Chapter 1 #2
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 thinking is 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 it carried. “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.”
Vance crossed his arms, curiosity evident. “How’d you end up doing contract work for a police department?”
I looked over at Donovan for a second before responding.
“Citadel does training contracts when the fit is right. And we believe in building relationships with law enforcement since we’re all on the same team.
” I shrugged. “Plus, Donovan and I were both K9 handlers in the Army. This is what we know.”
“Both of you?” Reeves looked between us. “Where’s your dog?” he asked Donovan.
Something flickered across Donovan’s face—there and gone so fast most people would’ve missed it. I didn’t miss it.
“Between partners right now,” Donovan said evenly. “My last dog retired before I left the service. Haven’t found the right match yet.”
The answer was true enough. It just wasn’t the whole truth. But that was Donovan’s story to tell, not mine.
The team asked sharp questions throughout the rest of the debrief. Good ones. The kind that showed they understood tactics, that most of them had been in enough real situations to know what mattered.
Vance kept us moving along, pushing back when my explanations got too technical, making me translate for the officers who were less experienced.
Briggson stayed quiet, watching with that flat expression, like he was cataloging everything for later. I ignored him.
“Last thing,” I said as the debrief wound down.
“The breach team made contact first. Took fire, got pinned down. My team’s job was to flank a second angle, force the suspects to divide their attention.
” I tapped the whiteboard. “That only works if both teams are communicating. Radio discipline, clear callouts, constant updates on position and status.”
“Communication.” Vance nodded. “It’s always communication.”
“It’s always communication,” I agreed, glancing once again at Donovan, who had one eyebrow raised before smoothing out his features. “The tactics are the easy part. Talking to each other under fire—that’s what helps make sure everyone goes home to their families.”
The room was quiet for a moment. I could feel them turning it over—running the scenario in their heads, mapping my decisions against their own instincts.
“Same time tomorrow?” Vance asked.
“Zero eight hundred. We’ll run building entries with multiple K9 teams. I want to see how you coordinate when there’s more than one dog in the fight.”
A few groans. A few grins. Martinez called out, “Does that mean I get to die again?”
“If you’re lucky.”
More laughter. The group started to break up, officers collecting their gear, heading for the exits. Vance clapped me on the shoulder as he passed.
“Good session, Garrison. Really good.”
“Thanks for the backup in there.”
He shrugged. “Briggson’s a jackass, doesn’t like change. He’ll come around.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I kept it to myself. “See you tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.” He headed for the door, already pulling out his phone.
Reeves lingered, crouching to give Jolly a scratch behind the ears. “He’s really something. How long have you two been together?”
“Seven years. Got him when he was eighteen months old.”
“That’s a lot of years of service for a pup.”
“Yeah.” I watched Jolly lean into Reeves’s hand, tail wagging. “It is.”
Reeves stood, gave me a nod. “See you tomorrow, Garrison.”
Then it was just Donovan and me.
He waited until the door swung shut before speaking. “Briggson’s someone we need to keep an eye on.”
“Maybe.” I knelt beside Jolly, running my hand over his head. The gray was spreading faster now—I could see it every time I groomed him, feel the texture of his coat changing, softening.
Jolly wasn’t just my dog. He was the other half of me. The piece that made sense of the world. Seven years—through Afghanistan, through private security contracts in a dozen countries, through midnight extractions and long stakeouts and several IEDs that should have killed us both.
When he couldn’t work anymore—
I didn’t finish the thought. I’d learned to stop before the spiral caught me.
“Come on, boy.” I stood, and Jolly rose with me, tail wagging. “Let’s go home.”