, but not one of water; one of steam. A huge column of the stuff was blasting skyward, filling the street, belching out from underground like some kind of elemental force. The steam was pulsating, screaming, being forced from the subterranean pipes under great pressure, like the exhaust from a rocket engine. The sound became deafening.

Rescue 1 pulled to the side, stopping on the Avenue and not entering the block. The Engine and the Chief's SUV did likewise. Getting any closer was potentially dangerous, and would block 38th Street. Other units might be needed to enter the block, and if it was clogged up with unnecessary vehicles, that would be tricky at best. Ideally, Firebrand wanted to be on 7th Avenue itself, and so he headed two blocks north before turning east, racing to the end of the block. The noise of the escaping steam made it hard to hear anything else, but he managed to locate Engine 65 and approach its Lieutenant. A brief, shouted exchange told him some of the basics, but to learn more, he would have to look for himself.

Ember Dawn and Ember Blaze jumped down from their rigs, grabbing the appropriate tools that might be needed. The rest of the crews did the same. Even from a block away, the sound of the steam leak was overwhelming. It was no wonder that ponies were fleeing in panic. Either they realised what had happened and were taking sensible precautions, or they were blind with fear. The New Lunar Republic terror group had long threatened action against Equestria, especially Manehattan, the largest city and, along with Canterlot, the supposed symbol of 'Celestian Oppression' and 'Solar Tyranny.' But this was no terror attack, unless somepony had managed to plant a bomb underground. This was a burst steam line, something which, regrettably, happened every so often in Manehattan thanks to old and difficult to maintain pipes. Sometimes it was minor, just a spurting pipe inside a building, and sometimes it was a great cacophony affecting an entire neighbourhood, with steam blasting out of a huge crater in the street. This was very clearly the latter.

Firebrand could see the source of the problem. The steam was erupting out of a cavity in the ground. The concrete and tarmac, the very fabric of the city, had been rent asunder. Debris was everywhere. He could see that windows were shattered in several buildings. More worryingly, a city bus was precariously perched right at the edge of the thundering column of scalding steam. He couldn't determine from his present position if the front of the bus it was caught in the blast, or merely dangerously close to the edge. Firebrand retreated to his car, shutting the door in a vain attempt to block out the sound of the steam release so he could communicate with the dispatcher.

'Battalion 9 to Manehattan!'

'Battalion 9, go ahead.'

'Box 0779, we have a major steam explosion and leak on 7th Avenue at 38th Street. Transmit a 3rd Alarm for this box. Have the staging area set up at 8th Avenue and 37th Street. Command post will be located at 40th Street and 7th Avenue, Have all first alarm companies come in to the north of 38th Street, and all the second alarm companies come in from the south straight up 7th Avenue. All third alarm companies report to the staging area, K.'

'Battalion 9, 10-5?'

10-5 meant I did not understand your transmission- please repeat. Firebrand had to make the call twice more before the dispatcher could hear him over the roar of the steam. The staging area was where incoming units without specific assignments would park their vehicles, far enough from the incident itself to be out of danger but close enough to be able to reach the scene by hoof in a short time. Clogging up the side streets with vehicles would not be the best practice at a major incident such as this. Given the nature of the incident, Firebrand needed units both to the north and the south of the huge steam cloud. There were buildings to search and ponies to rescue, no doubt.

Coppertop and Grey Spike trotted up to Firebrand's car, awaiting orders. He told Rescue 1 to move down 38th Street itself and assess the stability of the city bus and any victims that might be inside. Engine 25 was told to team up with Ladder 4 and begin the search of the building at the northwest corner of the intersection, an eight-story brick structure that housed offices and several small businesses. Ponies were fleeing in terror from buildings on both sides of the street, some Pegasi taking to the air and flapping away while earth ponies and unicorns ran for their lives. None of them knew what was happening. An explosion meant a bomb in the popular consciousness, especially with the upsurge in angry rhetoric from the New Lunar Republic, but baring a huge coincidence, this was not a bomb, merely an accident. Old of faulty equipment, perhaps exacerbated by the effects of the hurricane flooding underwater conduits, had most likely caused this.

Ember Dawn and the rest of Engine 25 grabbed their medical gear and some tools and headed down 39th Street to the Avenue. There was no fire for them to fight, not yet at least. No hoses were needed, though Firebrand had Engine 65, the first company on scene, stretch one anyway as a precautionary measure in case the damage caused by the explosion sparked something off. The roar was deafening, and Dawn tried to cover his ears, a hopeless task when carrying the first aid bag. The building they were to search had clearly taken damage. All of its windows were shattered, and the street in front was strewn with broken glass. Several ponies were stumbling from the entrance, walking straight through the glass and cutting up their hooves, dazed by the sound of the steam and the sudden violence of the explosion which had ripped through the neighbourhood. It may as well have been an actual bomb, for it had achieved much the same effect.

Lieutenant Coppertop turned and mouthed something to his crew, but his words were carried away by the violence of sound coming from the steam pipe. Dawn followed him into the building, where at least things became slightly muffled by the walls and the soundproofing installed to keep traffic noise at bay. The lobby of the structure held a small hoof salon and a travel agent. Stairs and an elevator led to the upper floors. The crew of Ladder 4 followed them inside.

The lobby and its businesses had emptied out already, ponies running from the erupting steam. It was the upper floors they had to be concerned with, for ponies might have been trapped by damage or debris. A quick check of the elevator showed it was not working- no power was being supplied to it. The lobby and the rest of the building had no lighting; evidently the explosion had either damaged a transformer in the street, or severed the underground transmission line into the structure. Eight floors would have to be climbed and checked.

'Alright! Dawn, Striker, search floors three and four. Flash, Blue, take one and two. The Ladder will handle the rest,' Coppertop ordered, having to still raise his voice to be heard even though they were indoors. Striker set off for the stairs with Dawn in tow. The probie had no time to marvel at the horrendous noise, or at the nature and scale of the incident. In any case his training had kicked in once again, exactly as it had been designed to do, and Dawn was focused on the task. This was a search, just routine, though normally handled by Ladder Companies and not Engineponies. Given the number of buildings that needed to be checked and the lack of fire conditions, however, it was only logical to press every hoof into service to search for victims.

Dawn climbed to the third floor. There was a branching corridor going left and right, leading to various offices. 'Alright, gotta take this steady,' Striker announced. 'Go room by room, check under desks, in bathrooms, wherever. Gotta make sure everypony's out of the building.'

'Right!' Dawn nodded, following Striker down the hall to the right, to the closest point to the steam blast. The end office at the corner of the building was a shambles, with torn and tattered blinds, broken windows, papers scattered about and upturned chairs. Some kind of board meeting seemed to have been taking place, and the ponies in attendance had evidently scattered already, scared off by the explosion. The office on the opposite side of the corridor was also empty. The next office that they entered, facing the Avenue, held one pony, smartly dressed in a shirt and tie, leaning out of the broken window, mouth agape at the huge column of steam and trying to take a video of it on his cellphone. Striker and Dawn got him back inside and explained quite clearly that it wasn't safe to stay so close to the site of the explosion. Reluctantly, the courageous videographer departed for the street, where he could at least still get a shot of the action.

Dawn had to force the door to the next office, a smart hoof kick opening it up. Nopony was inside. The same result was found in each of the remaining rooms on that floor, including the bathrooms and storage closets. Everybody had fled, with the exception of the single endeavoring camerapony. They ascended to the next floor, reporting that the 3rd floor was clear over the radio. Here, they would repeat their task once more, making sure nopony was stuck, injured or trapped. It was unusual for the Engine to be performing such a duty, but they went to it with all the vigor that would be expected of them in any circumstance.

Ember Blaze and the rest of the Rescue trotted down 38th Street. They couldn't get too close to the Avenue; the scalding steam was roaring skyward, propelled out of the underground pipe at high pressure. The city bus they were assigned to check on was visible to them from the side, and it was not in a good position. The front third of the bus was inside the column of steam itself, with half of the vehicle teetering over the hole in the street. They couldn't tell how far down the hole went, or what the danger was to the bus if it were to tip forward, but what they could see was that the rear of the vehicle was crowded with at least a dozen ponies, huddled as far back as they could go, silently screaming fear, the sounds of their voices totally inaudible even to themselves over the constant cannonade of escaping steam. They had to be rescued- but how?

Another Day, Another Bit

It took a little while for Chief Firebrand to return to the firehouse- his services had been required in the aftermath of the fire, helping Division Chief Misty Morning with the administrative tasks that were always required- filling out vacate orders for the damaged apartments, recording of minor firepony injuries, and passing out information to other units that were going up to the 14th floor to carry out the salvage and overhauling. Once he did return, the Chief ordered a debriefing session with all the fireponies from Engine 25 and Rescue 1.

Debriefings and after-action reports were very common in the department. They were seen as a good way of helping older, more experienced fireponies to pass on the tips and tricks of the trade to probies and younger members, offering critique of the operation. Both the strategic and tactical elements were considered and given voice in the discussions, which each Chief and officer was encouraged to conduct whenever they had the time, and especially after a major, unusual or prolonged incident.

The little things were talked about- if I'd worn my flashlight on the other side of my coat it would have been easier for me to access it. It's always worth bringing a couple of bits of wood with you to use as door chocks. I found the standpipe outlet cover hard to remove because it didn't quite meet the standards, that's something we should have spotted during building inspection. The big things were mentioned as well. The wind curtain was vital at stopping this fire from spreading further than it did. Once you can confirm a missing firepony is accounted for, you can safely return the units that were assigned on the 10-66 signal. In case you get hurt at a fire, make sure your next of kin's contact details are up to date so the department can contact them easily and quickly.

Blaze had heard most of it before, but even the experienced fireponies could learn something new. Errors could be corrected, new techniques tested, developed and refined. Every day on the job was a different adventure, and there was always something different that happened, even at otherwise routine incidents. It was a steep learning curve initially for probies fresh out of training, but that didn't mean that the ponies with twenty years under their belts had to stop learning too. For Dawn, there was plenty of new information being imparted, which he tried to make mental notes of. Some of it was given by his brother, some by Lieutenant Coppertop or Captain Grey Spike, and some by Chief Firebrand. Every little lesson had the potential to be life saving in some theoretical future, which was why it was so important that it was listened to, and that was what the debriefing sessions were all about. Never stop learning, as their father, Blaze Beater, frequently reminded them.

The afternoon passed uneventfully, with a couple of automatic alarms and a car which had struck a cyclist, but the 10-77 high-rise fire remained the only major event of the day, giving plenty of downtime for maintenance and cleaning around the firehouse, the menial but necessary tasks that fireponies had to perform when they were not engaged in the more exciting aspects of their job. However, it was only a matter of time before the peace and quiet of the firehouse was shattered once again by the inevitable alarm tones.

Beep-Boop.

'Rescue.'

'Now you're talking, Box 1170! Rosewater Street and Broad Street! Motor vehicle accident with pin!'

Blaze had finally finished the tedious job of waxing the apparatus doors, and now he flung one open and climbed aboard. The rest of the crew scrambled out and got into their assigned positions as Fairway nosed the vehicle out onto the avenue, setting course, lopping around to 7th Avenue to head down south. Rosewater Street was a good ten minutes away if the traffic was heavy, but luckily the worst of the rush hour had not yet set in, and Fairway was able to make good progress through the city streets.

'Battalion 2 to Manehattan?'

'Go ahead, Battalion 2.'

'Box 1170, we have two confirmed pins, two car MVA. Have the Rescue continue in. Squad 18 is on scene putting their tools to work.'

'10-4, Battalion 2. Rescue, received that report, K?'

'Rescue 1, 10-4, we're almost on scene,' Grey Spike replied over the radio. A few blocks farther on, they reached the intersection of Rosewater and Broad. An ambulance was parked up, along with Squad 18, two ladders and an engine. Battalion 2 was overseeing operations; an SUV was on its side with a heavily deformed right side, both doors stove in. Next to it was a sedan with the front end crumpled into an almost unrecognisable mess of twisted metal. The ponies of Squad 18 were getting to work on the SUV and had already stabilised it with cribbing and chocks to stop it rolling while they attended to the driver.

Fairway parked up once he could maneuver through traffic to reach the kerb, and the crew disembarked. Grey Spike went to speak with the Chief from Battalion 2 who was in command of the scene to get his orders. As usually happened whenever there was any kind of incident of note, a small crowd of ponies had gathered to watch proceedings, despite the best efforts of a couple of traffic police officers to try and move them along and clear the pavement and the street. Traffic was backed up along both streets thanks to the accident, another incentive to try and get things dealt with as quickly as possible.

The primary concern, however, was of course for the two drivers, who were trapped in their vehicles. Grey Spike returned with their orders from the Chief- the Rescue was to work with Ladder 5 to extricate the driver of the sedan, while the Squad and Ladder 1 dealt with the driver of the overturned SUV. Clearly the car had rammed into the side of the SUV as it crossed the intersection, but who was at fault for the collision would be left up to the traffic cops to determine, though naturally some of the bystanders had their own opinions on the matter which they were making audible.

'What the hell, bro? The light was red! Like, is he blind?'

'Hey officer, I saw the whole thing! The car just totally jumped the red!'

Blaze surveyed the scene. Responsibility for the crash was not his job to determine. He and the other fireponies were just there to help save lives, not to pass judgement, which was why the MFD was widely respected even in communities and neighbourhoods which had a general distrust and dislike for authority and the institutions of city and state, especially the police and Royal Guard. There were exceptions, of course, but many ponies and creatures of all races who might spit at or shout abuse to a police officer would happily stand aside to allow a firepony get to work.

'Alright, Blaze, standby with the spreaders,' Grey Spike ordered. 'Flagstaff, cut those airbags and disconnect the battery if you can. Looks like Ladder 5 is having trouble popping the hood.' He gestured to where two fireponies were trying to pry open the hood of the sedan with their Hoofigan tools but were running into some difficulties thanks to the mangled state of the metal. 'High Line, make sure the car is properly chocked and secured before we do anything to it.'

Blaze opened one of the side compartments of the rig. Each tool and piece of equipment they used was always stored in the same location on the vehicle, so that it could be rapidly brought into action and every pony, no matter what shift they were on, would know exactly where to find it. Some of the more common tools were located in easy-access locations in the external lockers and compartments, either behind doors or roller shutters, while the less commonly needed gear such as radiation meters, an inflatable boat, and heavy duty struts and cribbing for collapse operations, were stored either inside the rear walk-in compartment, or either beneath or above it. The Rescue had lots of hidden space that allowed it to carry even more equipment than it would seem like a vehicle of its size should be able to.

The hydraulic tools were among the most commonly used pieces of gear carried by the Rescue, and so Blaze was able to quickly retrieve the spreaders from their compartment. The rest of the crew got to work, joining Ladder 5 in their assessment of the patient and the vehicle he was trapped in. The bodywork was heavily deformed by the crash, suggesting the car had been traveling at some speed, a rarity indeed in the usually crowded surface streets of Manehattan, where high speeds were only usually achievable in the dead of night or when traveling on the elevated sections of highway that ringed the island. The airbags had deployed, filling the interior compartment with smoke from the pyrotechnic detonators that fired them when the car crashed. Flagstaff got to work with her horn, using pinpricks of magic to pierce the inflated bags, emptying them of air and getting them out of the way of the operation to remove the driver. A closer inspection revealed that he was trapped by the steering column, which had been shunted backward by the force of the crash and was now pinning both of his hind legs beneath it weight. To compound matters, the pedals had also moved, both injuring and trapping his hooves among them.

Flagstaff communicated her findings to Grey Spike, who conferred with the officer of Ladder 5 as to the best course of action for them to take. The hydraulic spreaders would be able to shift the steering column and free the driver's legs, but they were rather a blunt instrument when it came to the more delicate task of freeing his hooves from the twisted pedals. A more delicate approach was called for, and so Grey Spike ordered Oak Wood to grab a cordless saw. It had to be one that was intrinsically safe- that is, did not produce sparks. Though the car's gas tank had not ruptured, there was flammable hydraulic fluid, oil and brake fluid leaking from various parts of the vehicle's damaged anatomy, all of which could ignite and very much ruin the driver's day even more than the crash had already done. A hose line was stretched and stood by in case of fire, while Ladder 5's can pony, carrying the pressurized water extinguisher, also took up position near the engine block in case anything went wrong.

The fireponies dealing with the SUV were having rather more success. Despite the vehicle being on its side, the driver was not pinned inside, but merely needed removing. The deformed door was also a lot simpler to remove from its frame than the heavy steering column was to bent and shift away from the legs of the car driver, and within a few minutes the SUV's driver had been removed on a backboard and transported to an ambulance for a checkup from the paramedics. Meanwhile, Blaze moved into action once the sedan had been checked over. Ladder 5 had done a perfect job of stabilising it with chocks to prevent it from moving while the driver was attended to by the paramedics, who determined he was in a serious but stable condition with likely fractures to both hind legs. They would have to get him out as soon as possible, but his injuries were not severe enough to warrant rushing the procedures that were required to extricate him. Safety was always the number one priority, both for the victim and for the rescuers, too.

Under Grey Spike's direction, Blaze got to work with the spreaders. Ladder 5 had already removed the driver's door for access, and with one of their members in the back seat holding the driver's head and neck in place, Blaze began to bend and push the steering column and dashboard away from the driver's hind legs. He was clearly in some pain, despite the administration of painkilling drugs by the paramedics. 'It was green...' he kept mumbling. 'It was green...'

While Blaze got to work, the traffic lights continued to change from red to green and back again, though no vehicles were flowing through the intersection thanks to the accident. 'Ok buddy, you just relax and take it easy,' Grey Spike tried to calm him. 'We'll have you out in no time, alright?'

'It was green...' the driver replied with a grimace. Blaze kept operating the spreaders, clearing enough of a gap for Oak Wood to get into the hoofwell of the car and get to work on the pedals that were still trapping the driver in place. Oak knelt down with the saw and made the necessary cuts, slicing each pedal at a safe spot clear of the driver's hooves. Once he had cut the final pedal, the driver was freed. Ladder 5 and the rest of the Rescue crew pulled him free of the wreckage, slowly and carefully, placing him on a backboard and then onto a stretcher. The paramedics rolled him away to one of the waiting ambulances for transport to the nearest hospital.

With both patients freed and in the care of EMS, all that remained was to finish making the vehicles safe so that they could be removed by tow trucks and the intersection could be reopened to traffic. Those were tasks for the police and for the ladder and engine companies. The Rescue's more specialist tools were no longer needed, and at the Chief's direction, Captain Grey Spike ordered them to take up, gather their gear and head back to the firehouse.

It was just another call, just another day, just another bit on their salary.