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Glad to Be of Service : Part Two
Author: Brightbear
Summary: Wimmer, a mediocre police officer at best, joins the search for a missing Inspector Moser. Set during the episode 'Escape into Death'.
Author's Note: As far as I know, the character Wimmer only appears in the episode Last Stop Vienna'. For this story, I have used Australian first aid procedures since I have no idea what they do in Austria. Thoughts are in italics (so are Author's notes).
A big thankyou and hugs and kisses to Justina Lui, who was kind enough to Beta and smooth out the rough spots.
Disclaimer: The wonderful series Kommissar Rex was created by Peter Hajek and Peter Moser and belongs to Mungo Films, Sat 1 and many other people who are not me. Unfortunately. Previous Chapter
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With Petzl close behind him, Wimmer sprinted after Rex, who was still barking and moving through the undergrowth faster than Wimmer could follow. They were moving uphill, a brick wall approaching through the trees. As they neared it, a tall wooden building rose majestically into view. All around the wall the woodland had been allowed to grow wild. Weeds and trees were thick on the ground except for where a dirt road led to the compound's heavy timber gate.
Rex ran straight to the gate and scratched at it with his paws, looking back to ensure Wimmer understood. Wimmer hesitated before leaving the cover of the trees himself. Just because some of the smugglers had fled in an ambulance didn't mean that they all had. Petzl caught up, breathing heavily. They both drew their handguns, eyeing the main gate warily. Wimmer moved out into the middle of the street while Petzl moved down the right verge. There were birds singing and leaves rustling in a light breeze. Doesn’t seem dangerous yet.
They reached the gate. The gate had been built from thick timber planks and was wide enough for two vans to pass side by side. Or wide enough for an ambulance.
The gate reached over their heads and gave no clues as to what was on the far side. Rex barked impatiently, jerking them from their nervous reverie. Rex pawed at the gate again, urging the police officers to hurry. Wimmer grimaced, knowing that Rex’s barking might just have given their position away.
On the other hand, Rex has been working as a police dog for years. Rex would know that there was nobody in there... or perhaps it had just been that way before Rex had gone for help.
Despite Wimmer’s faith in the dog, he couldn’t let his guard down. He motioned to Petzl to open the gate. He held his ground and his breath, as Petzl moved forward to try the gate. The gate resisted Petzl’s first tug but it began to open slowly at the second. Wimmer kept his gun trained on the gateway.
The gate swung open to reveal a stately but sparsely maintained wooden compound. Rex slithered inside, pushing at the gate with his shoulders when it didn't open fast enough. Wimmer's view of inside the compound was partially hidden by the walls on either side. In contrast to the woodland that had been allowed to flourish unchecked outside the wall, inside was a bare sandy courtyard. Nothing grew in the hard brown sand. But the next thing that caught his eye was jarringly out of place. Moser was lying motionless a few metres from the gate.
Rex had headed straight for Moser and was nudging the fallen Inspector with his nose. Wimmer forced himself to look away, to search for any telltale sign of movement that would reveal a trap. He entered the compound cautiously. An unobstructed view of the courtyard revealed that it was larger than he'd guessed. There was at least a twenty-metre square area of nothing but sand in front of the building veranda. There were three parked cars - a blue convertible, a brown station wagon and the infamous red van.
Satisfied that the courtyard was at least minimally safe, Wimmer finally allowed his attention to focus on Moser. It was easy to recognise the Inspector from the dark hair that hid his face. He was lying on his right side, with his head pointing towards Wimmer and his feet pointing back towards the building. Moser was dressed as Wimmer had always seen him - white shirt, smart pants and a waistcoat.
Now, however, a large red-brown stain was soaked into the white shirt. Sand and blood had been rubbed into the waistcoat. His left hand was resting against the stain as if applying pressure to the wound but Wimmer could see that the fingers were lax and unmoving. Not even Rex, who was licking Moser's face gingerly, was triggering a response. Wimmer knelt by Moser's side, only lowering his gun when he was sure Petzl was covering him. Wimmer ran through a first-aid checklist in his mind, realising that this was the first time that he'd ever applied first aid to a fellow police officer, beyond simple cuts and scrapes. The first step is always to check for danger. Then what? That's it. Check for a response.
"Inspector," whispered Wimmer.
He cleared his throat and tried again, "Inspector Moser?"
His voice seemed impossibly loud in the silence. Wimmer placed his hand on Moser's shoulder and squeezed it gently.
"Inspector?" he tried again.
Rex barked loudly, adding his voice. Moser remained unmoving, his eyes closed. Wimmer leant down to grab Moser's hand.
"Inspector," Wimmer asked, louder this time. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." Moser's fingers remained limp. Uh-oh... next step. The Recovery Position.
The Recovery Position required that the patient be rolled onto their side, with their head tilted towards the ground so that their airways remained clear. Moser was already lying on his side. Wimmer shifted the Inspector's head a little, hoping it might help.
Help! What next? That’s right. Airways.
Wimmer leant over the Inspector, opening his mouth and feeling inside with his fingers. At least he hasn't swallowed his own tongue or choked on his own vomit. He wondered fleetingly what the Inspector would say if he woke up right now.
"Get your bloody fingers out of my mouth," was the most likely. Moser wasn’t one to listen to excuses of "I thought you were dying". Moser tended to have an aura of invincibility simply because he rarely acknowledged the possibility of injury.
"I'm not shot. It's just a scratch. A paper cut."
Rex whined and Wimmer snapped out of it, realising that he was having a conversation with himself. Even if one of the voices belonged to Moser, it was not a good sign. Wimmer pulled his fingers out of the Inspector's mouth and wiped them on his own pants.
Forget what Moser would say. He can’t say anything at the moment. So. Next step. Breathing.
Wimmer bent his head next to Moser's mouth. A weak puff of air blew against his cheek. At least I won't have to give mouth-to-mouth. What else? Circulation. Wimmer pressed his trembling fingers to Moser's neck. The skin was clammy to the touch but a sluggish vibration greeted his fingertips. Moser's heart was still beating.
What was the last step? They'd changed first aid procedure recently and added another step after circulation. What the hell was it?
Something cold and wet was shoved into Wimmer's hand. It was Rex's nose.
"What's next, Rex?" frowned Wimmer, patting the dog's head. "What the hell was it?"
Wimmer knew that there was panic in his voice.
Rex tilted his head and stared at Wimmer, as if he understood the question but did not know the answer. Instead, Rex licked Wimmer's hand in encouragement. It must have jogged Wimmer’s memory since the answer came almost immediately.
Severe bleeding, that was it! Now that I know he's alive, I have to keep him that way... What had Wimmer’s father said? To stop bleeding, you apply pressure.
To do that, he needed a bandage and he needed Moser in a better position. At the moment, Moser was still lying on his side.
Perhaps it would be better to roll him onto his back...
Wimmer placed one hand on Moser's shoulder and another on his hip. He pushed down gently and Moser slumped onto his back. Moser's bloodstained left hand flopping bonelessly to the sand. Wimmer damped down his gag reflex as the hair fell away from Moser’s face. The face was far too pale and the acrylic tang of blood filled his nostrils. Wimmer unbuttoned the stained shirt slowly, peeling the stiff fabric away from the blotted wound.
"Shit," said Petzl bluntly, from somewhere over his right shoulder.
"Yeah," he grimaced, realising guiltily that he'd forgotten about Petzl completely.
"You better call an ambulance," he added, impressed at the way his voice remained steady.
Petzl made the call on his mobile and Rex resumed licking Moser's face. Wimmer looked around for anything that could be used as a bandage. He considered using his own shirt but decided against it. He would need to take the Inspector's shirt off anyway so it might as well be used as a bandage. Wimmer gently nudged Rex out of the way. With a lot of tugging and jerking, he managed to pull the shirt free of Moser's body, discarding the stained waistcoat. He bunched up the side of the shirt that was still white and pressed it gently against the small, insignificant-looking entry wound.
With one hand holding the makeshift bandage firm, Wimmer placed the other on Moser's hip and tried to push him back onto his side. Moser rolled halfway, then flopped onto his back again. Wimmer was about to try again when Petzl knelt beside him. Wimmer had forgotten about him - again.
"We need to roll him over," he gestured pointlessly.
"Right," mumbled Petzl, sounding a little dazed.
Petzl put one hand behind Moser's head and the other under his back. Wimmer kept one hand on the bandage and the other hand on Moser's hip.
"Ready?" asked Petzl. "We'd better... on the count of three."
Wimmer nodded.
"One. Two. Three."
Moser shifted easily under their combined efforts. Petzl gently guided Moser's head to the ground. Rex moved forward again, stretching out beside his master.
Wimmer met Petzl's eyes. He looks as pale as I feel... Then Petzl's gaze moved down and his eyes widened further. It was a look of absolute horror. Are there armed butchers behind me? Tensed, Wimmer followed his gaze.
Moser's back was smeared in blood. Wimmer snatched up the waistcoat he'd discarded earlier and tried to wipe it away. Please let it just be rubbed off from the front. Shit.
When most of the blood had wiped off or at least been smeared away, Wimmer found its source. Wimmer’s hand was pressed against Moser's abdomen, where there was a relatively small, clean entry wound. Wimmer had assumed that the bullet had entered and lodged internally. But it hasn't. It's come out the other side. Exit wounds were always larger and nastier with jagged edges. This one was still bleeding.
Rex sat up anxiously as Wimmer hurriedly pressed the waistcoat against the exit wound, hoping that the delay wouldn't mean the difference between life and death. What if Moser dies now? Even if the Doctors tell me I couldn't have saved him, I'll always wonder. I've been sitting here for a few minutes at least and I didn't even notice he was still bleeding.
"Is there an ambulance coming?" croaked Wimmer.
Petzl looked startled, as if he too had forgotten that he was not alone. Wimmer had to repeat his question.
"Yes," said Petzl. "They're on their way and they can call me back if they need to."
"That's good," said Wimmer lamely.
There didn't seem to be much else to say so the two of them fell silent. Wimmer was crouching beside Moser now, one hand pressed to Moser's abdomen, the other to his back.
"That's... a lot of blood," said Petzl quietly.
Wimmer looked up at Petzl to agree when he saw that Petzl wasn't looking at Moser or at the bandages. He was looking at the sand where Moser had been lying on his back. A large red stain marked the place where blood had seeped into the dry sand. Wimmer winced. Sand is dangerous. It soaks up blood so that you don't know how much is lost.
He turned back to look at Moser. Moser's face was still pale and limp. By no stretch of the imagination could Wimmer believe it to be a peaceful expression. Moser didn't look like he was asleep, he looked like he was no longer in his body. Wimmer shuddered.
Maybe it wouldn't scare me as much if I weren't used to seeing Moser around. I'm used to Moser in his bad moods, when his eyes are flashing and his tongue is sharp. He's always moving, always confident, always loud and so... full of life.
With each of his hands trying to slow the blood flow, Wimmer was forced into an awkward crouch with his legs stuck out behind him and his chin hovering an inch or two above the Inspector's hip. His legs were beginning to burn from the strain. Rex reached over Moser to lick Wimmer's face. The slobbery tongue was a welcome distraction. I am trying, Rex.
Wimmer had shut his eyes to protect them from the affectionate display when he felt Petzl's hands slither down to cover the shirt pressed to Moser's front.
"I've got it," offered Petzl, shifting onto his knees.
Wimmer nearly sighed with relief as his left hand was released. He moved to a sitting position behind Moser. Wimmer occupied himself with stretching each of his legs whilst still keeping up a firm pressure against the exit wound on Moser's back. Maybe we should use a belt to strap the bandages in place so that we could use our hands. Wimmer looked down at his own belt, noticing that it was thinner than the exit wound. The belt would be easier for us but... I think a belt might not apply pressure in the right place. Or would it? I’m sure my father mentioned it at some point...
Wimmer looked up to ask Petzl. Petzl was terrified and unmoving. Wimmer bit his tongue before he could ask. Don't think I can rely on Petzl, I'll have to decide myself.
Wimmer turned back to Rex, who was once again licking Moser's face.
Better to do nothing, if I'm not sure. I wish that ambulance would get here. Then somebody else can take over caring for Moser.
Moser coughed wetly and Rex whined in response. It was the first sound Moser had made since they'd found him.
"Is... is he still breathing?" stammered Petzl, looking at Moser's face worriedly.
Oh, shit.
"Put your hand by his nose," snapped Wimmer, harsher than he intended. "Can you feel any air going in or out?"
Petzl obediently held his hand beneath Moser's nose. He waited for a few seconds, head tilted to the side in an imitation of Rex. Finally, Petzl shook his head. Wimmer swore, his words drowned out by a distressed whine from Rex. As if the dog knows exactly what’s going on here. He’s seen people shot in the line of duty before so he probably does know.
Wimmer reached for Moser’s neck. As Wimmer watched his own movements, he was surprised to see that his own hands were pale and stiff. All feeling seemed to have left his fingers. Would I even feel it if there was a pulse?
He rested two of his fingers lightly against Moser's neck. Pure, unreasoned horror rose up to choke Wimmer. He has no pulse.
Wimmer yanked Petz's spare hand forward to cover the exit wound. That left both his hands free.
"We're going to roll him over, ready?" Wimmer was vaguely aware that a commanding tone had crept into his voice. "One, two... three!"
In fact, he did all the rolling - Petzl just kept the pressure on and looked bewildered. Given the shade of green he had turned, Wimmer was impressed he managed that much.
He measured two handspans down from Moser's collarbone, bringing his hands into position for CPR. He took a deep breath. Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation. When there is no breath or heartbeat.
Rex barked from somewhere behind him.
“Not now, Rex,” he said absently.
Is that my voice? Why am I so calm?
Wimmer placed one hand on top of the other and pushed down firmly. Moser’s chest moved down a few centimetres, his ribs digging into Wimmer’s hands. He released the pressure, feeling Moser’s chest rise beneath his palm.
One.
He repeated the action.
Two.
Rex barked again as Wimmer completed the third compression. The spray of sand that stung Wimmer’s cheek told him that Rex had taken off.
Four. Five. Six.
He was half-aware of Petzl watching him in stunned silence. Wimmer could think of nothing to say. Petzl must know from the attempt at resuscitation that things were serious. As long as Petzl kept pressure on the wounds, it was going to be all right.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
The sound of Rex barking again mingled with the blare of an approaching ambulance siren. With both of them bound to Moser, they had had to trust that Rex could guide the ambulance to them. And hope it was a real ambulance and not any of the smugglers returning.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Wimmer became aware that Petzl had started chanting under his breath.
“Come on, come on, come on...,” he was hissing between clenched teeth.
It wasn’t clear who he was talking to - Moser or the ambulance.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Wimmer lifted his hands from Moser’s chest, forcing his fingers to unclench. One hand went to Moser’s forehead, gently tilting the head backwards to open the airways. The other cupped Moser’s chin, pulling the mouth open. Wimmer registered the coarseness of the sand on Moser’s skin. The stench of blood was stronger this close.
He paused a moment, as Petzl’s chanting continued, to stare at the limp Inspector beneath him. Then he took a deep breath and pressed his lips to Moser’s. He breathed out hard, emptying his lungs as far as he could until he had to pull back and gasp for air himself. Wimmer held his cheek beneath Moser’s nostrils, feeling for the exhaled breath. He had to remind himself that the exhaling was mostly automatic, especially after he’d forced air into Moser’s lungs. While his own heart fluttered madly, he waited for the flow of air to stop.
Heaving in another lungful of sandy air, Wimmer dipped his head again. This time the air flowed out faster and Wimmer could see Moser’s chest rise from the corner of his eyes. Once again Wimmer’s cheek hovered close to Moser’s mouth, feeling the release of the air. The steady flow of air jerked and stopped. Then the air began to flow the other way. Wimmer jerked back in surprise to watch Moser’s chest rising and falling of its own accord.
“You did it.”
Wimmer wasn’t sure whether it was Petzl’s talking to him or whether he himself was speaking to Moser but it said everything that needed to be said. He checked for a pulse again but he already knew that the pulse would be back. * * *
In hindsight, Wimmer suspected that it was the lack of air in his own lungs that made the scene so unreal. With a flurry of sand and barking, Rex came sprinting into the courtyard. Behind him an ambulance squeezed awkwardly through the gates. Before the vehicle had come to a complete stop, two ambulance officers were already out and scrambling to Moser’s side.
They talked calmly and gently to Petzl, coaxing his hands away from the makeshift bandages. Their questions to Wimmer were curt and professional.
Was he conscious when you found him? No? How long ago was that? Did he have a pulse when you arrived? Was he breathing?
The questions went on while the ambulance officers strapped pressure bandages around Moser’s wounds and slid an oxygen mask over his face. Wimmer stood back and looked around. Other cars were now coming up the driveway, police cars. As Inspector Stockinger’s car pulled up, it stalled rather than braked.
Rex shot across the courtyard to greet Stockinger reproachfully, impetuously dragging Stockinger across to Moser. Höllerer strode after them, exchanging a pinched glance with Wimmer. Wimmer thought he smiled back but wasn’t sure. No longer needed, Wimmer drifted back to stand beside Petzl. Petzl was pale and silent, looking at Wimmer with a strange expression.
Was Petzl still afraid? Was he in shock?
“Out of our hands now,” said Wimmer, attempting to sound cheerful but the way his voice broke betrayed his own exhaustion.
Petzl grunted in a way that was neither agreement nor denial.
Wimmer turned to survey the scene, wondering if he should make a first aid report. Petzl tapped him on the arm and Wimmer turned to face him.
“I’m surprised you know,” said Petzl quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.
Wimmer frowned but kept his mouth shut, sensing that Petzl was not finished.
“I’ve never seen... that kind of thing before," Petzl added.
Wimmer waited a few moments but it seemed Petzl had no more to say.
"I trust our colleagues managed to catch those responsible," said Wimmer idly, noticing suddenly that his hands were stained with blood.
Seeing Wimmer's actions, Petzl looked down at his own hands. He wiggled each of his fingers, apparently surprised to see them.
"You know," said Petzl absent-mindedly. "I've never seen you do that before."
"What, panic?" asked Wimmer dryly.
"No, take control," frowned Petzl, looking at Wimmer as if he were a stranger. "I've had first aid training but I've never had to deal with someone who's been shot - especially not someone I know."
"Ah... well, my father worked as an ambulance driver so... I guess it runs in my blood," shrugged Wimmer.
My father would dance a jig if he knew I’d said that out loud.
Petzl snorted, "You took to it like a duck to water. We've been in shoot-outs and drug busts before but you've never been like that."
"I was terrified, more terrified than I've ever been...," Wimmer began to protest.
Petzl raised an eyebrow disbelievingly, "I sure as hell couldn't tell."
He couldn’t meet Petzl's intense gaze. He watched as Inspector Moser was being lifted onto a gurney. A doctor joined the two ambulance workers. Their expressions were professional and courteous, no outward sign of fear or panic. They were in complete control of the situation.
Is that what Petzl saw in me?
Moser’s head shifted and his open eyes fixed on Wimmer. Wimmer couldn’t help but return the look of those blue-grey eyes. Blue-grey eyes that were weak but alive and aware.
Aware that Rex, Petzl and I were the ones who sat beside him?
Moser smiled weakly at Wimmer and then turned to talk to Stockinger. Wimmer couldn’t hear what was said but he was just happy to see that there was life in the Inspector again. Stockinger’s expression was flickering between exasperated and fond so even if Moser wasn’t back to his usual ‘loud’ self, he was definitely on the mend. As Rex joined them, Moser’s eyes lit up again and Wimmer was relieved that the reunion was possible. Wimmer turned to Petzl and grinned.
I may not be a brilliant police officer but I’m glad to be of service.
The End | 
