Laughter rippled through the group. The tension broke, the way it always did when the scenario ended and everyone remembered they were still breathing.
I knelt beside Jolly and ran my hand over his head. He pressed into my palm, ball still clamped in his jaws, tail thumping against the concrete floor.
“Good boy. That’s my good boy.”
The debrief took a lot longer than the training exercise had.
I stood at the front of the room while two dozen officers from the Summit Falls Police Department in sweat-damp tactical gear listened. Some leaned against walls. Others sat on overturned crates. Donovan stood near the back, arms crossed, watching the room with the same alertness he always had.
From us hunting Taliban in the valleys of Afghanistan to training cops in a Colorado ski town. Life took strange turns.
We were here to help Summit Falls prep for their new upcoming K9 program, so we took any questions they had. Including whether Martinez was an idiot for getting hit.
“The mistake wasn’t taking the hit.” I kept my voice level. No judgment, just facts. “Martinez did exactly what he was supposed to do—hold the shield, advance the position. Sometimes teammates catch rounds, and we have to be prepared to adapt.”
“You held the dog back.” This from Seth Briggson, one of the potential department’s K9 handlers. He stood against the far wall, arms crossed, having made it clear during every exercise for the past week we’d been here that he didn’t appreciate outsiders telling them how to do their job. “For almost a full minute after contact.”
“I did.”
“Why?” The question came out like a challenge.
Jolly lay beside me, head on his paws, eyes half closed. Resting while he could. He’d learned that trick years ago—nap when the humans talk, save your energy for the work.
“If I’d released Jolly at that point, he would’ve had to cross fifteen feet of open corridor before reaching any cover. That’s too much exposure time against two shooters.”
“So you just sat there taking fire.” Briggson shook his head. “While the breach team was pinned down.”
“I repositioned.” I didn’t rise to the bait. “Laid down suppressive fire, closed the distance. When one of the shooters dropped back and the other started reloading, that changed the equation. Clean approach line, single target, high probability of success.”
“High probability.” Briggson snorted. “Sounds like a lot of thinking for a gunfight.”
“A lot of thinkingis why my dog has come home from every mission.” I held his gaze.
Silence.
Vance spoke from the back, his tone easy but firm. “What’s the priority in every K9 deployment, Briggson?”
Briggson’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
“That the dog comes home.” Vance pushed off the wall and walked forward, positioning himself where everyone could see him. “That’s it. That’s the whole job. You can clear a building, neutralize a threat, complete every objective on the list—but if you lose your partner doing it, you failed.”
Reeves, one of the younger potential handlers, leaned forward. “So it’s about reading the situation. Knowing when to send and when to hold.”
“Exactly.” I moved to the whiteboard, where someone had sketched a rough layout of the building. “Every send is a risk assessment. You’re weighing the threat against the approach, the target’s position, your dog’s speed and capabilities. You’re looking for the moment when the odds shift in your favor.”
“What if that moment doesn’t come?” This from a patrol cop whose name I couldn’t remember. Young, eager, still learning.
“Then you find another way. The dog isn’t your only tool, but he’s your best tool. You don’t waste him on a bad send just because you’re impatient.”
Baby cop nodded slowly, processing. “Where’d you learn all this? Military?”
“Army first. Then private sector.” I glanced at Donovan, who gave a barely perceptible nod. “Donovan and I both work for Citadel Solutions now. Security contracting firm out of Colorado.”
“Never heard of it,” Briggson said flatly.
“You wouldn’t have.” Donovan’s voice was calm, but itcarried. “We don’t advertise. Executive protection, extractions, high-risk security details. The kind of work that doesn’t make the news unless something goes wrong.”
“And most of the time, nothing goes wrong,” I added. “Because we train like this. Every scenario, every variable, until the response is automatic. That’s what you’ll want for your upcoming K9 department too.”
