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“Roberts!”

She wheeled around, preparing the chastise whoever it was for not calling her “Chief.” This wasn’t some bullshit kitchen fire caused by grandma leaving the meatloaf in the oven too long. This one was life and death and because of that discipline and order were needed.

But when she saw who it was who had called her, she had to swallow her reprimand.

What the fuck is he doing here?

It was Deputy Chief O’Reilly. In turnout gear! It was like seeing the Easter Bunny dressed as Santa Claus.

“Sir?” she asked.

“I’ll get those firefighters out,” O’Reilly said, his voice muffled by the respirator mask he had on. “You stay here and keep pushing this thing back. This is my fire now and I want you to keep pushing in and keeping our escape route clear. Got it?”

Becca wanted to argue. She had gotten a quick look at where those trapped men were and how the fire had flanked them. It was in a section full of those damned racks and it was going to require some crafty firefighting to help those men. She knew she could be an asset. Besides, O’Reilly hadn’t actively fought a fire in, what, fifteen years while riding a desk as deputy chief?

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Discipline and order…

Nonetheless, she couldn’t help at least trying to offer some advice.

“Sir, with all due respect, I think if you cut your men to the left and get behind those—”

“Roberts, I think I know how to fight a fucking fire!” O’Reilly snapped. “And I don’t get behind anything, Roberts! We’re going straight in and show this bitch whose boss. That’s how you rescue people, Roberts!”

“Sir, the fire is already running the ceiling, and those racks are—”

But O’Reilly physically pushed past her, as if he was shoving his way off a subway car. He stormed off with a crew of men behind him.

“Fucker is trying to go out a hero,” a man’s voice said.

She turned. Her fellow battalion chief, Putnam, was next to her now, watching O’Reilly head further into the depths of Hell. O’Reilly’s retirement had been announced by Chief Comstock just yesterday.

“Why else would he be here playing fireman?” Putnam continued.

Becca nodded.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t get himself killed doing it,” she said. She was about to ask Putnam for a sitrep on what his crews were up to when suddenly there was a loud cracking sound that somehow cut through the cacophony of all the other noises. Becca and Putnam turned towards it and to her horror, she saw two of those floor-to-ceiling storage racks—with all of the goods stacked on them—collapse in a shower of flame and sparks, just a moment before a portion of the ceiling gave way also.

Suddenly, the radio was unintelligible with multiple firefighters shouting into it, calling for assistance. Becca and Putnam raced over to the site of the collapse. A young firefighter was standing at the edge of the burning debris pile muttering, “Oh my god! Oh my god!” over and over.

Becca shook him.

“Where’s the deputy?” she asked. The firefighter, a look of shock on his face, pointed at the collapse.

“All of them are in there!” he said.

Damn it!

Becca took command.

“We need more lines!” she called out. “Get more men over here to help pull this shit off of them!”

As some firefighters sprayed the burning debris, others began pulling what they could away, even at risk of burning themselves.

“Careful!” Becca called out. “Make sure you won’t make it worse!” There was always a danger when pulling away rubble at the site of a collapse that if you pull out the wrong thing, you’ll end up making the pile collapse even more. Not ideal when there were people buried underneath.

Becca noticed an opening at the bottom of the debris pile.