2025-10-30 18:53:30The 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.
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Chapter 95: The Ones We Answer To
Reed had learned how to move like Vanguard.What he hadn’t learned yet was how to forget Echo Unit.The names followed him everywhere—etched into muscle memory, whispered in the back of his mind whenever he closed his eyes. Captain Daniel Mercer’s steady voice. Sergeant Lucas Hale’s dry humor masking constant vigilance. Ben Ortiz’s quiet patience. Lieutenant Aaron Pike’s measured intelligence.They were ghosts now.Not dead.Just far away.And that somehow hurt more.Reed stood at the edge of the training yard as dusk settled over the base, rifle slung across his chest, boots planted shoulder-width apart. Around him, Vanguard trainees moved with sharp efficiency, their motions clean, aggressive, unquestioning.He matched them perfectly.That was the problem.“Reed.”The voice cut through his thoughts.He turned to see Carter approaching, helmet tucked under one arm, sweat streaking his temples. Carter had always been solid—reliable in a fight, fast to follow orders. But lately there w
Chapter 94: Learning the Language of Wolves
Reed requested reinstatement the next morning.He didn’t argue.He didn’t justify.He stood at attention outside Briggs’s office, spine straight, expression carefully neutral, and waited until he was acknowledged.Briggs looked up from his desk slowly, like a man savoring the moment.“Well,” Briggs said, leaning back in his chair. “If it isn’t our resident conscience.”Reed didn’t react.“I’m requesting to rejoin full training rotation, Sergeant,” Reed said evenly.Briggs raised an eyebrow. “That so?”“Yes, Sergeant.”Briggs studied him for a long moment, eyes sharp and calculating. “And why would I allow that?”Reed swallowed once, then spoke the words Granger had warned him would hurt.“I misunderstood the objective,” Reed said. “I won’t make that mistake again.”The silence that followed was heavy.Briggs leaned forward slightly. “Explain.”Reed kept his gaze level. “I let personal judgment interfere with execution.”Briggs smiled.It wasn’t a kind smile.“That,” Briggs said, stand
Chapter 93: Quiet isn't Safe
Reed didn’t sleep.He lay on his back in the dark barracks, staring at the ceiling while the air hummed with the low breathing of exhausted men. Somewhere across the room, someone muttered in their sleep. Another man coughed once, harsh and dry.Reed kept his eyes open anyway.Because now he understood the difference between exhaustion and vulnerability.Exhaustion made your limbs heavy.Vulnerability made your mind careless.And carelessness was what Vanguard fed on.He replayed Granger’s words over and over until they felt like a chant.They disappear. Nobody knows where.You’re being evaluated.For elimination.Reed swallowed hard, throat dry. He turned his head slightly, staring at the empty bunk across from him—one of the ones that had belonged to a guy named Foster before “transfer” orders took him away.No one said Foster’s name anymore.No one asked.No one even looked at the empty mattress.That was how it happened.A man vanished, and the world kept moving like he’d never ex
Chapter 92: The Ones Who Remember
Reed spent the entire next day moving like a man walking through smoke.He did what he was told. He kept his head down. He scrubbed equipment, hauled crates, checked off inventory sheets that meant nothing to him. He answered every order with a “Yes, Sergeant,” and kept his face blank enough that no one could read the storm behind his eyes.But inside, he was counting time.Not hours until lights out.Hours until the moment Granger promised.Meet me tomorrow night. Behind the storage hangar.Reed didn’t know if it was a trap.He didn’t know if it was a test.And the worst part was—he didn’t know if he cared.Because isolation had a way of changing the rules. It made desperation feel like strategy. It made even the smallest chance of connection feel like oxygen.By the time the sun sank behind the mountains, Reed’s body was exhausted and his mind was wired. He ate quickly, alone again, and left the mess hall before anyone could decide to notice him.He walked the base like he belonged
Chapter 91: Punishment isn't the Point
Reed’s punishment didn’t come with fists.It came with paperwork.He was placed on restriction, stripped from live training rotations, and assigned to base labor detail—cleaning, hauling, inventorying supplies that didn’t matter to anyone except the system that demanded everything be counted.It was humiliation disguised as discipline.The kind of consequence meant to teach a lesson without leaving visible bruises.But Reed already had bruises.The ones you couldn’t see were worse.The first day, he scrubbed floors in the vehicle bay until his arms shook. Grease stained his gloves black. The smell of oil clung to his skin even after he washed his hands raw.The second day, he carried crates of ammunition from one storage unit to another for no reason he could understand. He asked once.The sergeant overseeing him—an older man with tired eyes—only said, “Orders.”By the third day, Reed realized something.This wasn’t about making him better.This was about making him alone.Vanguard di
Chapter 90: Lines in the Sand
The next morning, Reed woke before the whistle.His eyes opened in the dark barracks, and for a moment he forgot where he was. He waited for the familiar sounds of Echo Unit—Ortiz shifting on his cot, Hale’s quiet voice giving a reminder, Mercer’s calm footsteps outside the tent.Instead, he heard the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint, restless breathing of men who slept like they were bracing for impact.Vanguard.Reed sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. His body ached in places he hadn’t known could ache. His shoulders felt like they’d been hammered. His palms were raw from push-ups and crawling drills. His mind was worse—tight, wound, full of things he couldn’t say out loud.He reached under his pillow, pulled out his notebook, and stared at the last line he’d written.They’re trying to rewrite me.He stared until the words blurred.Then he shoved the notebook away, swung his legs off the bunk, and began to dress.No matter what Vanguard did, the day would start
