Command's Price

Note: A visitor to my site sent me an email asking if I'd challenge writers to a Mike/Cap story. This is an answer to that challenge. Thanks, Ziggy! - Audrey

by Ziggy

It had started out as a routine run. Nothing in the dispatch gave any indication that this should have been anything but a relatively simple incident. Engine 51 had been called out to a dumpster fire. That the dumpster fire had, in reality, been a small structure fire—in this case, a large storage shed—might have been the first clue all was not as it appeared to be. That it could have been a deliberate misrepresentation to get just the engine to respond was something Engineer Mike Stoker would find himself reflecting on in the days following the episode.

Mike pulled the engine in front of vacant lot littered with wooden crates and old cartons. A sizeable shack stood in the middle of the lot, an odd sight as it was nestled between two abandoned apartment buildings. Flames could be seen through the two windows on the front of the building. Captain Hank Stanley ordered an inch-and-a-half pulled to deal with the fire. After an initial dousing through heat-broken windows, the door lock was dislodged with a quick strike of a forcible entry tool. Stanley led firefighters Marco Lopez and Chet Kelly into the structure to deal with the blaze from the inside.

Mike double-checked the settings on the gauges a few minutes later. He nodded in satisfaction as he glanced behind him. Captain Stanley was exiting the shed. The engineer could tell by his captain’s semi-relaxed demeanor that Chet and Marco had the fire under control, if not already extinguished. Fifteen minutes for overhaul and they could be headed back to the station for Marco’s chili casserole.

Just as Mike was beginning to return his attention to the gauges, he heard the sharp crack of gunfire. Two more reports quickly followed as Mike automatically dropped to the ground and hastily scooted beneath Big Red’s undercarriage. More shots hit the dirt where he’d been standing just moments before. Mike quickly made his way beneath the Ward-LaFrance and crawled out the opposite side of the engine; cautiously, he got to his feet.

The shots had come from his left as he’d stood at the gauges, so Mike figured the sniper was in the building facing the cab. He edged around the engine’s backside to check out the situation. Once there, his gaze quickly fell on the sprawled form of his captain lying on the ground. Hank Stanley didn’t appear to be moving; he lay on his back, his helmet rested in the dirt a short distance away. Due to his vantage point and the heavy turnout coat Stanley wore, Mike was unable to ascertain where his captain had been shot or if he was even still alive.

Cap! No! Subconsciously trying to make himself a smaller target, Mike knelt at the back running board. Fear for his captain’s life nearly choked him, but Mike managed to shout, “Cap! Cap, if you can hear me, don’t move! Help’s on the way! Don’t move!” Please, let him be okay!

Mike swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry. He found his gaze falling on the fully charged hose that blazed a curious trail from Big Red to the shed. Oh, Lord! Marco and Chet! They’re still in there! They probably didn’t hear the gunfire over the sound of the water. What if they come out while that sniper’s still lurking around?

Mike carefully inched his way around the back of the engine, then sprinted along the side towards the cab. Slowly, he eased open the door and reached in to grab the bullhorn, scanning the building in front of him through the windshield. He could see no sign of the sniper, but that didn’t mean the guy wasn’t still out there.

Quickly, he aimed the bullhorn towards the storage shed before speaking into the mouthpiece. “Kelly, Lopez, this is Stoker. Do not, repeat, do not exit the structure! We have a sniper out here. Await further instructions. Stoker, out.”

Hoping his shiftmates had gotten the message, Mike returned the bullhorn to its original location on the cab floor. He reached further, snagged the mike off its spigot. “LA, this is Engine 51. We have a sniper at our location.” The engineer hastily ducked back to the ground as bullets struck the vehicle, one actually spider-webbing the windshield on the captain’s side. Anger briefly flared within Mike at the thought of what the shooter was doing to his beloved engine. “Request squad, ambulance and police assistance. There is a Code I at our location. Inform units to proceed with caution, sniper is still in the area with shots being fired.”

The firefighter snorted softly at the disembodied voice. “Yeah, easy for you to be calm,” he reflected as he tossed the mike back into the cab, “you’re not being shot at!”

As Mike started towards the back of the engine, he paused at one of the storage compartments. He opened it, extracting an asbestos blanket and the first aid kit. Another compartment unfastened and he pulled out a long ceiling pike. He rolled one end of the blanket around the pike until he had a “pennant” hanging down. It wouldn’t afford him much protection against a bullet, but maybe it would distract the shooter. The idea had worked in another rescue involving a man on scaffolding who’d been shot by a sniper; Mike only hoped it would work this time, as well.

Shoving the first aid kit into the voluminous pocket of his turnout coat, he edged around the back of the engine. Captain Stanley didn’t appear to have moved. Mike wasn’t sure if he was happy or not about that. Some movement at least would have let him know his captain was still alive. He noticed the stack of crates just behind where Hank lay. He tucked that piece of information away. The crates were closer to Stanley than the engine and would, therefore, be the best place to get Cap out of the line of fire if their “friend” hadn’t left the scene.

What I wouldn’t give to have Marco or Chet here to create a diversion! Mike licked dry lips, his grip tightening on the pike. Okay, Stoker, it’s now or never, pal.

Mike single-handedly tightened the chinstrap on his helmet, took a deep breath, held up the blanket banner then stepped away from the engine. Shots rang out again, but Mike forced himself to ignore them and the fact that he could get himself wounded in the process, trying to keep total concentration was on his fallen leader. Be alive, Cap! Please, be alive! The engineer found himself repeating the mantra as he moved resolutely towards Hank. Upon reaching his lanky superior, Mike suddenly realized the shooting had stopped.

Not caring if it meant the man had given-up his game of live target practice or was just reloading, Stoker ditched the pike and, keeping a firm grip on the blanket, turned his attention to his captain. Hank’s eyes were open, his breathing labored, his left hand was holding a badly bleeding wound on his neck. A quick assessment also revealed Hank’s upper right pants leg was saturated with blood.

How could I not have seen that he was breathing? Mike berated himself. Some rescue man I am, not even knowing if my ‘victim’ is alive or dead!

The low, urgent voice snapped the engineer out of his self-recriminations. “I will, Cap, soon as I get you out of the line of fire!”

“No time,” Hank murmured. Though soft and slurred, there was an underlying conviction in the man’s voice. It was his ongoing determination not to let his men get hurt.

“Right. No time to argue.” Mike threw the blanket over his superior, then grabbed Hank under the shoulders and began to drag him. When the injured man let out a sharp cry of pain, Mike said, “Sorry, Cap, I know it hurts.” Not wanting to hurt his captain any more than he had to, he hauled Hank behind the safety of the crates, and just in time: more shots thudded in the dirt. He was definitely just reloading.

Mike gently lowered his captain to the ground. He moved to Hank’s side so he could look him over. Hank’s face was pale; Mike had no doubt he was going into shock. Blood seeped between the fingers of his left hand. Mike grimaced. “I think he got you in the jugular, Cap.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” The captain’s voice still sounded quite strong.

How long will that last? The engineer asked himself. He’s already lost quite a bit of blood.

Mike was not surprised by the question. Captain Stanley always put the wellbeing of his men above his own. “They’re fine,” he answered reassuringly as he repositioned his captain’s hand so he was compressing the wound tighter. He was rewarded when the bloodflow eased considerably. “Can you keep your hand there, Cap?”

“Okay. I’m going to take a look at your leg.” The engineer yanked off his helmet and tossed it aside. He retrieved the first aid kit from his pocket and set it aside, then doffed his coat quickly, folding it as he moved to Hank’s feet. Carefully, he elevated his commanding officer’s feet and put the thick square of turnout beneath them, then pulled out his pocketknife. Pushing the blanket to one side, he slit the pant leg a couple inches below the knee. Setting the open knife aside, he ripped the stained fabric to the top of Hank’s thigh.

The wound was bleeding freely. Mike grabbed the first aid kit and opened it. He extracted some sterile gauze from its packaging, then pressed it on top of the injury. He pulled out the rolled gauze. As he began to wrap the bandaging around Hank’s upper leg, he realized something wasn’t right. He set the gauze back in the kit and gently felt the area with both hands.

Mike started. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken loud enough for his captain to overhear. “No, Cap. It’s just the bullet broke your femur.” He met the older man’s eyes. “I don’t have anything to fashion into a splint, but I have to wrap the wound. That means I have to move your leg a bit. It’ll hurt.”

“Do what you gotta do.” Hank’s tone was resigned, but also growing softer.

Mike nodded. As he reached for the roll of gauze, he noticed Hank’s right hand curling into a fist. He wrapped the bandage around the bullet wound, taking extra care to make the process go as smoothly as possible. He sliced the gauze with his pocketknife, risked a quick glance at the older man’s face. Hank had his eyes closed and teeth gritted against the pain, as if determined not to make a sound.

The engineer reached out and put a hand on Hank’s right shoulder. When pain-filled eyes met his, Mike said, “Done, Cap. You’re gonna be all right.” God, please let me be right about this!

Who am I trying to kid? He knows how serious this is. Before Mike could formulate a verbal response, a couple more bullets hit the crates protecting them. With his concentration focused on treating his captain’s wounds, he’s almost forgotten the reason they were there. You bastard, you have no qualms about letting a man bleed to death, do you? Mike growled silently in uncharacteristic anger at their tormentor.

Mike tugged the HT out of the pocket of Hank’s turnout. Hastily he put it to his mouth and pressed the switch. “Squad 51, Engine 51, what is your ETA?”

A moment that took too long in Mike’s adrenaline-surged mind, then John Gage’s voice, “Engine 51, ETA is three minutes. Mike, what’s the situation?”

“We’re still under fire. Cap’s been hit. Bleeding badly from neck and leg wounds. I think he took a hit to the jugular. We’re applying pressure now. I’ve bandaged the leg wound as best I can. Right femur’s broken.”

“He’s conscious, but starting to fade. Definitely shocky. Respiration and pulse are rapid. We’re pinned down behind some crates away from the engine. I’ve got his feet elevated and he’s covered with a blanket. Anything else I should be doing?”

In his mind, Mike could see Johnny writing down the information he’d been given as he did a quick mental assessment. “Maintain pressure to the neck, just enough to stop the bleeding. How’s the leg?”

Lifting the blanket, Mike gave the leg a quick once-over. The dressing was bloodstained, but not overly so. “I think the bandage is working all right, doesn’t look too bad.”

“10-4,” he responded into the HT. Under his breath, he muttered, “Any bleeding is too much.”

He repositioned the blanket so he could see the bandaged leg, then moved to his captain’s left side. Hank was losing the battle to remain conscious; as a result, his left hand was slipping and the neck injury was beginning to bleed heavily again. Mike quickly lay Hank’s hand on his stomach, then clamped his own right hand over the wound.

“Hang in there, Cap, hang in there!” he murmured encouragingly, though he wondered if his lanky superior could even hear his words.

The approaching wail of sirens caught his attention. Lifting the HT, he stated, “LA, Engine 51. Inform incoming police the sniper is in the north building facing the lot. Also, inform them there are two firefighters trapped in the shed and two firefighters, one a Code I, behind the crates stacked near the south building.”

Mike listened as the dispatcher relayed the information. A minute later, he heard, “Squad 51, LA. Police advise you approach from the north. Be advised you are to wait out of area until the all-clear is given.”

Even with those couple of words, Mike could almost hear the frustration in Johnny’s voice. It was hard to be told to wait when a colleague--a brother--was down and needed immediate medical attention. It was harder when that brother was your much-respected captain.

The engineer automatically turned his head as he heard the skid of tires on dirt, doors opening and commands being shouted. Barely able to make out the police cars, flashing lights and personnel through the splintered crate boards, he returned his attention to Hank as he tried to ignore the sudden barrage of gunfire that occurred on the other side of the lot. “Stay with us, Cap. Roy and Johnny are here, just a few more minutes.”

So intent on tending his superior, Mike was surprised when he realized the shooting had stopped and the pounding of running feet came headed his way. A police officer came around the edge of the crates. Mike instantly recognized the officer as Vince Howard, who responded on many of the same calls as Station 51.

Several sets of feet came sprinting in his direction. John Gage and Roy DeSoto, carrying the biophone, drug box and portable oxygen, came into view. They quickly arranged their equipment. Johnny checked Hank’s leg wound, then reached into the drug box for a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, as Roy worked on getting the oxygen set-up.

As he placed the nasal cannula, Roy glanced at his crewmate. “Mike, you all right? Were you hit?”

“No,” Mike shook his head. “I’m fine.” He looked up. “How are Chet and--?”

Mike glanced at the remaining members of A-shift standing behind Roy. They were anxiously watching the paramedics work on their unconscious captain.

“We were just getting ready to leave that shed when you warned us about the sniper,” Chet related. “Talk about good timing.”

“He’s lost quite a bit of blood,” Roy noted. “If we can get him to Rampart soon, he should stand a good chance.” He looked at Mike. “Your quick actions probably saved his life.”

The engineer remained silent, not wanting to dwell on what could have happened. Or what might still happen. Instead, Mike turned his attention to Johnny, who was on the biophone to Rampart Emergency. In the short time he’d been talking to the others, the paramedic had freed their captain’s arms from the bulky turnout coat.

He watched as the dark-haired paramedic started an IV, handing the plastic bag to Marco. In the meantime, Roy had splinted Hank’s fractured femur, then beckoned the ambulance attendants that they were ready to transport.

Johnny glanced up; he gave Mike a small, encouraging smile. “Mike, can you keep hold of that jugular while we transport?”

“You bet.” Mike kept his place as they shifted Hank onto the ambulance gurney. He stood as they raised the gurney, then paced it to the back of the ambulance. It was only then he noticed Chief Connor McConnikee was there. He probably came when he’d heard my call to dispatch.

McConnikee leaned over and squeezed Hank’s right shoulder. Even though he knew Stanley was unconscious, he instructed gently, “Hang in there, Hank. Don’t force me to replace one of my best captains.”

At those words, Mike felt some of the dread leave him. He knew, as did the rest of 51’s crew, that the chief really liked their captain. Hopefully, McConnikee’s words would penetrate even unconsciousness and, realizing the chief he thought was out to get him really did care, Captain Stanley would find it one more reason to fight to stay alive.

Mike could reflect on the situation no further as he was forced to accompany the gurney slowly into the back of the ambulance. Roy and an ambulance attendant climbed in behind him as the remaining four crewmembers placed needed equipment into the back of the emergency vehicle. He got a last look at their concerned expressions as the doors were slammed shut.

From his position at the head of the gurney, Mike watched silently as Roy continued to monitor their captain’s vital signs. Since the paramedic hadn’t seen the need to get back into communication with the hospital during the transport, Mike figured there were no major negative changes to Stanley’s condition and that was a good sign. He tried to ignore the dull ache in his knees from kneeling on the ambulance floor. He could feel every bump in the road jarring his already stressed out system.

A hundred times, or so it seemed, Roy questioned him about his wellbeing. Each time, the engineer patiently assured him he was perfectly all right. Mike knew it was Roy’s job to make sure he was faring well, too, but Mike’s main concern right then was the survival of Hank Stanley. His own welfare was secondary. So when the ambulance finally backed up to the emergency entrance, the relief on his face was quite evident. Not only would they finally be able to get their superior more advanced medical care, but also the endless interrogation would stop.

Mike kept his vigil as they unloaded their wounded “brother” and started down the hallway. He heard Dr. Kelly Brackett bark something about the emergency OR, then a nurse dressed in green scrubs was taking the engineer’s place. Mike was unceremoniously elbowed away from his captain’s side. He noticed Roy, IV bag held high in one hand, other hand guiding the gurney, was permitted to enter the held-open door. Dr. Brackett followed, along with another nurse.

Next thing Mike knew, the doors to the emergency OR were closing and he was left alone in the bustling hallway.

Roy stepped out into the hallway. He’d helped the already scrubbed doctors and nurses set up a few things for Hank’s emergency surgery. Now, of course, his services weren’t needed. He ran a hand through his hair as he sighed in relief. Hank’s blood pressure had remained stable. That and the strong readings on other vitals had Dr. Kelly Brackett informing the paramedic that he thought the captain stood a good chance of making it, probably being able to return to work eventually.

Roy knew, of course, that anything could happen, but the prognosis looked great so far. He turned when he saw Johnny, Marco and Chet coming towards him.

“There’s Roy!” Chet lengthened his stride in order to reach his shiftmate faster.

“He’s in surgery even as we speak,” Roy informed them. “It looks pretty good for a full recovery.”

Roy nodded. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use a cup of coffee.” He started down the hallway. “The chief let you all come?”

“Hey, Chief McConnikee’s a very understanding guy,” Chet replied as they entered the doctors’ lounge. “He knows what the Cap means to us.”

“Besides,” Marco stated, “Big Red’s not going anywhere except the department garage. That sniper did quite a job on her.”

“Yeah, bullet holes all along the front and left side, the front windows shattered. It’s a good thing Stoker went in the ambulance with you. He would have had a stroke seeing her all shot-up like that!”

Johnny paused in pouring himself a mug of coffee. “Where is ol’ Stoke, anyway?” He glanced around the room as if he’d somehow missed seeing the engineer seated on the couch or at the table.

“Don’t know.” Roy set down the empty mug he held. “I haven’t seen him since we took Cap into the OR.”

“Maybe he found a pretty nurse to tell his exciting rescue to.” The Irish firefighter suggested with a sly grin.

“I’ll go look,” Roy offered. Before the others could say anything, he exited the small lounge, making his way to the emergency nurses’ station. There, he found Dixie McCall scribbling notes in a chart.

“Thanks.” The paramedic dodged the individuals, hospital and civilian, crisscrossing down the crowded hallway. He pushed open the door of the treatment room and entered. He paused as the door silently closed behind him.

The engineer’s blue uniform shirt and white undershirt, both now stained with their captain’s blood, had been discarded onto the exam table. Beside the sullied garments lay a clean scrub gown. The fire specialist stood at a water-filled basin. His pants were damp; here and there a dark patch discolored the fabric. His hair was wet and unruly. He stood profile to Roy, but didn’t appear to have noticed the man’s entrance. He was staring at the bloodstained towel in his hands. Mike slowly raised the already sodden towel and patted his face.

Mike startled, turning his head to face his crewmate. His blue eyes held fear and uncertainty; for a moment he looked like a man prepared to bolt. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, and the wild look was gone, replaced by a calm professionalism. “Roy. How-how’s Cap?” The slight tremor in his voice belied his seemingly unruffled manner.

Roy hesitated before answering. He’d never seen Mike outwardly affected by a run prior to this and it surprised him. Am I seeing a first? Has something finally broken through that calm, cool exterior that makes up “Stoic Stoker?” Just as quickly, the paramedic berated himself. That’s not being fair to Mike. He’s got as much right to reach a breaking point as the rest of us. Can’t say I blame him on this one. Being shot at, making sure Chet and Marco stayed safe, having to keep Cap amongst the living… I doubt he’s ever had to be in charge of a company before. Hell of an initiation.

“He’s in surgery to repair the jugular and remove the bullet. He’s lucky, that bullet could have shattered the bone, made a real mess of his upper leg. As you figured, the bone’s only broken; it stopped the bullet. A few units of blood, time to rest and let that bone heal… Dr. Brackett is confident he’ll be able to return to work.”

Mike offered a small, albeit shaky, smile. “That’s great to hear.” He haphazardly tossed the towel on the floor, reached out and automatically snagged his undershirt. He paused and stared at the bloodstains that marred its white surface.

Roy stepped forward. Not sure how close the engineer would permit him to get, he halted next to the exam table, several feet away. “How about you?”

If Roy hadn’t already guessed that Mike was having a tough time dealing with what had happened, the venom contained within the engineer’s words would have set off alarms in his head. Treading lightly was the order of the day. Though, I’m used to trending lightly with Johnny, not Mike.

“I mean, you just spent the last run being shot at and having to keep Cap alive without much in the way of medical supplies. It would be enough to scare any of us.”

“Even Johnny. Even me. Just because we manage to act professional during a rescue—hell, we all manage that—doesn’t mean we aren’t scared to hell and back while we’re doing it. It certainly doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect us later. We’re all only human, after all.”

Mike lowered his gaze. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. Slowly, he dropped the stained undershirt back on the treatment table and picked up the sterile scrubs. When he met his shiftmate’s eyes again, the guarded look was gone, replaced with an almost naïve expression.

To Roy, this was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen A-shift’s second-in-command. He waited patiently for the engineer to answer.

“I’ve never been shot at,” Mike admitted. There was a long pause, then, softer: “When I saw Cap down and I didn’t know if he was still alive…” He clutched the scrubs tighter as he remembered what he’d witnessed earlier in the day. “I’d rather face a five-alarm fire than go through that again.” He snorted derisively. “Some rescue man, huh?”

“I think any of us would rather face a five-alarm fire than see anybody go down. Listen, Mike—“

The engineer interrupted. “I’ve watched you treat Johnny when he’s hurt. Hell, I’ve watched you treat any of us when we’re injured, and you deal with things very well.” The pause was only long enough to allow Roy to open his mouth, but not answer. "I certainly don't know how Cap manages to keep it all together commanding us, especially when one of us gets hurt; I was scared shitless!"

It was an admission Roy never thought he’d hear Mike voice aloud. The engineer tended to deal with his emotions in his own way, usually when nobody else was around. “He manages to keep it all together because he has to,” Roy stated matter-of-factly. “If he starts to lose it or allows his fear to take over, he knows the same will happen with us.” Roy stepped forward and gently gripped his friend’s upper arm. Startled, Mike turned his anxious gaze on the paramedic. “And from everything I heard and saw during this last run, you were keeping it all together, too. You got the job done and done well. That’s what matters!”

“But what if I hadn’t done it well? What if what I’d done to Cap had killed him? Just pulling him out of the line of fire, I could have done something! I didn’t think, I just reacted!”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do! React! Why else do we all go through all those hours of training? As for the risk involved just trying to get the patient out of danger, that’s a situation we all face, every shift. Every time we go out, we risk doing the wrong thing. Is it better that we stand on the sidelines and do nothing, for fear of possibly doing the wrong thing?”

“Of course not!” Mike pulled away from his friend. He stared once more at the green material in his hands. “But we’re trained to handle situations most people should never have to worry about. But this… I’m not a paramedic; I’m not trained to go beyond the basics unless you or John tell me what to do otherwise. I barely had any equipment, nothing…”

“You had enough knowledge to keep Cap alive until we could take over. You kept your cool, used what materials you had available and contacted us for further instructions.” Realizing he wasn’t getting through to the shell-shocked firefighter, Roy stated, “Let me tell you something Dr. Brackett told me once.” Once he had Mike’s attention, he continued, “When you find yourself in tight situation, you ask yourself, ‘Can anybody here do the job better than I can?’ If the answer is ‘no,’ then you better pick up the ball and run with it.” He smiled. “Today, I’d say you scored a touchdown.”

Mike nodded slightly, finally understanding. “You just do what you gotta do.”

“Exactly. Like I said, you kept calm and took over when Cap was down. I think he’ll be glad to know he can count on you if something like this should happen again.”

Realizing what his shiftmate was saying, the engineer stated adamantly, “No, don’t even go there!”

Roy smiled. “I hope we never have to, either, but it’s good to know we can count on you above and beyond the call of duty.”

“It is actually my duty to take over for Cap if something should happen, but thanks.” Mike peered at his shiftmate, his expression grateful. “For everything.”

“Okay, good. I’ll go find the others, see if there’s any word on Cap. Maybe Elly’s arrived. You take your time and join us when you’re ready.”

Roy walked over to the treatment room door. He hesitated, his hand on the handle, as he glanced back at his friend. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a fine captain some day.”

A smile appeared on Mike’s handsome face. “It’s worth a lot, and I appreciate it.”

Engine 51’s driver watched his colleague leave. As he pulled on the scrub gown and managed to tie the laces, he thought about what he’d been told, then smiled. Yeah, I made it through and I know I can do it again should the need arise. He gathered up his bloodied clothes and tucked them into a plastic bag. He’d set them to soak at the station later. Now comes an even bigger challenge… facing Chet Kelly while I’m in these scrubs!

Hank Stanley’s crew was pleased to welcome him back to full duty status several weeks later. It turned out to be a full day of runs that physically tested all of them, not just their newly returned captain. During the particularly grueling three-alarm fire that took up most of the late afternoon and early evening, Mike noticed the slight limp Hank had in his right leg: the only physical reminder of his ordeal with the sniper. It wasn’t enough of a handicap to keep him sidelined from field duty, for which they were all grateful; in fact, the doctors had assured Hank eventually that small abnormality would only become apparent if he was overly tired or stayed too long in one place.

Amazingly, nobody had been injured during the huge fire, so the squad returned to the station with the engine. Mike was surprised to see Chief McConnikee awaiting their return. The engineer was even more astonished at how calmly Captain Stanley regarded the presence of Battalion 14’s head honcho. It was almost as if Hank had been expecting the chief to be there.

Hank ordered his men to shed turnouts and helmets then get into formation. Even as he got into position next to his captain, Mike could sense no nervousness in him. It was totally against Hank’s character not to be frantic about a superior’s visit, particularly with the visit being so unexpected and the crew not in spotless condition. Of course, even Chief Engineer Houts couldn’t insist on them being cleaned and pressed just after returning from an incident.

Mike was wondering what one of them had done to warrant a visit from the big brass or maybe McConnikee had decided to welcome Captain Stanley back in his own way. Why today? It’s Cap’s first day back on duty, why did you have to show up today?

He was only partially paying attention to the welcomes between the chief and captain, so when McConnikee addressed the rest of the crew, he almost missed what was being said:

McConnikee smiled understandably at his confused expression before dictating the contents of the commendation.

Still baffled, Mike barely heard what was being read. He pushed aside his confusion long enough to realize he was being commended for the events that occurred the day of the shooting: keeping his cool under fire, making sure his shiftmates remained out of harm’s way and getting his captain to safety while disregarding his own welfare.

Bewildered, Mike accepted the letter and the chief’s congratulatory handshake. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the others smiling readily at him.

Hank turned to Mike after the chief was finished and offered his own hand. “On behalf of Station 51, congratulations.” He gave his engineer a grateful look. “And I’d like to add my personal thanks, Michael.”

“No, thank you, Hank. I’ve a meeting to get to and you and your crew has work to do. I

do want to welcome you back to the fold, Hank. Your crew’s missed you,” McConnikee patted the lanky captain’s shoulder, “and so have I.”

“Chief, did they ever find out why that guy was using Cap for target practice?” Chet queried.

“That they did, Kelly.” McConnikee took off his hat, rubbed his finger on the already shining brim. “Seems he found out his wife was having an affair, with a firefighter. Best the police can tell, he snapped and decided somebody, preferably somebody who rode a rig, had to pay. Hank just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Actually, he told the police he was all set to take out ‘the man at the engine,’ Stoker here, when you stepped out of the shed and distracted him, Hank.”

“Walk with me to my car, Hank.” McConnikee nodded his head at the others. “Boys.”

The rest of the crew bid the chief farewell, then gathered around Mike, offering their congratulations. Mike accepted their handshakes and kind words. As the others dispersed to get started on post-fire chores, Mike took a better look at the commendation. After being sure it was, indeed, his name on the parchment, he folded the cover back over it.

Footsteps came toward him from between the wall and squad. Mike realized he could easily pick out the familiar, long stride of A-shift’s regular supervisor, even above the sounds of equipment being checked and the chatter of his shiftmates, and how much he missed hearing it the past couple of months. He turned to regard Stanley. “Uh, got a minute, Cap?”

Mike didn’t even allow his captain a chance to get to his desk before he insisted, “You didn’t have to do this, Cap.”

Stanley didn’t seem surprised at the words. It was as if, like the chief’s presence, he’d been expecting them. Mike briefly wondered if his captain had suddenly become psychic, then dismissed the idea. He knew the chief would be here today and he knows me well enough by now to know how I’d react to this commendation. Not that I plan on giving it back, but--

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Stanley perched on the edge of his desk and regarded his second-in-command. “But you deserve it, Mike. Everybody agrees with that.”

Hank nodded. “The chief said in your transmission to dispatch, he could hear the sound of gunfire in the background. He was impressed with the calm way you presented yourself.” He chuckled. “You probably had the attention of every person who heard your transmission.”

Mike appreciated that. How often had he heard an unusual call over the radio system and wondered what was going on? It wasn’t often firefighters found themselves being live targets of gun practice and the Code I definitely would have had other members of the department wondering who’d gone down.

Hank kept his gaze on his engineer as he continued. “Roy and John said it was your quick actions that kept me alive. Chet and Marco said they watched you run out into the line of fire to pull me to safety. I can personally attest to those last two. I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you run into the open like that, putting your life at risk, had I been coherent, but I can’t say I’m disappointed you did. Neither can my family.”

Mike smiled slightly at the warmth in the man’s voice. “I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t have done for any of us, Cap. Or any of us wouldn’t have done for each other.”

“It goes beyond that, Mike. It’s good to know I can count on you to take over should the need arise. I can rest easier knowing you can handle the responsibility of giving orders, seeing that things get done and calling in reinforcements should it become necessary.”

Mike nearly blushed at the compliment. “Thanks, Cap.” He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Cap, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Every time I have to send one of you into a dangerous situation. Hell, every time we get a call-out, I worry about what might happen. It’s the price one pays being in charge, the responsibility of having to make the right decisions. Why do you think the captains make the big bucks?” He joked, then grew serious as he regarded the man before him. “You got a good dose of it yourself that day.”

The engineer stared at the commendation in his hands, unable to look his captain in the eyes while embarrassment flamed his cheeks. Now Cap’ll think I’m a coward. He’ll think I can’t deal with it. How can he trust me after this?

The answer was so honest and straightforward, Mike’s head snapped up; he could only stare at his superior for a moment before asking, “You, Cap?”

Stanley smiled. “Even me, pal. It was a structure fire. I was still an engineer. Captain Downings, he’d transferred in after McConnikee, went through the roof. I ended up taking charge until another company arrived. I was fine, until it was over. Then it hit me what had happened, what I’d done. When I thought about everything I could have done wrong… well, I’m sure you know how I felt.”

“The important thing is you handled the situation, and yourself, well. Any fears you had, you kept to yourself. You allow your doubts to show and it’ll affect the men you’re working with.”

“Then, I think I hear Big Red calling to you.” As the engineer turned to go, Stanley added, “And, Mike, my door’s always open.”

“Thanks, Cap.” As Mike strode out of the office, towards the locker room to stash his commendation, he thought about Stanley’s words. He knew now, without a doubt, should the need ever arise again, he was prepared to pay command’s price.

Second Author’s Note: I mentioned the episode “The Firehouse Four” at the beginning because if you look at the end of the first scene, when Hank tells his crew they can talk about the barbershop quartet competition later and then walks away, it looks like he has a slight limp in one leg. Maybe his leg was just asleep or maybe I’m seeing more into what was really there, but who am I to give up the chance of explaining an “owie,” real or imagined? <g>

Thanks to my beta readers, Audrey and Crystal, and my medical advisor, Dr. Janice Bilby.

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