Page 86 of Echo: Burn
"We stopped one attack." I remember Cross's warning. "They have contingencies."
Tommy's screens flash red. "Kane, we've got movement. Multiple vehicles approaching from three directions. ETA twelve minutes."
"How many?"
"At least forty hostiles, probably more. Professional tactical formation. They're not hiding anymore—this is full assault."
Kane's expression hardens. "Protocol Seven, Contingency Omega. If they can't complete the mission, they eliminate all witnesses. Destroy all evidence." He turns to Tommy. "Sever all connections to Echo Base. If this goes bad, the main facility stays dark. They get this location and nothing else."
"Already done." Tommy confirms. "We're running on isolated systems. No uplink to home."
"Good." Kane looks around at all of us. "They find us here, not the real base. That's the whole point of this position."
"Including us," Stryker says, checking his rifle.
"Especially us." Kane looks at me, and something I've never seen before crosses his face. Not fear, exactly. But acknowledgment of just how bad this could get. "Willa, you're staying inside. You, Tommy, Sarah, and Khalid coordinate defense. We'll handle external threats."
"I can fight..."
"I know you can." He cuts me off gently. "But right now I need you doing something more important. Tommy handles tech and intel. Sarah handles medical. Khalid handles Odin and close quarters. And you coordinate all of it. Make the calls that keep everyone alive. Can you do that?"
The weight of it settles on my shoulders. Not just fighting—leading. Making decisions in real-time that determine who lives and dies.
"Yes."
"Good." He kisses me quickly, fiercely. "Stay alive. I'll come back for you."
Then he's gone, moving with Stryker, Rourke, and Mercer to their defensive positions. The operations center suddenly feels very empty.
"Willa." Tommy's voice pulls my attention. "I need you at the tactical display. You're quarterback now."
I move to the central console where Kane usually stands. Multiple screens show camera feeds from around the compound. Perimeter sensors. Thermal imaging. Radio frequencies.
"Eight minutes." Tommy updates. "Three strike teams converging on our position."
Sarah appears beside me with a headset. "You'll need this. Direct comms to everyone on the team."
I put it on, adjusting the mic. "Kane, can you hear me?"
"Five by five." His voice is steady in my ear. "What do you see?"
The thermal display shows three distinct groups. I count signatures, calculate spacing, assess formation patterns. "Northern approach—fifteen hostiles in four vehicles. Eastern approach has twelve in three vehicles. Southern approach..." I lean closer to the screen. "Twenty-plus in five vehicles. They're hitting us from three sides simultaneously."
"Smart." Stryker's voice cuts in. "Dividing our fire. Mercer, you good on the southern perimeter?"
"Locked and loaded," Mercer responds. "They come through here, they're walking into hell."
"Six minutes," Tommy announces.
The tactical display pulses with incoming data. My medical training kicks in but applied differently now. Not treating injuries—preventing them. Seeing the battlefield like a body, understanding where it's vulnerable, where it's strong.
"Kane, the southern approach has the most hostiles but it's also our strongest defensive position. They'll take heavy casualties there." I trace routes on screen. "I think it's a diversion."
"Explain."
"They want you to reinforce south, pull resources from north and east. Then hit us from multiple angles when you're spread thin. But if we keep north and east at current strength and let Mercer hold south..." The pattern becomes clear. "They bleed against his position while you contain the real threats."
"Mercer, thoughts?"
