We had the driver out in six minutes — a clean, professional operation. But as we packed up equipment, I could feel the tension radiating from my crew. They'd done good work, but none of them looked satisfied. They looked rattled.
"Nice work, everyone," I said as we prepared to clear the scene. But thewords felt hollow, a box I was checking rather than genuine appreciation.
Back at the station, the quiet was oppressive. Thompson and Martinez spoke in low voices as they cleaned equipment, shooting occasional glances in my direction. Benny focused on his paperwork with unusual intensity, avoiding eye contact entirely.
I retreated to my office and closed the door.
The call that broke everything came three hours later — an apartment fire with multiple units involved. As we rolled up to the scene, I could see heavy smoke pushing from the second floor of a three-story building. Real fire. Real danger.
"Engine 18 on scene," I radioed. "We have a working structure fire, two-story apartment building, heavy smoke showing from the Charlie side. Engine 18 establishing command."
I positioned our apparatus and began sizing up the scene, my tactical mind processing the variables. Exposures, water supply, ventilation needs, search priorities. Everything was clicking into place with mechanical precision.
"Thompson, Martinez, pull the attack line. Primary search of the second floor. Benny, get me a water supply from the hydrant on the corner."
My crew moved with professional efficiency, but I could see the hesitation in Martinez's movements, the way Thompson kept glancing back at me for confirmation. The harsh correction from our last call had shaken their confidence, and now, when confidence mattered most, they were second-guessing themselves.
"Martinez, what's your status?" I barked into my radio as they advanced the line into the building.
"Interior, advancing on the seat of the fire," came his reply, but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
"Move faster. You're not on a sightseeing tour."
It was the kind of comment I would have made before, but then it would have been delivered with wry humor, a way to keep spirits up during dangerous work. Now it was just cruel, another public cut that served no purpose except to vent my own frustration.
The fire was contained quickly — good stop, no injuries, property damage minimal. But as we stood outside packing up equipment, I could see the damage I'd done to something more important than the building we'd just saved.
Thompson approached me as I updated the incident report. "L.T., can I have a word?"
I looked up from my paperwork, noting the careful distance he was maintaining, the formal way he'd phrased the request.
"What is it, Thompson?"
"It's about Martinez. Kid's shook up. Thinks he did something wrong back there."
"Did he?"
Thompson's jaw tightened. "No, ma'am. He did good work. Followed orders, kept his head down, got the job done. But you've been riding him hard lately, and he's starting to lose confidence."
I set down my pen and looked at Thompson directly. "Is there a problem with my command decisions, Firefighter Thompson?"
The use of his last name hit like a slap. For two years, he'd been "Thompson" or even "Thomps" when I was feeling playful. Now he was "Firefighter Thompson," relegated to the formal distance of rank and regulation.
"No, ma'am," he said quietly. "No problem."
"Good. Then we're done here."
Thompson stood there for a moment, clearly wanting to say more. But the wall I'd built was impenetrable, and he finally just nodded and walked away.
JackMcKenzie found me twenty minutes later as we were preparing to clear the scene. The paramedic approached with his usual easy confidence, but I could see the concern in his eyes.
"Good work in there, Lieutenant," he said, checking his notes from the patient transport. "Clean operation. How's your crew holding up?"
It was a perfectly normal question — paramedics and firefighters worked closely enough that checking on personnel welfare was common courtesy. But something in his tone, the careful way he was watching my face, told me this wasn't just professional interest.
"My crew is fine, Medic McKenzie," I replied, my voice clipped. "Is there a medical issue that requires your input?"
Jack blinked, clearly taken aback by the formal tone. We'd worked dozens of calls together over the years, had shared easy conversation and mutual respect. Now I was treating him like a stranger, and it showed.
