Page 10 of Echo: Burn
His eyes hold mine. Not pride. Not shame. Just weary acceptance. "Enough to know that it never stops being hard. You just get better at carrying it."
The moment stretches too long. His hand is warm through my jacket. This close, I can smell him—gunpowder and pine and something purely male. It's been six years since I let a man close enough to notice these things.
"Kane." Rourke's voice cuts through. "Tactical?"
Kane steps back, the commander sliding over the man like a mask. "Tommy, you're on comms and surveillance from base. Mercer, you're on overwatch. North approach. Rourke, south. Stryker, tunnel entrance. I'll take center."
"What about the kid and the civilian?"
"Khalid stays in the bunker with Sarah. Dr. Hart—you stay with them."
“They won’t stop,” Rourke says flatly. “Protocol Seven means they’ll keep sending teams until she’s gone or we are.”
"Like hell." The words are out before I can stop them. "You need medical support. Someone gets shot out there, who's going to keep them from bleeding out?"
"She's not wrong." Stryker checks his weapon. "And she's got steady hands."
"It's not her fight," Kane says, but there's doubt in his voice now.
"It became my fight the second I saved that dog." I straighten, channeling every ounce of Hart stubbornness. "You can lock me in the bunker and waste time worrying, or you can let me do what I'm trained to do. Your call, Commander."
Kane's jaw tightens. "You're a veterinarian."
"I was a trauma nurse before I switched to veterinary medicine." I hold his gaze. "The cardiovascular system works the same whether you're working on a dog or a human. Gunshot wounds don't care about species. I can keep your men alive if they get hit."
The cave goes silent. Every man is watching this exchange, still weighing whether the stranger who drove through a kill team belongs here.
"Can you handle a rifle?" Kane asks finally.
"Dad's preference was the M4. Said if I was going to learn, I should learn on what the military uses."
Something shifts in Kane's expression. "Stryker, get her a vest and a weapon. Show her the sight lines."
"Kane...” Mercer starts.
"She’s right. We need medical. She proved when she stitched me up." Kane’s eyes find mine. "But you stay behind cover. You don't engage unless you have no choice. Understand?"
I nod. Because what I understand is that these men are willing to die for me, a stranger who stumbled into their war through compassion for an injured animal.
Stryker returns with body armor. He helps me into it with surprising gentleness, adjusting the straps until it sits properly.
"Heavy," I observe.
"Better heavy than dead." He hands me an M4, checking my handling. I don't fumble. Dad's training runs deeper than memory. "Magazine release here, safety here. You remember the rest?"
"Sight picture, trigger squeeze, controlled breathing." The checklist comes automatically. "Never point at anything you're not willing to destroy."
"Good girl." He grins. "You might survive this after all."
"Stryker." Kane's voice carries warning.
"What? I'm being optimistic."
Despite everything, I almost laugh. These men have found humor in hell. It's how they survive.
Tommy's voice crackles through the speaker. "Update. Lead team is getting close."
"Everyone in position. Now." Kane's command snaps through the cave.
