The fire raged on, growing louder with every second.
Chief Rowland paced back and forth near the fire truck, his gloves off, helmet in hand, sweat dripping from his bald. He kept glancing at the burning building and then at the radio on his shoulder, which remained frustratingly silent.
"Damn it," he muttered.
"Chief!" one of the younger firemen shouted from near the hose control panel. "The east wall is heating up too fast! We're losing pressure on the second feed!"
Chief Rowland didn't answer at first. He rubbed his temples with his calloused fingers, thinking hard. Then he snapped his head up.
"Redirect full pressure to the east wall. Keep the primary on the west stairwell. If we lose both, that whole damn structure is gonna come down on top of us!"
"Yes, sir!"
The men moved with urgency, repositioning hoses, shouting over each other, and realigning pressure lines.
One of them looked up at the flames and then back at the chief. "Sir, what about the man who went in?"
