Iron Bonds: The Brotherhood of Echo Unit

Chapter 6: Ghost in Uniform

The convoy had been gone for two days. Echo Unit hadn’t seen another living soul since the refinery. Just desert — endless, white-hot, merciless.

The heat warped the horizon into rivers of glass. Even the wind had teeth.

Captain Daniel Mercer walked ahead of his men, his boots sinking into the sand. His radio hissed with static. Nothing from Command. Nothing from anyone.

Behind him, Rafe Ortiz hauled a duffel full of salvaged rations over his shoulder, muttering curses under his breath. Jace Kavanagh dragged a damaged comms pack, its antenna bent like a broken limb. Amir Rahim supported Eli Navarro, whose wound was stitched but still bleeding through the bandage.

They were five ghosts in uniform — and the desert didn’t care.

“Water check,” Mercer called.

Rafe tossed him a bottle, sand-caked and half-empty. “Last one.”

Mercer looked at the horizon, then back at his men. “We move east. There’s a town on the map—Aqir. Might be friendly.”

Jace snorted. “Or they’ll sell us for diesel.”

Mercer gave a faint grin. “Then let’s make sure we’re worth more alive.”

They reached Aqir at dusk. The town looked like it had been carved out of dust and stubbornness — crumbling brick, metal shutters, satellite dishes like broken wings. A few goats wandered the streets. Children watched from doorways, their eyes wide.

The team moved in silence through the narrow alleys, rifles down but ready. The smell of spice, oil, and rot mixed with smoke from cooking fires.

Rafe muttered, “Hell of a paradise.”

“Keep it tight,” Mercer said. “No flags, no insignia. We’re ghosts, remember?”

They stopped at a small garage at the edge of town. The sign was in Arabic and English: “SAMIR’S MOTORS.” The place was half-collapsed, but light glowed from inside.

Mercer motioned. “Jace, with me. The rest, perimeter.”

He pushed the door open. A wiry man in oil-stained clothes looked up from a workbench. His beard was gray; his eyes sharp as glass.

“You soldiers?” he asked in accented English.

Mercer didn’t answer immediately. “Travelers.”

The man smirked. “Travelers don’t carry M4 carbines.”

Rafe stepped in. “Neither do mechanics with working electricity. You helping us or not?”

The man chuckled. “Name’s Samir. I don’t ask questions when business is good.”

Mercer placed a pouch of ammo on the table. “We need water, fuel, and access to your comms.”

Samir looked at the pouch, then at them. “And what do I tell the patrols when they come asking why ghosts drink from my well?”

Mercer’s tone went soft. “Tell them nothing. Because by the time they come, we’ll be gone.”

Samir studied him a long moment, then shrugged. “You have one hour.”

Outside, Navarro leaned against the wall, sweat dripping down his neck. “Feels like we’re being watched.”

Amir glanced toward the rooftops. “We always are.”

A faint hum filled the air — not from the town, but the distance. Mercer heard it too. He stepped outside, scanning the horizon through his binoculars.

Dust plume. Vehicles.

“Rafe,” he said quietly, “we’ve got company. Two trucks, maybe three.”

Rafe slung his rifle. “Local militia?”

“Or worse,” Mercer said.

He keyed his radio. “Everyone inside. Now.”

They gathered in the garage. The roar of engines grew louder, closer.

Samir cursed. “You brought death to my door!”

Mercer grabbed his shoulder. “You got a back exit?”

The man hesitated, then nodded toward a steel hatch beneath a tarp. “Old service tunnel. It leads to the riverbed.”

Mercer looked to his men. “Move. Quietly.”

They lifted Navarro down first. The tunnel was narrow, the air damp and cold.

Above them, engines braked to a halt. Voices shouted in Arabic. Boots hit the ground.

Jace whispered, “We’re out of time.”

Mercer waited until the last man was through before dropping into the tunnel himself, pulling the hatch closed overhead. Darkness swallowed them.

They crawled through the passage for nearly ten minutes before the air began to clear. Rafe found the ladder that led up to a dry ravine, moonlight pouring down like silver water.

Mercer climbed up last. When he reached the top, he looked back toward the town. Flashlights flickered between the buildings. Then — fire.

Samir’s garage erupted in flame.

Navarro’s voice broke the silence. “They torched it. He helped us.”

Mercer said nothing. His jaw clenched, eyes reflecting the fire. “We move. Now.”

They marched in silence through the night. The sound of their boots and the faraway burning were the only proof they were still alive.

By dawn, they found shelter in an abandoned oil outpost — rusted towers, a water tank, a shack half-buried in sand.

Inside, Rafe dumped their gear on a table. “We need a plan, Cap. We can’t keep running blind.”

Mercer looked at the cracked wall where sunlight leaked through. “We’re not running. We’re regrouping.”

Jace scoffed. “Regrouping for what? We don’t even know what Project Sentinel is.”

Amir leaned forward, voice low. “Maybe we don’t need to know. Maybe we just need to disappear.”

Silence.

Mercer finally said, “You can walk if you want. No one’s stopping you.”

Rafe glanced at Amir, then back at Mercer. “And if we stay?”

Mercer met his gaze. “Then we find out the truth. Turner died to tell us something. Command buried us to keep it quiet. I don’t intend to die ignorant.”

Navarro winced as he shifted against the wall. “So what’s the move?”

Mercer unfolded a weathered map from his pocket — one salvaged from the refinery office. “Turner marked coordinates north of here. If Sentinel’s real, it starts there.”

Jace frowned. “And what’s there?”

Mercer looked up. “A black site. Off the books.”

The team sat in uneasy silence. Dust floated through the beam of light like falling ash.

Finally, Rafe spoke. “You really think we can take on Command?”

Mercer’s reply was quiet but certain. “We’re not taking on Command. We’re taking back our names.”

He looked at each man in turn — Amir, Jace, Rafe, Navarro.

“You all have a choice. Stay, and you follow me into hell. Leave, and no one will blame you.”

Rafe grinned faintly. “Hell’s familiar territory.”

Amir sighed. “Guess I’m already damned.”

Navarro smiled weakly. “If I bleed out, you’re carrying me.”

Jace smirked. “Yeah, we’ll drag you by the boots, hero.”

Mercer felt something shift in the air — that old rhythm, that unspoken bond forming again out of ashes.

He nodded. “Then it’s settled. Echo Unit moves north at first light.”

That night, sleep didn’t come easily. Mercer sat alone outside the shack, watching the horizon burn red under the setting sun.

He could hear his men inside — their laughter faint, tired, but real. It reminded him of better days, before orders turned into graves.

He unzipped a pocket on his vest and pulled out a small metal tag — Turner’s dog tag. The name was half-scorched, letters fading under soot.

He turned it over in his hand, whispering, “You wanted us to see. We’re going to see.”

The wind howled across the desert, carrying away his words.

Tomorrow, they would start toward the coordinates. Toward whatever truth waited in the sand.

And though Mercer didn’t know what lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain — the ghosts of Echo Unit were done hiding.

They were soldiers again.

And soldiers remember.