by Laura Gabbard 

“Kelly, look out!” Captain Stanley yelled as he saw the ceiling begin to collapse. At the same time he threw his body against that of the firefighter, knocking him to the side, and to safety. 
 

Unfortunately he was the victim of what would have been Chet’s fate. From his position on his hands and knees, Chet Kelly watched as his Captain collapsed under a mound of wood and plaster. It was over in seconds and once the dust had settled, nothing could be seen of his commander. Scrambling to his feet, Chet ran to the doorway and yelled for help. Then he went back in and began to dig out the Captain.

Captain Hank Stanley groaned and opened his eyes slowly. The bright daylight was blinding, so he reached up with his right hand to shield his eyes. His arm felt strangely heavy, and with shock he held it in front of his disbelieving eyes. It was covered with some sort of metal, which registered in some part of his mind as being chain mail. Suddenly he became aware of the fact that he wasn’t alone.
 

“I beg your pardon, Sire. Are you hurt?” asked a familiar voice to his left. Hank turned his head, but was unable to make out the figure that was standing with his back to the sun.
 

“No, I...I’m not hurt,” Hank managed to find his voice.
 

“Good. I’d not forgive myself for causing you injury,” the man said, and taking Hanks’ raised right arm, helped him to his feet.
 

“Tis not many who can best the great King Arthur,” spoke a new voice. 
 

This one too seemed familiar to Hank and he turned. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized his paramedic, Roy DeSoto, dressed like a medieval knight, complete with a sword at his side. He quickly  looked back at the man who had helped him up and was further shocked to see his other paramedic John Gage, dressed in a similar manner. Have I lost my mind? Hank Stanley wondered to himself. And did Roy just call me King Arthur?
 

“True enough, Bedivere my friend. Shall we keep it a secret amongst ourselves?” the knight who looked like Johnny asked.
 

“That would be very wise, Lancelot,” Bedivere/Roy said, with a smile. “Of course, Arthur shall have the last word.” Both knights turned to Hank expectantly.
 

“Umm...yes, I think that would be best,” Hank managed to speak. 

Johnny/Lancelot grinned while Bedivere/Roy leaned down to retrieve a sword laying on the grass. “Your sword, Excalibur, my king,” he said, offering it hilt-first. 

Carefully Hank took it and was surprised at its weight. Looking down at his side, he noticed a sling that seemed to be for the purpose of holding a sword, and slid it in.

“Thanks...er....Bedivere,” Hank said.

“Now we should go back to Camelot before Kay sends out the troops,” Lancelot/Johnny laughed.

“Wise idea Lancelot,” Bedivere/Roy said, with a slight smile. 

Hank just looked from one man to the other, trying to hide his confusion.

“Griflet! Bring Arthurs’ horse!” Lancelot called out. Hank turned to see a boy leading not just one horse, but three. His heart sank as he realized that not only was he expected to ride, he had to do so wearing armor. Firefighting equipment was heavy, but this armor probably weighed between sixty and eighty pounds. Hank took a moment to speak softly to his horse and pat its neck while he covertly watched the two knights mount their horses. Suddenly his horse snorted and stepped away.

“Foolish beast!” the boy, Griflet said, shoving the horse back toward Hank. 

The horse knows I’m an imposter even if these men don’t! Hank thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, he carefully copied the knights’ movements and got on the horse with passable grace. He was amazed, given the limited movement allowed by his armor. 
 

Well that was easy enough. Now, if I can manage to stay on, I’ll be all right. I haven’t been on a horse since I was a kid. Hank took the broad reins in both gloved hands and 
gave his horse a halfhearted thump with his heels. The horse took off with a jump and for a moment Hank wavered precariously in the saddle before regaining his balance.  Luckily, Lancelot and Bedivere had already started their horses toward the road. Hank followed them closely.
 

“Are you certain nothing is wrong, my king?” Bedivere/Roy asked, half-turning in his saddle to observe Hank. A concerned look was on his face. “You seem a bit unsteady in the saddle.” This statement caused Lancelot/Johnny to look around as well.
 

“No, no, nothing is wrong!” Hank spoke quickly. “I just don’t seem to be myself today.”
 

“Maybe you’re becoming ill. We’ll take you to Merlin when we get back,” Lancelot/Johnny said. Bedivere/Roy nodded in agreement. Hank suddenly felt very nervous.
 

Merlin?! Oh boy I’m in trouble now! Wasn’t that guy supposed to be a wizard or magician or something? He’ll figure out I’m not King Arthur even if these two twits haven’t! Where’s a good four alarm fire when you need one? 

Hank’s apprehension grew as they rode closer to the castle. He wished he could remember what had happened to bring him to this point, but his mind was blank of everything after this morning’s roll call.
 

As they rode up to the castle gates, Hank was in awe. The place was enormous, and beautiful. Passing through the gates, he saw people everywhere. Many looked up as the three horsemen passed and smiled. It looked to him as if they liked their king. Their leader. For some reason that made Hank feel good. 

At last they reached the hall and dismounted. Griflet, who had been running along behind them, took their horses and led them away. The knights stepped aside to let Hank enter first. He did so slowly, not knowing what to expect. Lancelot/Johnny and Bedivere/Roy were right behind him. 

A few steps inside the hall Hank stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He looked around without moving his head. The inside was even more awesome than the outside. The room was huge, so much so that he could barely make out the other end. 

The reason for it’s vastness was very apparent, for it had to accommodate the mammoth wooden, round, table in front of him. I can’t believe that’s it! That’s the Round Table! It’s gigantic, surely it can hold the one hundred and fifty knights it’s supposed to!
 

As Hank hesitated, Bedivere/Roy motioned to a page. The boy hurried over to them. “Summon Merlin and have him go to the King’s private chambers.” The page scurried off.
 

“Ah do you really think it’s necessary for us to disturb Merlin?” Hank asked.
 

“Now Arthur, you know Merlin doesn’t mind. He’ll do anything for you,” Lancelot/Johnny said, giving his liege the grin that had captured the hearts of all the ladies of the Court.
 

Bedivere/Roy, started for the staircase to their right. Hank followed, leaving Lancelot/Johnny to bring up the rear. As they walked higher and higher, Hank began to worry. 

With his luck Merlin would turn out to be Chief McConnikee and then he’d be in big trouble! For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how he had come to these circumstances. He was a firefighter, not a king or a knight. Wasn’t he? Abandoning himself to his fate, Hank followed Bedivere/Roy onto a landing, and down a long corridor. At the end, they went through a massive, oak door. The room they entered was large and richly appointed. Hank was impressed.
 

“Merlin should be here directly,” Lancelot/Johnny said. 

Hank gave him a quick glance, then decided he needed to sit, so he walked over to a small table and took a seat. Or tried to. His sword got in the way. With a muttered oath, he unbuckled the belt and laid sword and scabbard on the table. He looked up to see both knights grinning at him.
 

“You always do that Arthur! One would think you’d remember after all these years of wearing one,” Bedivere/Roy said. He and Lancelot/Johnny joined Hank at the table. 

Bedivere/Roy reached for the pitcher off to the side, and filled three cups with ale. Hank drank his down eagerly, though he wished it was coffee instead. Just as he set the empty cup down, the door opened. Three heads turned to look at the newcomer. To Hanks’ relief it wasn’t Captain McConnikee. Merlin looked just like Marco Lopez.
 

“Good afternoon Arthur, Bedivere, Lancelot,” Merlin/Marco greeted them upon entering the room. “What seems to be the trouble?”
 

“Arthur doesn’t seem to be himself today. Maybe he’s become ill?” Lancelot/Johnny spoke up.
 

“Is this true Arthur? What seems to be the problem?” Merlin/Marco asked, giving the king a concerned look.
 

“I’m fine, really, err...Merlin! I just feel a little, off, I guess you’d say. I don’t feel like myself today,” Hank said. And that’s the truth pal!
 

“There are no specific symptoms?” Merlin/Marco asked, frowning slightly as he thought.
 

“No, no, nothing to speak of!” Hank said quickly.
 

Merlin/Marco remained silent for a few minutes longer, rubbing his chin as he stayed deep in thought. Absently, he traced his dark mustache with his finger, and then suddenly smiled. “I have it! You must go on a quest to slay the dragon!” he said excitedly.
 

“D...d...dragon?!” Hank barely got the words out.
 

“Merlin! It’s been years, do you think he should? That’s rather dangerous, don’t you agree?” Bedivere/Roy asked, looking very concerned.
 

“Of course it is, but he’s the King! A slayer of dragons! Yes, yes, that’s it! And I know just the dragon too!” Merlin/Marco said.
 

“Shouldn’t we go with him?” Lancelot/Johnny asked, also concerned. Secretly, he wanted to slay a dragon himself. He’d never even seen one, let alone killed one.
 

“No. Arthur must do this alone. He may take his page Griflet, and one other person, but not a knight,” Merlin/Marco said seriously.
 

“I know just the person,” Bedivere/Roy said.
 

“Bedivere, you can’t be thinking what I think you are!” Lancelot/Johnny burst out. “Not Chester the Fool?!”
 

“Why not? He doesn’t lack for courage, and he’s rather amusing. Arthur might be able to make use of him,” Bedivere/Roy said, shrugging.
 

“Chester the Fool?” Hank asked, somewhat dazedly.
 

“Yes, he’s just what you need!” Merlin/Marco stated, with a smug look. Hank was beginning to think that what he needed were a few aspirin and a nap. I’m surrounded by a bunch of twits.

An hour later, Hank found himself armed and mounted, riding out from the castle, followed by Griflet and Chester the Fool. Chester of course looked exactly like Chet Kelly. He acted very much like him too. He talked nonstop the whole time they were riding. 

Chester was loving life at the moment. He had virtually a captive audience to work his new jokes and riddles on, and it was the King of Camelot no less! Chester considered himself a very lucky man, despite the purpose of the quest. He wasn’t afraid of any old fire-breathing dragons! In fact, he doubted if they even existed. 

As the day wore on, Hanks’ headache grew worse. “Chester, would you shut up?!” Hank finally growled. “If there were a dragon around here, he would have heard us coming two hours ago!”
 

Chester the Fool promptly closed his mouth. He heard a snicker from Griflet and turned to give the page a glare. A few minutes later Hank decided it was time for a break. His head was pounding and he really needed a drink of water. 
 

They had stopped beside a wide stream in a rocky and wooded area. Hank got down from his horse and knelt down beside the water, before either Griflet or Chester could act. He pulled off his leather gauntlets, cupped his hands, and scooped up some of the icy, cold water, drinking it down thirstily. He paid no attention as the other two men hurried over to him.
 

“Your cup, my King,” Griflet said, holding out his hand. Hank looked up to see the page offering him a shiny cup made of gold. For some reason this only made him feel more irritable, and ignoring the remarkable craftsmanship of the object, Hank batted at Griflets’ hand, sending the cup flying.
 

“Forget that, you twit!” Hank said, crossly. Suddenly, there was a gasp from Chester. Hank looked up and noticed that the Fool’s face had paled considerably, as he stared at something upstream, behind Hank.
 

“Now what, Chester?!” Hank demanded. He turned and looked, his jaw dropping. 

Atop a large cluster of tumbled boulders crouched a dragon. Clutched in one of its front claws was the Kings’ cup. “Good day to you King Arthur,” rumbled the dragon. Its green scales shone, opalescent, in the sun. 

Hank judged it size to be equal to his station’s LaFrance engine. Thin spirals of smoke floated skyward from its nostrils. 
 

The beast seemed to be giving him a toothy grin, exposing fangs as long and sharp as knives. “Is this a gift to add to my treasure hoard?”
 

“Ah...er...” Hank fumbled for words.
 

“What a good day this is turning out for me! Another trinket for my hoard, and a lovely royal meal, with an appetizer and dessert!” the dragon growled, looking at Chester and Griflet.
 

“Hey, you can’t eat the king!” Chester protested loudly, taking a step forward.
 

“Fool! How dare you speak to me that way?! Don’t you know who you’re dealing with?! I am known as the Horrible Dragon McConnikee!” the great beast roared, spraying saliva and sulphur over the three men and several nearby trees.
 

Whew, that stinks! Hank thought to himself. Seemingly of its own volition, his hand reached for his sword, and drew it in one swift move.
 

“You wish to battle? Even better!” the dragon growled.

Before he could make his move, Hank lunged forward, slashing with Excalibur. 

The dragon roared with pain as he felt the sword rake across his snout, leaving a bloody gash. He reached out with a claw, scoring Hank’s armor. 
 

Suddenly, Hank realized what he was doing. I’m gonna get killed here if I don’t think of something fast!
 

“Look out Arthur!” Chester yelled, seeing the Horrible Dragon McConnikee start to inhale. He knew what was coming, and threw himself at his king, knocking them both to the ground, just as a gout of flame shot over their heads. 

Several trees caught fire, and Griflet threw himself into the stream to escape the heat. Hank somehow managed to get back on his feet, still holding his sword. He paused to gather strength, and hacked at the dragon again, this time chopping off 
a claw. 

McConnikee screamed with pain and then purposefully started to draw a breath. This time Hank and Chester knew they’d had it.
 

The sound of hoofbeats suddenly filled the air, and Hank turned to see a knight in fire engine red armor, riding a blood bay horse bearing down on them. The knight wielded a red lance, and used this to attack the dragon, full-tilt. There was a horrendous scream, and a billow of flame as the dragon was impaled by the lance. 
 

The Red Knights’ aim had been true, hitting its mark. The dragon lay dying on the rocks, its heart mortally wounded. Everyone stood around, momentarily stunned, for 
several long moments. Finally, Hank regained his wits.
 

“I don’t know who you are, but we owe you our lives!” he said gratefully, as he walked over to where the Red Knight was dismounting his horse.
 

“You owe me nothing. I only ask one favor of you,” the Red Knight said, removing his helmet.
 

“Name it,” Hank said.
 

“Make me one of your knights,” the Red Knight said, and looked up. Hank was shocked to see his engineer/specialist Mike Stoker looking at him.
 

“I’d be happy to,” Hank agreed. Heck why not, I’m supposed to be the one in charge around here and it’s the least I can do for the guy who saved my life.
 

“Thank you,” the Red Knight/Stoker smiled, and went to retrieve his lance, which he then cleaned, and polished carefully.
 

“Are you all right, sire?” Chester asked, noticing that Hank had become rather pale and was swaying unsteadily on his feet.
 

“I think I need to sit down for a minute,” Hank mumbled. His head was really pounding, and sweat trickled down his face, blurring his vision. At that moment, his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. Chester ran to his side.
 

“Arthur? My king? Are you all right? .....Arthur? ....sire ....Arthur? Are you all right?”

“Cap? Are you all right? Cap?....cap...are you okay?” Chet’s worried voice broke through the painful haze that clouded Hank’s mind.
 

“Chester?” he questioned weakly.
 

“Don’t move Cap. You’ll be all right,” spoke another familiar voice beside him.
 

“Bedivere?” Hank asked, and groaned.
 

“Who’s Bedivere? Roy, is he gonna be okay?” Chet asked.

“He’ll be fine. Stay still Cap, so we can start an I.V.  You have it Johnny?”

“Yeah, right here,” Johnny said.
 

“Lancelot?” Hank tried to concentrate, and then opened his eyes.
 

“What’s he talking about?” Chet asked.
 

“He has a concussion, don’t worry Chet, he’ll be fine. Other than that and a broken arm we couldn’t find anything else wrong,” Johnny told the worried firefighter. 

Hank slowly took in his surroundings, and realized he was lying on a backboard in a pile of rubble, surrounded by Chet, Johnny, and Roy. He could see Marco and Mike a few feet away.
 

“A dream...it was all a dream....” Hank whispered to himself. But it had felt so real. He had been so sure....
 

“The ambulance is here, let’s get him loaded,” Johnny said, looking back over his shoulder. With their usual efficiency the paramedics helped the ambulance attendants move Captain Stanley onto the gurney and into the ambulance. Johnny went along while Roy stayed behind to clean up and put away their equipment.
 

“Relax Chet, he will be all right,” Roy said kindly, seeing the firefighter standing in the same spot, looking down.
 

“He saved my life Roy...I can’t....hey, what’s this?” Chet bent down to retrieve 
something.
 

“How did that get here?” Roy asked, giving the object Chet was holding a puzzled look.
 

“Beats me. Think I should take it along?” Chet asked. “Someone could fall and hurt themselves on it. It’s lucky the Cap didn’t!”
 

“You’d better leave it. Vince is around here somewhere, why don’t you find him and let him know about it?” Roy suggested.
 

“Yeah, okay.” Chet said, putting the sword back where he had found it. “See you at Rampart!” Man, Cap, I can’t wait to find out what story you have to tell now!