Sky Sweeper, Flight Medic

by Admiral Biscuit

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Adventure, Slice of Life, Human
Length: 8486

Sky Sweeper works as a paramedic-in-training on a Great North Air Ambulance.

When a patient is badly injured or in a remote location, the Great North Air Ambulance is there to provide assistance.

Sky Sweeper isn't a paramedic yet, but she's learning, and rides out with the crews.

Trigger warning: contains injuries.

Now with a Chinese translation by FLX071: (Fimtale)

Published 2020-08-30 13:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2020-08-30 13:30:02 UTC

Chapter 1

Sky Sweeper, Flight Medic
Admiral Biscuit

Sky Sweeper watched the Teeside Airport station whisk by. That was where she wanted to go, but the train didn’t stop there except sometimes on Sundays. She wasn’t sure why it didn’t stop there, but it didn’t.

That was a shame; for the most part the train was very convenient. Her flat on Marine Parade was only 300 meters from the train station—if she flew—but it wouldn’t let her out until she was two-and-a-half kilometers past where she wanted to go. Or she could save a few bits and get off at Allens West; that stop was sooner but four kilometers away from the airport, plus a little bit more since she had to swing around the flight paths at the end of the runways.

Most of her equipment was left at the base, but she always carried her radio. Even though it technically wasn’t required at low altitudes, she kept it for safety. It was always good to have a mental picture of where all the aircraft were and what they were doing.

Once the train left, she lifted her radio. “Pegasus FALX to Teeside, requesting low-level clearance from Dinsdale Platform to Ambulance Base.”

“Permission granted.”

There was a tall tree at the end of a row of houses which was almost on line with the airport; past that, a warehouse and then she’d cross a couple fields and cut off the loop on Yarm Road. The Oak Tree—a pub she sometimes stopped at after particularly bad days—was her next waypoint, then a caravan dealer, and from there she could easily see her destination at the airport.

She knew that they watched her as she flew in—she could see the control tower and they could see her. Even without the reflective flight gear she wore when crewing and when on higher-altitude flights, her coat was plenty visible: a bright yellow that nearly matched the noses of Northern Rail’s trains.

Sky Sweeper started her descent as she passed the control tower, her eyes locked on the small triangle of tarmac in front of where the rest of the crew normally parked their cars. She kept alert: it wasn’t technically a taxiway, but a lost airplane might think it was and wander down it by mistake.

The helicopter was already out on the apron, and she gave it a friendly nuzzle, then went into their office to prepare for the day. Most of the crew had already arrived; only the doctor on duty wasn’t there yet.

She thought about asking who it was going to be today, but it was more fun to be surprised.

Her flight suit was a torture device which clashed with her coat. She’d heard that the first generation of outfits were even worse; they’d based them off dog harnesses. She could put it most of the way on herself but couldn’t get the zipper along her belly all the way up—her neck didn’t bend that far. Jane helped her with that, and offered her a cup of coffee once she was fully suited up.

•••

All the members of the air ambulance had patches on their flight suits; they’d had to get creative with hers. The one which caused the most trouble was her crew identification label—many of the emergency responders had their role written out on the back of their flight suit. She’d thought that that was the stupidest thing ever, until she worked her first job with multiple agencies responding. Finding the incident commander was a lot easier when he had a label that conveniently said that on the back of his high-visibility jacket.

Ultimately, she wound up getting hers across the top of her rump, the place where it would be most visible to humans even when she was packing in their gear. For now, it just said “Air Ambulance,” but when she finished training, it would say “Paramedic.”

Dr. Sayad arrived while she was checking over the rest of her gear. She liked him—he was friendly, and as long as things weren’t really stressful out in the field, he’d take time to explain what he was doing and why so she could learn.

Her role on the team changed with the situation. When they flew to the scene, she was a spotter and often flew off the helicopter to guide it into a safe landing spot. On the ground, she was a packhorse and a gofer; she could provide comfort to the patient or their loved ones, or take down notes and radio them back to base. She’d even served as a portable IV stand once, which had required precision flying.

There usually wasn’t much for her to do on the flight back, although one time she’d gotten to ride in the front seat and assist the pilot when both the doctor and paramedic were busy in the back.

Her ears snapped around as the red telephone rang. Nine times out of ten, that meant a call.

They all clustered in the dispatch office, where Dr. Arbid was on the phone. It wasn’t polite to eavesdrop on a telephone conversation but of course everybody did, just to get an idea what they’d be dealing with.

“Girl got thrown off—” He paused, and looked at Sky Sweeper. “Compound leg fracture, possible head injury. Braidley.”

•••

Sky Sweeper let the helicopter’s radio chatter wash over her. Sometimes they socialized on the intercom, other times it was terse commands. She understood that; tense jobs required blowing off steam sometimes and intense focus other times, and the commute often could be, well, boring. Especially when they were just flying over fields and forests and small hamlets, when they were still a ways from their destination.

This sounded like a straightforward job. Urgent, yes, and their quick work might be the difference if the girl kept her leg or lost it. But nothing complicated, nothing that would really test their skills. If it wasn’t a child involved, they might not have been called out at all; ponies, like humans, cared about their young.

It bothered her that Dr. Arbid didn’t just say their patient had been thrown off a horse. In her experience, the only other things humans frequently got thrown off of were motorcycles and bicycles, and if that had been the cause he would have said it.

She watched the landscape slipping by under the helicopter and sighed. Horses were kind of like her, but they weren’t the same thing. They were animals, and she wasn’t. They were ferally smart and sometimes loyal and would herd up with people—or a pony, perhaps—but she’d heard of humans who lived with apes and talked to apes and if their patient had been thrown off of an ape Dr. Arbid wouldn’t have hesitated to say it. At least, she didn’t think so; that situation hadn’t yet arisen because apes were dangerous enough to have to be kept in zoos.

Humans sometimes had a weird sense of propriety. Sometimes they protested when their clothes were cut off, as if the clothes couldn’t be replaced but a limb could.

Sometimes people in pubs would come up and ask her what she thought about a particular horse’s chance at a race, as if she had any interest or insight in the sport. As if she could tell by the name or a grainy picture in the newspaper. Depending on how her day had gone and how many drinks she had in her, she either answered honestly that she had no idea, or gave an enthusiastic endorsement of the horse in question.

When they got back, she could say something to Dr. Arbid, remind him that she knew about horses and how they’d throw their riders, then promise him that she wouldn’t get offended if he mentioned them when she was standing there with the rest of the crew. Or, she could keep her mouth shut because it was kind of cute.

The helicopter banked, and she tried to turn her attention back to the job. They were in hilly, remote country. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an ambulance winding along the narrow roads, and even though she knew it couldn’t see her, she waved at it.

•••

There wasn’t much to Braidly, just a cluster of buildings along the main road and fields and pastures beyond them.

“Are we the first on scene?” Jane’s voice crackled through her headset, and a moment later, Dr. Arbid confirmed that they were.

Brian did a broad circle of the town, checking for winds and obstacles and giving them all a chance to figure out where they were supposed to be going.

Besides being noisy, the helicopter was brightly painted and nearly impossible to ignore. A few people were running out of their houses, looking up at the source of the clamor. She wanted to ask them where they were supposed to be going, but the helicopter was still too high and too loud for her to be heard, so she scanned the town, looking for someone trying to get their attention.

One time they’d landed at a paintball field, where the paintballers had sent off smoke bombs as a signal. Nobody here was doing that.

“Off to the left, ten o’clock,” Jane said. “Field past the stone house with the red car in the drive, there are people in the field and horses.”

Jane wasn’t afraid to bring it up.

“I see it.”

Sky Sweeper saw it, too. She tensed on her perch; she was one carabiner clip from freedom—her stomach dropped as the helicopter rolled, aiming at its new target. Unbidden, her wings snapped out and she lifted off the skid for a moment before regaining her equilibrium.

There weren’t obstacles to avoid in the field, and the horses were smart enough to gallop off as the helicopter flared, something she couldn’t say for some humans.

She instinctively tensed her legs as the skids settled into the pasture, unfastened her carabiner as the turbines spooled down, and got clear of the door. The doctors knew not to step on her, but sometimes they got focused on a nasty scene on the ground and didn’t remember to check before opening the back door on the helicopter. She’d been hit twice—the helicopter was mostly made of soft aluminum and she wore a flight helmet, so it didn’t hurt, but it was embarrassing.

For such a short distance, she didn’t need to pack in any of their gear. Their backpacks had been modified with an extra set of buckles which could clip to her flight suit; depending on what was needed, she could carry up to three bags on her back. Challenging terrain and fencerows often made that a huge boon for the doctor and paramedic, who didn’t have to struggle with the equipment over difficult ground.

•••

People—and ponies—reacted differently to trauma. This patient was calm but crying, her parents by her side.

Sky Sweeper got there first, unburdened by medical equipment. She took in the scene—aside from the leg injury and certainly other bumps and bruises, the girl appeared to be in good condition.

“Hi, I’m Sky Sweeper, a flight paramedic,” she said, “And we’ve got a proper doctor coming up behind and another paramedic, you’re gonna be in real good hooves—hands. What’s your name?”

“Chloe.”

“That’s a pretty name. Do you hurt anywhere besides your leg?”

She shook her head.

“Don’t move around too much, okay?” That was important; injuries could be exacerbated by movement. “In a minute the doctor is going to look you over and fix your leg. What happened?”

“Well, I was just riding around, and Charley—that’s a dumb name, I know—spooked and—” She sniffled. “And I don’t know exactly what happened next, I must have fallen off him, and I started to get up, but. . . .”

“Don’t you worry about a thing. Jane and Dr. Sayad are brilliant, they’ll have you patched up in no time.”

“I’ve never seen a pony up close before.” Chloe reached up to touch her mane then paused. “Do you—can I?”

“Of course.” She leaned her head down, and let the girl play with her mane. “They’re going to have to cut the leg of your pants off to get a good look, and I think Dr. Sayad wants to give you some pain medicine—you don’t mind, do you?”

“That would be nice.”

Sky Sweeper shifted around, neatly blocking Chloe’s view of the doctor at work. Not having to see the unnatural twist in her leg, the blood, or the bone jutting against the fabric of her riding pants would help relax her.

“Which one is Charley?” At a guess, the one with a saddle, clustered with the rest of the horses in the far corner of the pasture, eying the helicopter with suspicion before snatching another mouthful of grass.

“He’s the roan gelding, he—ow!”

“Just a little pinch, don’t worry about that.” Sky Sweeper nuzzled Chloe. “For the pain. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Patients all reacted differently to trauma, and they had to be ready to deal with it. Each member of the team had their own approach, and none of them were so proud as to favor their own method over any other. At the end of the day, results were what mattered. Jane did well with patients who needed mothering, Dr. Sayad did his best when a patient needed a brusque physician, Brian had a no-nonsense approach, and she shined when patients required a physical touch.

As Jane snipped off her riding pants, Brian talked quietly with her parents, discussing the injury and the immediate prospects. Surgery would be in order, pins to put the bone back where it belonged and additional work to repair the damaged tissue in her leg. Some scarring, but likely a full recovery in time, and children bounced back far better than adults.

Chloe clutched on her mane as they gave her the ketamine and reduced her fracture, and then the hard part was done.

By now, they had plenty of help. The land ambulance had finally arrived, three more paramedics to assist. A police constable had followed along, getting a wholly unnecessary statement about the accident, but he was big and beefy and helped carry the stretcher to the helicopter. Chloe’s injuries weren’t severe enough to fully warrant air transport, except they could fly a direct route rather than stick to the winding roads.

Sometimes they did send their patient in an ambulance, and flew off to the next job or back to base. Sometimes the doctor rode in the ambulance to provide better care, and the helicopter followed it along.

So far, they hadn’t ever had to abandon the helicopter on the patient’s behalf, although on a few occasions they’d flown somewhere so rugged that the helicopter got left behind on the closest flat unwindy spot.

•••

The first order of business upon their return to Teeside was restocking the supplies on the helicopter. The second order of business was lunch. The regular crew had a rotation of who made lunch; she made her own most of the time, since the crews really liked eating red meat with their meals.

While the base didn’t have a full kitchen, it had hot pots and slow-cookers and a microwave. Sky Sweeper got her lunch out of the fridge and arranged it on a plate, then put it in the microwave. The buttons weren’t hoof-friendly, but a mouth-held pen took care of that.

*Beep* *Beep* *Boop* Hmmmmmmmmmm.

Sky Sweeper set the pen down on the counter as her meal started spinning inside the microwave. Reheated food wasn't as good as food fresh from the fryer, but it was plenty good enough for a hungry mare on the go who didn’t have time to get a fresh-cooked lunch.

In only two minutes, her meal was ready to eat. She’d learned that the plate got quite hot, and while human-style oven mitts weren’t much use, the little square potholders they had fit in the mouth easily enough and kept her from burning her lips as she removed her food and trotted into the ready room.

“Fish and chips again?” Jane asked.

“It’s a good lunch,” Sky Sweeper said. “It’s got protein, salt, and potatoes.”

“That’s hardly a balanced meal.”

“Says Little Miss Sausage Sandwich.”

Jane snickered. “Okay, I deserved that. They’re easy to make and—”

“And that little ditch that runs around the airport hasn’t got any worthwhile fish in it at all, so it’s easier to get it already caught and made from a restaurant.” She stuffed a chip in her mouth. “I got enough to share if you want some.”

“You sure?”

“Eh, if I get peckish later I can nibble at the grass around the building.”

“Offer’s always open for a sausage sandwich.” Jane reached over and nabbed a chip.

“I’ll consider that.” Sky Sweeper tore a piece of the fish off and swallowed before speaking again. “Maybe sometime when we’re out by the sea, I could fly down and get a fresh fish.”

“I don’t know how many rules that would violate, you’d have to ask Brian, but I'm pretty sure we’re not allowed to fish off the helicopter.”

“Which is a pity. I’ve seen plenty when we fly over the coast, and let me tell you, fish aren’t smart enough to look up. I could just go down, nab one, and fly it back up before anypony could object.”

“Mm-hm.” Jane took another fry and chewed it thoughtfully. “You could charter a boat on the weekend. Or a helicopter.”

“Don’t have to go out that far. Fish are easier to see in shallow water, I can just fly along the beach and when I find a good spot, pounce on them.”

“I can see it now. ‘National Geographic Presents: Fishing with the Pegasi’.”

“I could teach them a thing or two.” Sky Sweeper stuck out her tongue. “It’s easier in rivers, but most of the fish you’ve got in rivers taste really bad.”

“Yeah, it’s probably safest to not eat river fish,” Jane said. “There’s a lot of pollution. Most of them aren’t safe. Not around here.”

“One of my friends got busted for catching her lunch at a fish farm. Did you know those were a thing?”

“Like the fox stalking the hens.”

“I’m serious. Maybe she should have been suspicious about how many fish there were in the pond, but she saw an easy meal and took it. Probably would have gotten away with it if she’d only done it once, but she started eating all her lunches at the fish farm, and the fishherd got mad.”

“Fishherd?”

“A person who herds fish . . . what do you call them?”

“A fish farmer, I don’t know.”

“We’d call them visherder,” Sky Sweeper said. “Or maybe viskweker, I suppose it would depend on if they were being raised captive or not.”

“Instead of a shepherd's crook, he’d have a net.” Jane snickered and snagged another chip. “Do you ponies have names for everything?”

“Don’t humans?”

“I . . . guess.”

“I’ve had to learn lots of names for things we ponies don’t have. Like all the drugs, for one.”

“Yeah.”

“And all the other stuff you measure. We—well, we do a lot of it, but not the same way. I’m not really an expert in that, not yet.” She fluffed her wings and then took another bite of fried fish. “I’m learning, though. Aviation stuff, too. We don’t normally have to tell anypony where we’re flying; we just don’t crash into each other.”

“Not ever?”

“Well, hardly ever. Sometimes in storms, it can happen, or when Barnyard Bargains is having a big sale. But that’s not like when two aircraft run into each other. We just rub our muzzles and apologize.”

•••

Sky Sweeper could wash her own plate, but the rest of the crew insisted that she not, so she put it in the sink once she’d finished her lunch.

She’d half-expected to be called on duty before she was done eating, which was the usual way of things. Today was proving to be the exception; not only had she finished her lunch uninterrupted, but Jane had made sandwiches—sausage—for the rest of the crew, and they’d finished their meals without interruption as well.

Not that that left them without anything to do. After eating, Dr. Sayad and Captain Brian both started going through the medikits to make sure that they were fully-stocked. She was still learning, so she watched as they went through their checklists, repeating the unfamiliar names of the medications aloud and memorizing what they looked like.

Her position on the crew was somewhere between a guest and an apprentice. She sometimes bristled at that, but understood why it was so. Despite her feelings for the crew, she knew that if they’d been in Equestria, somehow taking a position on a weather team, they would be treated the same.

“TXA.”

“What’s TXA?”

Dr. Sayad answered her. “Tranexamic Acid, it’s used for severe bleeding.”

“Tranesamic . . . tranexamic Acid.” He held the vial up so she could learn it. “For severe bleeding.”

“You got it,” Brian said, and held out a fist, which she bumped. “Next is Ketamine. Do you remember what that was for?”

“Pain and memory,” she said. “You use that one a lot.”

“Yeah, we do. Very useful in trauma.”

“Individual tolerances vary,” Dr. Sayad added. “So sometimes—”

What he was about to say was cut off by the jangle of the telephone.

At least I got to eat lunch. She did a quick mental check; she was already wearing her flight gear; all she needed was her helmet.

As for the rest, she’d take it as it came.

•••

When she galloped out onto the tarmac, the rotor blades were already turning, getting up to speed. She held back until Dr. Sayad and Jane had boarded the chopper and closed the door, then got on her own personal spot on the skid. They’d modified a surplus backboard for her to use, which also doubled as an extra-wide step for the doctors.

The helmet she had to wear wasn’t exactly comfortable, although she’d finally convinced them to put ear-cutouts in it. Sadly, that let more of the outside noise in and made it harder for her to hear the built-in speakers. It was a work in progress; a few more iterations and they’d have a helmet that was both comfortable to wear and which let her clearly hear what everyone was saying.

“Sky Sweeper secure.”

As soon as she spoke, the helicopter lifted, and her stomach rolled. No matter how many times she rode the helicopter, the feeling of lifting off while her wings were tucked against her side never felt right.

Updates came through the intercom, and she did her best to listen in. About half of the medical terminology went over her head, but she paid attention. One day she’d know it.

“Coming in just now,” Brian said. “Should be just up ahead, past the church.”

“I see an ambulance,” Jane replied. “And police cars, about two o’clock, along that row of houses.”

“I got it. Sky, do you see it?”

She scanned the roadways, and in a moment spotted the emergency vehicles. “I see it.”

“There’s an open spot on the median just to the south, I think we can fit in.”

“I got it.” Sky Sweeper unclipped the carabiner holding her to the aircraft. “Follow me in.”

She dropped off the skid, faltering in the rotor wash before she regained her balance, then she was up in front of the nose, a clear target for the helicopter to follow.

While she still wasn’t entirely up to speed on human medicines, she’d rapidly learned how the helicopter worked, and what it could and couldn’t do. How much space it needed around trees and buildings and overhead wires, and what were good landing spots.

She guided it down to the field, giving more precise directions with her forehooves as it landed. Brian kept his eyes fixed on her, while Jane and Dr. Sayad both looked out the windows, checking for obstructions.

At first, that had offended her, but the more she’d come to understand the paradoxical brilliance and fragility of human machines, coupled with learning about checklists and callbacks, the more she understood it. She could make a mistake, and one of the humans on the fragile helicopter might catch it.

Curiously, there was less of that distrust when the doctor viewed the patient. When Dr. Sayad decided he was going to use a particular medicine or perform a procedure, nobody questioned it. She’d spent some time reading up on the drugs they carried and knew that all of them carried risks.

•••

As soon as the skids touched the ground, she trotted back to the helicopter. The doors opened, and Dr. Sayad reached out with her backpack. One day she’d get to wear it while in flight, but for now it was still too precious to risk.

She had gotten to put it on early once before, during a risky rescue aboard a ship.

Sky Sweeper shucked her helmet, leaving it on the ground near the helicopter, and shrugged the pack on. Jane reached into a compartment in the aircraft, getting her own rescue pack, and then the three of them were off. Brian would follow; he had to shut down and secure the helicopter before he could leave his seat.

Even if she hadn’t seen the site from the air, the coppery smell of blood and the flashing lights of the ambulance provided more than enough guidance as to where they were needed.

The car was completely mangled, smashed in the front and along the side. Firefighters were attacking the body of the car, snipping off the doors to give the medics better access.

One of the smaller girls on a land-ambulance crew had climbed into the backseat to support the head of the passenger—Sky Sweeper knew that meant they suspected a neck injury.

Dr. Sayad crouched alongside the driver’s door, getting his first close look at the male patient. “How are you feeling?”

“Not so good. I can’t move.”

“No worries, we’re working on that. Where does it hurt?”

On the other side, Jane was both reassuring her patient, and getting briefed by the on-scene paramedics. For the moment, Sky Sweeper was useless, nothing but an observer, and she hated it.

•••

Dr. Sayad and Jane moved back from the car and had a brief conference. “I don’t like her condition at all,” Jane said. “I think she’s got internal bleeding.”

“I didn’t see anything too troublesome on the driver, he can go by land ambulance . . . I think they’ll get him out first, the fire brigade is making more progress on his side of the car. Is she stable?”

Jane shrugged. “For now, but I’m worried she’s going to drop fast. Especially as we move her.”

“Sky, run back to the helicopter, get the cardiac monitor; we might need that.”

“Got it.” Now she had something to do, and she took flight, angling straight for the helicopter as soon as she was clear of the roofs of the emergency vehicles. The wide median had provided them with a good, nearby landing spot.

The crew had checklists to remind them what duffel bags to put in the helicopter, and everybody except the pilot checked as well whenever they got on or off. She knew right where it was supposed to be, and it was.

She clipped the pack to her flight harness, and glanced over at their blood supply. They had bags of blood that could replace what was lost; those were better than the saline bags which only increased volume but couldn’t carry oxygen or nutrients around. But they hadn’t asked for them, and even though it was tempting to be proactive and carry them out with her, they would have told her if they wanted them.

•••

Back on scene, she watched as the firefighters lifted the roof off the car and tossed it aside. Jane was still keeping a close watch on the passenger, while Dr. Sayad radioed their initial findings back to the airport, moving over to check on the driver once he’d been extracted from the car and stretched out on the ground.

Brian unclipped the bag from her back and set it in the middle of the road, where it would be ready if they needed it. The crew had moved over to the passenger side of the car and were sliding a backboard down the seat, while Jane kept the woman talking.

Her ear turned as the ambulance with the husband aboard roared off, then she focused her attention back on the woman, back on Jane and Dr. Sayad.

“Radial pulse is dropping,” Jane said. “We need to move.”

“Right.” He turned to Sky Sweeper. “Tender abdo, dropping radial, complaints of pain in wrist, minor confusion, call it in.”

Sky Sweeper nodded and tapped the mic button with her hoof, reporting the doctor’s brief assessment to their base.

“Do you have an ETA?”

“Still loading,” she said. “Fifteen minutes, maybe less. Dr. Sayad is looking worried, and he might light a fire under the helicopter’s tail. Driver is already en route by land ambulance.”

“Got it, thank you.”

One of them would report better numbers when they were in flight. Probably Jane; Brian needed to focus on flying the helicopter, and Dr. Sayad would have his attention on the patient.

•••

She trotted alongside as they rolled the gurney towards the helicopter. The last few meters were crossed by manpower: gurneys did not do well on grass. As the victim was loaded into the helicopter, Brian was already doing his pre-flight checklists.

During the loading process, Sky Sweeper was superfluous, so she picked up her helmet and put it on, then grabbed Jane’s, and offered it as soon as the patient was loaded.

The helicopter doors shut and she took her position on the landing skid. “Sky Sweeper secure, wires close on the right side.”

“Thank you.” She liked Brian; some of the other pilots were curt with her, as if she didn’t know a thing about flying. She could fly rings around them, machine or no. And in weather that would make them soil their flight uniforms, to boot.

•••

The hospital had a clearly-marked helipad. As the aircraft descended into its appointed spot, she held her carabiner in her mouth. That wasn’t in the rules, but if something was to go wrong during the landing, she wanted the chance to fly free.

Would a pony who’d fully bonded with her crew stay attached? Everypony knew the stories of sailors going down with their ship, preferring to die with their friends than to be the sole survivor of a wreck. The sentimental side of her mind suggested that she was wimping out by unfastening before the skids touched; the pragmatic side said that if she was clear, she could tell any rescuers who had been in the helicopter.

Sky Sweeper kept out of the way as the gurney was whisked into the hospital. She wasn’t alone; while Dr. Sayad and Jane had accompanied the hospital workers, Brian kept guard on his helicopter.

She normally didn’t get to sit in the front, but the seat was currently vacated, so she took it. As usual, her eyes were drawn to the instruments on the dashboard.

“If you could have any one of these, which would it be?”

“GPS is nice, I’ve got a watch that has that.” She pointed a hoof towards the screen. “Always knows where I am, and if I push the right buttons, it tells me where the closest airport is.”

“Not the altimeter?”

“If I hit a tree, I’m flying too low.”

“Attitude indicator?”

Sky Sweeper shrugged. “I don't need an instrument to tell me how I'm feeling.”

“That’s not—it’s not a helicopter mood ring.”

She stuck her tongue out. “You need one of those. It’s like a weather rock. Silly, but also speaks the truth.”

“How about a radio?”

“Eh, I can fly on my own without somebody on the ground giving me instructions. Keep my eyes and ears open, don’t run into anything . . . when your radio tells you how to land without hitting any wires or posts or trees.” She tapped a hoof on the panel. “’Master Caution’, maybe. Could have used that when I went to McDonald’s and ordered a Fillet of Fish thinking it was something worth eating.”

“At least it wasn’t as bad as the time you went to Taco Bell.”

“For you, maybe. I enjoyed that burrito, unlike the Fillet of Fish.”

“Yeah, well, none of the rest of us did. Good thing you ride on the skid.”

•••

One thing that the crew did trust her on was weather reporting. Human weather didn’t work like Equestrian weather, but she’d taken to weather maps like a duck to water—they were almost as good as pegasi on station reporting in. The helicopter wouldn’t fly in the dark, nor in inclement weather, since it was too risky. She’d scoffed at that at first—surely the helicopter could fly in a storm that was so basic that first-year weatherfillies were allowed inside—but in her time with the air ambulance crew, she’d come to understand that weather was not well-understood by most people, nor were they much good at feeling it.

Showing them YouTube videos of professional weatherponies at work didn’t do much to change their opinions. Captain Brian in particular paled when he watched a downdraft blast Flanking Line out of the sky, sending her tumbling down into the cloudbank below.

Sky Sweeper knew how to deal with those—every pony trained in complicated weatherwork did. Don’t fight it, roll out of it, find clean air back the way you came if the storm’s not moving too fast; if it is, fly through and get to the middle. Paradise—who had the camera mounted on her vest—had enough warning to dive through fast, then circled around close to the edge until Flanking Line got back up to altitude.

If she could fly as fast as the helicopter, she could scout for it, and then weather wouldn’t be a problem for them anymore. If she got knocked out of the air, then the helicopter could turn back.

She and Brian were standing out on the airfield, watching the clouds forming overhead. The weather reports called for a chance of thundershowers, and a high probability of rain. She’d gone over them herself and thought that both were going to pass just north, that at most they’d get a few raindrops.

“Do you ever have to leave the helicopter behind?”

Brian nodded. “Only once since I’ve been flying. We were out on the coast, already near minimums. Complicated case, high speed motorcycle crash. Road rash, broken bones, closed head injury, the works. I’ve got to balance both the needs of the patient and the desires of my crew, with our safety.”

Sky Sweeper nodded.

“So I was giving pointed hints that if we expected to fly him to hospital, we had to go now, and even then it was going to be dodgy. Last thing any of us want is a critical patient in the back of the helicopter and no hospitals we can land at. They understood, but were focused on their patient, and when it really closed in, I flew solo to the nearest airport and hunkered down there. It wasn’t ideal.”

“How was the patient?”

“He made a good recovery. He wouldn’t have made it, I don’t think, if we hadn’t been there, so it was worth it in the end.” Brian motioned at the sky, at the building clouds. “What do you think? Are we going to have to pack it up for the night?”

“South quadrants should be good. Southwest will be choppy along the front, but stable below it. Anything north is chancy . . . northeast would be good on the way out, but not on the way back. A loop down, though, would keep you clear.”

“I hate having to make the call.” Brian leaned up against the rail. “When I know there’s a life on the line, but we have to be safe, and it’s different for you ponies—”

“We’ve got good control on the land,” Sky Sweeper said. “But storms come in from the sea, nor’easters and hurricanes and sometimes . . . you gotta go out; you don’t always come back.”

“Christ.”

•••

“Filey Brigg, suspected stroke.”

Brian glanced up at the building clouds and then turned to Sky Sweeper. “That’s south, you think we’ll make it there and back?”

“Maybe.”

“We can land at Eddsfield Airfield if not, or hunker down at Scarborough.”

“Isn’t there a helicopter in Humberside?”

Brian nodded. “They’re out in the Yorkshire Dales right now.” He gave a thumbs-up to Dr. Arbid, and the two of them ran out to the helicopter.

They were going to be tight on time, she knew it. Not only the storm, but they had rules about flying in the dark, too. It was safe enough to land at the airport, but too risky to attempt a landing to rescue a patient after it got dark.

“Sky Sweeper, secure,” she announced the instant Dr. Sayad pulled the door shut above her head.

She was answered by the engines spooling up, then the always-uncomfortable feeling of liftoff. Brian pulled the helicopter in a tight arc before speeding southeast.

The helicopter had a weather radar on it which was pretty good. It gave a broad picture of what should be avoided, though it lacked the awareness she had of the sky. There were things it would see that weren’t really problems, and there were other things it wouldn’t notice.

As they gained altitude, she studied the towering thunderclouds off to the side. Still a safe distance away, but if she’d guessed wrong . . . their return flight might be interesting, or it might not happen at all. Dr. Sayad and Jane could ride in a land ambulance to the hospital if they couldn’t fly, but what would she and Brian do?

She could worry about that when it happened.

•••

The weather was still in their favor when they reached the coast. Dr. Arbid had updated them; their patient was an older gentleman who had been walking the beach. Beach rescue was on-scene, and would have a landing site cleared for them by the time they arrived.

They swept wide over the coast, and she couldn’t help but look down into the water to see if she could find any fish. A school by a rocky spit of land—and then she focused back on the job, a bright red truck with a blinking light on its roof and a cluster of people gathered around. One of them jogged to a clear spot and started motioning. People were clear, and there weren’t any buildings, wires, trees, or poles in the way. Nothing but a broad expanse of sand.

“Wish it was wet,” she heard Brian say. “Might be some FOD. I’ll come in further north of him.”

The rotors kicked all sorts of things in the air, and she wondered if the man on the ground signaling had any idea that would happen. Judging by how he ducked and turned as they were close, he hadn’t.

“One meter,” she called into her mic as the skids reached for the ground. “Settle slow.” The grit was blasting her, too, but she was used to it.

She had her carabiner off as soon as the helicopter settled and got clear of the swing of the door.

Dr. Sayad strapped a pair of bags to her, then wedged a third in the middle. Suspected stroke, but could be anything. Their victim had been found on the beach, collapsed. Beach rescue had made a quick assessment; maybe they were right and maybe they weren’t. It was always better to have more equipment than they needed than to have to gallop back and get something else.

Beach rescue had given him an oxygen mask and hooked a pulse oximeter to his finger, and there wasn’t much more that they could do for him.

After a preliminary examination, Dr. Sayad called for Midazolam, which was in the red duffel bag. Jane grabbed it off her back, and got the vials out, while Sky Sweeper got a fast rundown from the paramedics on-scene.

“They say that he’s gotten worse,” she told him. “He started having fits about five minutes before we landed.”

“I’m worried about his breathing. I’d like to do an RSI.”

It was always better to let the patient fight for themselves; to do quick, temporary stabilizations and give painkillers then rush them off to hospital where a fully-equipped resuscitation ward could handle the patient, but that wasn’t always possible. Putting him into a coma and taking over his breathing was a big step, and it had to be done quickly and correctly.

Jane, Brian, and the doctor grabbed equipment out of a second duffle bag, getting everything they needed close to hand before starting the procedure. Drugs to stop his breathing, a machine to monitor him, tubes and a bellows to squeeze air in his lungs—everything was checked and double-checked before they started the procedure. They had about thirty seconds to get the tube in correctly before his prognosis got significantly worse.

Sky Sweeper got the task of squeezing the plastic bellows, a task which at first glance seemed insignificant. Blacksmiths had their worst apprentices on the bellows, she knew, because that was a task that was hard to mess up . . . except this wasn’t a forge, and if she got it wrong, their patient would die. She was now breathing for him, every time she squeezed.

She’d always been good at tuning out distractions, and she now focused on only one task. Squeeze, pause, squeeze, pause. Keep a rhythm in her head. Stayin’ Alive was for chest compressions, and Bad Romance for breathing. Ga ga ooh la la, squeeze, watch his chest rise and fall as the life-giving air went into his lungs. Equipment was packed back up, and they made their way to the helicopter, everybody giving her room to keep up her work.

Inside, they had a machine which would do the breathing. Sky Sweeper kept at her task until it was ready to work, and then Jane attached the hose, watching to make sure that the machine was doing it right before finally taking the plastic bulb from her.

•••

The sun was setting as they landed at James Cook. They had to reattach the breathing bellows as they removed him from the helicopter, but this time Jane squeezed it as they led him along the sidewalk and across the street. Sky Sweeper trotted alongside the gurney—she wasn’t allowed into the resuscitation rooms, but could wait outside and help pack some of their equipment back to the helicopter.

She stayed close to the wall, out of the way of passers-by. Her orange flight suit and reflective striping still didn’t always make her visible to hospital workers who were in a hurry. There was a door that led to the washing-up room, and that was where Dr. Sayad and Jane would go after handing off their patient.

It was only a few minutes before Jane arrived. There wasn’t much cleaning and sterilizing that had to be done this time. Sky Sweeper got two of their duffel bags strapped to her, and Jane picked up the stretcher. Dr. Sayad was still in with the resuscitation team, finishing his debrief.

The two of them made their way back to the helicopter and stowed the stretcher and bags. Normally they would have waited for Dr. Sayad, but Brian wanted to get back to Teeside as quickly as he could.

“Ride inside,” he instructed Sky Sweeper. “If we do get into some weather, I’ll feel a lot better if you’re inside the aircraft.”

And I’d feel a lot better if I was outside the helicopter if we run into weather. She didn’t want Brian to worry, though, so she hopped up in the back, holding the door open for Dr. Sayad as he arrived.

“Left side secure.”

“Right side secure.”

“Back secure.”

“Sky Sweeper secure.”

“Engine start.” The body of the helicopter didn’t do much to quiet it down, although it was less windy inside than riding on the skid. As the engine spooled up, Brian radioed to Teeside for clearance. It was a short flight, and Sky Sweeper watched out the window as Middlesbrough passed below them. There were a few darker spots on the landscape below, fields and woodlots and the Tees River.

They passed almost directly over Allens West, and she thought about asking if they could just let her out there to catch the last train to Saltburn. That would be rude to the rest of the crew, though, so she just watched it disappear behind them as the helicopter came in for its landing.

•••

While Jane and Dr. Sayad took care of the medikits and supplies, she helped Brian push the helicopter back into its hangar, then let Jane help her out of her flight suit.

“Do you want a ride to the station, love?”

Sky Sweeper shook her head. “I like flying there, it helps relax me after a long day.”

“You’d better hurry, then, you don’t want to miss your train.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.” She rarely missed the train. Some nights they were out late enough that she did; she’d stayed at the airport a couple times, until Dr. Crispen had noticed her on her way out, and insisted on going out of her way to give Sky Sweeper a ride home. Since then, on the few occasions she’d missed the train and hadn’t felt like flying the eighty kilometers home, she’d overnighted in Preston Park. There were lots of trees to nest in, and it was a short flight to the Eaglescliffe train station.

Dinsdale was closer, but Allens West was more on her way home, so she tapped her flight radio as she walked out to the tarmac. “Pegasus FALX requesting low-level clearance for Allens West, departing from Northern Air Ambulance.”

“Permission granted. Be aware of thunderstorms to your north and gusting winds.”

Some of the controllers gave her weather information, even though she didn’t really need it.

She kept low until she’d crossed well beyond the approach end of runway 23, then picked up a little more altitude. There were few obstacles in her way—it was mostly fields with the occasional tree and small houses on her flight path. The only dangerous thing on her route was a high-tension power line just to the west of the train station. She could never remember exactly where it was, just that it wasn’t that far past a cluster of houses.

From a couple hundred meters up, they were no danger, but she was tired and didn’t want to climb that high, so instead she dropped to treetop level, then further down once she’d cleared the wedge-shaped woodlot. She could already see the inviting lights of the train platform, and adjusted her course to be directly over the railroad tracks, following them for the last few hundred meters. “Pegasus FALX landing Allens West.”

“Roger, good night.”

“Good night.” She flared and landed on the platform, well clear of the people-shed, then glanced up at the station clock. If the train was on time, it had already left Dinsdale and was on its way here.

•••

It was a forty-minute journey home, and she sat with her head against the window, half-asleep. The last train of the night, it tended to mostly empty out as it made its way east. Sometimes there would be a cluster of commuters boarding at Middlesbrough, other times there were only a few. Most of them had left by the time the train got to Redcar East, and she had the whole car to herself after Marske.

Sometimes she’d get off there, too, and fly the rest of the way to Saltburn, although she felt guilty leaving the train empty and purposeless. Tonight, the rain had started, and it was better to stay inside and let the train whisk her close to her home.

Jadoo was midway between the train station and her home, and had delicious Kush Kush with vegetables, prawns, or the catch of the day. Their Naga Handi was also tasty, but too spicy for a late dinner.

She was regular enough that the chef kept a small quantity of timothy hay just for her, and she knew all the waitresses.

Her apartment had a gas hob and sometimes she thought about learning to cook. She had watched internet videos about cooking, though, and it seemed complicated. It was better to eat food raw or visit a chef that knew how to prepare the food right, and if there was extra she could take it home and heat it up later in the microwave—or not, if it was something that was also good cold, like pizza.

Tonight, she was hungry enough to eat her whole dinner, and have a couple beers besides.

•••

The rain had intensified by the time she walked out of Jandoo. It was shorter to fly to her apartment, but too much of a bother with a full stomach, so she walked the two short blocks of Amber Street to Marine Parade.

Some nights, she went down to the beach or flew over the sea; tonight, she was tired and her stomach was full, so she just let herself into her flat and went directly to her bedroom. The agent had told her that the room was supposed to be a living room, but what did the agent know? She could put her bed wherever she wanted to, and she’d decided that close to the windows with a view of the sea was where she wanted it. The flat’s official bedroom had been changed into a studying room, with her computer and collection of medical textbooks and her copy of So You Want To Go To Earth.

None of which she felt like studying. Instead, she got out her curry comb and put her coat in order, before opening her preening kit and giving her wings a quick once-over. Sometimes she turned on the television for its false companionship, but tonight she was content to listen to the rain dripping off her window and the occasional distant rumble of thunder.

Author's Note

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