Page 89 of Echo: Burn
"They're not regrouping." The pattern becomes clear. "They're sending a team through the water system. Khalid, get to the southwest maintenance access. Now!"
Khalid runs. The cameras track him, rifle up, Odin ahead of him alerting frantically on something in the air. Chemical traces. Residue from operatives who've been handling the Committee's binary weapons.
They reach the maintenance access just as four Committee operatives emerge from the water intake tunnel, dripping and armed.
Khalid fires first. Drops two before they fully clear the entrance. The other two return fire immediately, professional and deadly. Rounds spark off metal pipes. Khalid takes cover behind a support column, outnumbered and pinned.
One of the operatives is moving to flank him. The angle is perfect. Khalid won't see it coming.
"I need backup in the southwest corridor!"
"Can't!" Kane responds, his rifle barking continuously. "Pinned down north. They're pushing again with everything they have!"
"Southern team is on us!" Mercer adds. "We're holding but can't disengage!"
Khalid is alone. And in ten seconds, that flanking operative will have a clean shot.
The decision could cost his life.
"Khalid, I'm sealing the corridor. You'll be trapped with them."
"Do it," he says without hesitation.
Tommy hits the controls. Blast doors slam down with a hydraulic hiss, cutting off the southwest corridor. Khalid and four hostiles—now two—in close quarters. Odin barking. Gunfire echoing off metal walls.
The feed shows Khalid fighting for his life. He's young. Not as trained as the others. But he has Odin. And he has heart.
The flanking operative rounds the corner. Khalid pivots, but he's a split-second too slow. The operative's weapon is coming up?—
Odin goes for the man's throat. Not the arm. Not the leg. Throat. The operative goes down screaming, and Odin doesn't let go. Khalid shoots the last hostile.
They're closing on him when the feed goes dark.
"Tommy, what happened?"
"They shot out the camera."
"Get it back!"
"I can't!" Tommy's voice cracks. "We're blind in there!"
The dead screen stares back at me. My mind fills in the blanks. Khalid dying alone in that corridor because I sealed him in. Because I made the call. Because I played tactical coordinator with a kid's life.
Seconds stretch.
Then Khalid's voice comes through comms, shaky but alive. "Southwest corridor secure. Four hostiles down. Odin's hurt but breathing."
My legs go weak. I grab the console edge. "Copy that."
“We need to be ready when you open the perimeter."
He's right. The tactical display shows the Committee pulling back. Northern and southern teams both retreating to their vehicles. Dragging wounded. Leaving bodies.
"They're running," Stryker confirms. "We broke them."
"Count bodies," Kane orders, his voice tight. "I want confirmation on all hostiles accounted for."
The team does a sweep while I coordinate from operations center. Thermal signatures. Vehicle departures. Cross-reference with initial attack force estimates.
