Iron Bonds: The Brotherhood of Echo Unit

Chapter 3: The Trap Beneath the Fire

The tunnel air was thick — hot, metallic, and heavy with the stench of gunpowder.

Echo Unit moved in formation, flashlights sweeping through clouds of smoke and dust. The echoes of their firefight still bounced off the steel walls, fading into the hum of unseen machinery.

Captain Daniel Mercer led the way, rifle steady against his shoulder. His breathing was calm, but his heart wasn’t.

He’d been in enough battles to know when something was wrong.

And everything here was wrong.

Behind him, Rafe Ortiz muttered a prayer under his breath — quiet, almost instinctive.

Amir Rahman kept one hand on the comms unit strapped to his chest, scanning for interference.

Jace Kavanagh checked corners with his usual recklessness, while Eli Navarro, the youngest, tried to hide the tremor in his hands.

The refinery stretched beneath the earth like a buried beast — pipes hissing, vents moaning, machinery grinding in the dark.

Mercer stopped at a fork where two corridors split. One led upward toward the generator control. The other sank deeper, disappearing into shadow.

“Which way?” Rafe whispered.

Mercer crouched, scanning the ground. Fresh boot prints — not theirs.

He pointed left. “Up. Quietly.”

They moved.

The deeper they went, the louder the refinery’s heartbeat became — thudding engines and clanking valves echoing through the walls. It was alive in a way that made Mercer’s skin crawl.

Halfway up the incline, Amir’s voice crackled through the radio.

“Signal’s stabilizing. Picking up chatter on encrypted bands — sounds like enemy reinforcements.”

Mercer frowned. “They’re coordinating down here?”

“Yeah. Someone’s feeding them info.”

Rafe swore under his breath. “That confirms it. We’re the bait.”

They reached a maintenance room — half-collapsed, littered with rusted tools and oil drums. Mercer signaled for a stop.

“Five minutes,” he whispered. “Check ammo, hydrate, patch up if needed.”

Jace sat on a crate, wiping sweat from his brow. “You ever notice,” he said, “how they call us heroes when they need us, and ghosts when they don’t?”

Rafe handed him a canteen. “Welcome to the fine print of service, kid.”

Amir crouched beside Mercer, lowering his voice. “You were right. That last message didn’t come from Command. Frequency origin’s only two klicks south of our entry point.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning someone local’s pretending to be HQ — and they knew our route.”

Mercer’s jaw tightened. “Who the hell has that access?”

Amir hesitated. “Either someone on the inside... or someone who used to be.”

The implication hung between them like smoke.

Rafe’s voice cut through the tension. “You’re thinking one of our own sold us out?”

Mercer didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence said enough.

A sudden clang echoed from the far end of the corridor.

Metal on metal. Footsteps.

Mercer raised a hand — signal to hold. Every rifle turned toward the noise.

The sound grew closer, slow and deliberate.

Then — a light. Flickering. Moving.

Mercer aimed down his sight. “Identify yourself!”

No answer.

The figure emerged from the smoke — a man in desert fatigues, rifle lowered, hands raised. His face was dirty, eyes sunken.

“Don’t shoot!” he shouted, voice hoarse. “I’m American! Please—”

Mercer hesitated. “Hold fire.”

The man stumbled forward, collapsing to his knees. His uniform bore the torn patch of the 23rd Recon Division — one of the units listed as missing in action months ago.

“Name and rank,” Mercer demanded.

“Corporal Miles Turner,” the man gasped. “23rd Recon. They—they ambushed us. Took the rest. I barely made it out.”

Rafe knelt beside him, checking his pulse. “He’s dehydrated. Looks half-dead.”

Mercer crouched, studying the man’s face. “How long have you been here?”

“Days... maybe weeks. They used us. Wanted intel. I escaped when they moved the others deeper into the refinery.”

“Where?”

Turner pointed weakly down the tunnel. “Central hub. That’s where they’re keeping them.”

Mercer’s mind raced. “American POWs?”

Turner nodded. “Command doesn’t even know they’re alive.”

Jace swore softly. “Jesus...”

Mercer exchanged a look with Amir — the kind that didn’t need words.

They couldn’t leave. Not now.

Minutes later, they were on the move again — deeper into the refinery’s underbelly, following Turner’s directions. The air grew thicker, hotter. The hum of engines was constant now, vibrating through their boots.

Eli walked beside Rafe, whispering, “You believe him?”

Rafe shrugged. “Don’t matter if I do. Cap does. That’s enough for me.”

Mercer heard them but didn’t respond. His instincts were screaming. Something about Turner didn’t fit. His story was too convenient, too clean.

At the next junction, Mercer motioned for Amir. “Keep eyes on him.”

“Already am,” Amir murmured.

They advanced another hundred meters before it happened.

Turner stumbled ahead, pointing toward a door marked Main Conduit Access.

“That’s it,” he said. “The prisoners are through there—”

Then came the click.

Mercer’s reflexes kicked in. He tackled Turner just as the floor erupted.

The explosion tore through the corridor — fire and shrapnel swallowing the air. The shockwave slammed them into the walls.

Rafe hit the ground hard, blood streaking his arm.

Eli screamed, clutching his shoulder where shrapnel had torn through flesh.

Jace’s radio crackled uselessly, the signal gone.

Mercer’s ears rang, his vision blurred. Smoke filled the space, burning his lungs.

Through the haze, he saw Turner — standing now, not wounded, not afraid.

Holding a detonator.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Turner said, his voice suddenly calm, deliberate. “Echo Unit wasn’t supposed to live past the ridge.”

Mercer raised his rifle, fury burning through the disorientation. “Who sent you?”

Turner smiled — bitter and empty. “The same people who sent you.”

Before Mercer could fire, Turner pressed another button. The ceiling above them groaned — then collapsed.

Darkness swallowed everything.

When Mercer woke, the world was a dull roar. Dust choked the air. His helmet light flickered weakly.

“Rafe?” he coughed. “Eli?”

A groan answered him. Rafe crawled out from a pile of debris, limping, his left sleeve soaked in blood. “Still breathing, Cap. Can’t say the same for my vest.”

Eli was pinned under a steel beam, gasping in pain.

Mercer and Rafe moved fast, lifting it enough for Amir to drag the kid free. His arm was shredded, blood pooling fast.

“Stay with me, Navarro,” Rafe said, tearing a bandage from his kit. “You’re fine, you hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

Eli tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak, “I’m okay... sir.”

Mercer gripped his shoulder, voice firm. “Save your breath. You did good.”

The boy nodded faintly before slipping into unconsciousness.

They regrouped in the half-collapsed tunnel, dazed but alive.

Turner was gone.

Amir’s tone was grim. “We walked straight into a trap. He must’ve been feeding them intel from the start.”

Mercer’s jaw clenched. “Then he’s not just a traitor — he’s the reason every missing unit vanished.”

Rafe’s voice broke the silence. “So what now? We’re down a man, low on ammo, and Command’s dirty. You still wanna play hero?”

Mercer met his eyes. “We don’t play heroes, Rafe. We are the only thing left when heroes fail.”

That silenced everyone.

He looked at the wounded soldier — Eli, pale but breathing. Then down the tunnel where Turner had fled.

“This isn’t over,” Mercer said. “We finish the mission. We find the truth. And we burn whoever sold us out.”

He chambered a fresh round, the sound echoing through the wreckage like a vow.

Rafe nodded grimly. “Then let’s hunt a ghost.”

They pushed deeper into the refinery, the glow of fire behind them painting the walls red.

Above, the war machines roared — unaware that beneath their feet, a brotherhood was being forged not by orders, but by betrayal and blood.

And as Mercer led his broken unit into the dark, one truth hardened in his chest:

If the system wanted them dead — they’d make damn sure it remembered their names first.