Horror crosses the woman’s face.
Loud snapping vibrates through the wheelchair as the pliers cut through the clamps holding the tank to the back of the chair.
“Can you walk?” I ask the woman.
“Sorry, sonny. I haven’t done that for almost five years.” Her trembling hand touches my jacket over my heart.
“Fireman express, then.” I smile at her, and she gives me a cheeky look. Tennison watches as I lift the woman from the wheelchair and she puts her arms around my neck.
“Tank, probie.”
Tennison places the small tank on the woman’s lap before tugging out a fire-retardant blanket and covering both the woman and the tank.
Without me asking.
I’m impressed.
“Path clear, sir.” Davies appears in the entrance to the room.
“Right, let’s get this show on the road.”
The woman huddles into my chest.
“Tennison, you first.”
“But sir, you’re under load. I can do it.”
“And I’m responsible for you all,go!”
Eyes tightening, she turns and tracks her way down the hallway after Davies. Once clear of the house, I radio for a second ambulance. Setting the woman down on the grassy front yard, I remove the blanket from her lap and wrap it around her shoulders.
“Oh, honey, thank you.” Tears streak down her weathered face.
“Any time.” I give her hand a squeeze before Owens appears with a bottle of water and a space blanket.
Schmidt is on the hose, a sour look on his face.
“What’s with bossman?” I ask Owens.
She laughs. “Oh, I told him to quit his man tantrum and do something useful like hold his hose, since he’s Cap and all.”
The woman in the blanket chuckles. “I like this one.”
“Back at ya, honey.” Owens grins at her.
The woman waves her off with a hand.
“Tennison, the next time I give you an order, follow it. Time is not a luxury we have. Do you understand?”
The probie pulls her rebreather off and swallows as crimson reappears on her face for the second time in thirty minutes. “Yes, I understand.”
Good, at least if she’s called out in front of the crew she’ll remember the lesson. One that could save her life.
I can’t keep my crew safe if they’re prone to arguing the point mid-job.
Smoke plumes from the home, and the flames are doused, the scene secured, everyone accounted for. It’s only when the hose in question dies and Schmidt stalks to where I stand do I look away.
“Done playing superhero, Hammond? Back in the truck. Now.”
