Chapter Sixteen
Thomas
“How’s it look?” I asked Naomi as I moved into position next to her and her squad.
“Outer fences are taking hits. Multiple vehicles inbound. They’re setting up for a push.”
I nodded to Iberra, who was posted up behind another slab not far away.
I moved into position with the layout already mapped in my head before I ever dropped behind cover.
The southern tower sat where I needed it to, offset from the main line, elevated, with clean sightlines over the approach and a direct fallback to the bunker.
I had sent my wife and Travis’s furthest from the fight, purposely placed them where they could see it develop, influence it, and pull back if the line gave.
When Liis realized it—and she would—I’d apologize for it later, although both of us would know I didn’t mean it.
“I’ve got movement at the breach,” Ibarra said. She was settled behind a vehicle, already locked onto her angle.
“I see it,” I answered, settling behind the concrete slab, leaning out just far enough to engage before pulling back again. “They’re taking ground.”
Naomi reached for the radio on her chest, staying low. “Multiple elements. Coordinated. They’re pushing in intervals.”
“Copy that, North,” Perkins acknowledged from Command.
“These bastards are funded well,” Corporal Fonseco said. He nodded to me, remembering my face from when we’d checked in at the guard station just over a week before. I wanted to thank him, to thank all of them, but there was no time for that.
Carlisi vehicles had punched through the outer fence, two already disabled, one burning near the gate, flames running up the side and feeding thick black smoke into the air. The men behind them moved with structure, advancing in short pushes, covering each other as they closed distance.
“Hold the corridor!” Naomi ordered. “Let them commit to the gap!”
“Aye, ma’am!” the squad called back.
Naomi settled her back against the concrete. “Where’s my string bean? He stay underground or did he end up coming up to join the fight?”
“He’s protecting the bunker entrance,” I answered.
She grinned. “He asked me for a training schedule while he was down there. Cool kid. He’s got good aim and instincts too.”
Bullets flying past ended her sentence, tossing up small clouds of dust at each impact point.
Our aim tightened, shaping the approach instead of chasing it.
I tracked the lead elements, dropping the ones pressing too far forward, forcing the rest to compress into the funnel Marcel’s line was holding.
It was working, but it wasn’t holding clean.
My gaze was pulled to the skeleton of a vehicle the Carlisis had targeted, flames lighting up a large part of our quad.
“The flames are spreading,” Naomi said, already on comms. “Zeke, Jeep in the north quad is moving to adjacent structures. Get on it, now!”
“Copy.” Zeke answered through static and gunfire. “On my way.”
Less than a minute later, I clocked Zeke breaking through the smoke, already on the move, hauling a charged line from the manifold rigged along the inner fence.
The hose dragged heavy across the ground, biting and catching on debris, but he kept it moving, shoulders set, arms locked, driving through the resistance with short, controlled steps.
Soot marked his face and neck, streaked into the lines of sweat, his sleeve cuffs darkened from earlier hits he’d already worked.
He didn’t just focus on the blaze, he watched the ground ahead of it, reading the spread as it ran low and fast off the vehicle, feeding into whatever it could reach.
The line jerked as pressure built, then steadied as he opened it up, the stream cutting across the base in hard sweeps, knocking the flames back before they could climb.
“Keep it low! Hit the base! Stay tight on me—watch your footing! Cut it off, don’t let it run! Shift left, cover that gap!” Zeke barked to the other firefighters.
As another burst snapped past, he dipped his head just long enough to ride it out, then came back up and drove the line forward, using his radio before directing his men again. “Use the vehicle for cover and don’t fucking stop!”
“Keep them covered!” Naomi said. “If the line breaks, we lose the quad!”
Movement drew my attention to the east, breaking through the smoke.
Taylor and Tyler came in at a full run, hurdling debris and vaulting low barriers, adjusting their path without slowing, their eyes already on the flames.
They took the hose behind Zeke, Taylor stepping in to brace, Tyler catching the slack and feeding it forward as the line surged under pressure.
Water drove out in hard, controlled sweeps from the nozzle in Zeke’s hands, cutting across the base and forcing the blaze back, steam rolling up as water met heat.
I watched my brothers work a few seconds longer than I should have.
I’d seen them fight, seen them take a hit and keep moving, but this was something else.
Taylor stood steady, his shoulders set against the kick, while Tyler locked in behind him, kept the hose moving, feeding it forward in clean pulls, never letting it snag or drag.
They didn’t look at each other or speak.
They didn’t need to. If one moved, the other adjusted, the stream following without hesitation.
Pride burned in my chest, watching my little brothers step into the line of fire, doing a job I hadn’t known for years they could even do.
Yet they were twenty feet from me, moving with experience and certainty, suddenly a version of them I hadn’t known before that moment.
“Commander!” Iberra yelled, pointing.
“Breach!” Naomi yelled. “Push up! Take the gap!”
The Carlisis had finally carved a hole into the inner fences. Naomi ordered controlled bursts to break their forward edge, forcing them to stagger before they could build momentum. I leaned out, fired again, then pulled back as rounds struck the slab, concrete chipping away under repeated impact.
Another explosion hit without warning. A vehicle near the main gate ignited, the blast rolling outward hard enough to carry through the line and into the compound. The pressure hit my chest before the sound caught up, the ground trembling as debris scattered across the yard.
“Zeke?” Naomi called over the radio.
“Almost!” Zeke answered.
I scanned our position. The slab wasn’t going to hold. “Naomi, we’ve gotta move.”
I broke to another spot, ducking when concrete flew in my face from a near miss.
“You’re exposed,” Ibarra called.
I pressed forward again to a reinforced barrier farther up the line, one that had already taken hits but still held.
I dropped behind it, reacquired the line, and shot the gap.
The Carlisi men were flowing in now, trying to capitalize on the disruption.
I squeezed the trigger, cutting into their advance and slowing the push before they could break through.
A round struck the barrier inches from my head, concrete spraying across my shoulder and face. I didn’t pull back, instead adjusting and firing again.
Naomi held to my left, tightening her coverage. Ibarra adjusted on the right, maintaining the cross angle despite the damage to the line. We were still holding, but the game had significantly changed.
I risked a glance toward the south tower, but the smoke had drifted just enough between my position and hers to reduce everything up there to silhouettes and muzzle flashes.
When it finally cleared, I clocked steady suppressive fire cutting down into the approach and sighed in relief. Liis was still in position.
I listened for the timing of her shots, knowing that if she was firing, she was alive. That should have been enough to focus on the war happening right in front of me, but it wasn’t.
I knew what she could do. I’d seen it. I’d trusted her experience enough to put her there in the first place, not that she’d have settled for waiting in the bunker.
But knowing what she was capable of didn’t stop the calculations running through my mind—the distance between us, the time it would take to reach her if the line broke beneath that tower, the angles I couldn’t cover from here or at any point along the way.
I thought about every day from the moment I met her until this one, wishing I’d taken more time, another minute, an extra kiss, just in case our goodbye at Command was the last time for either of us.
Another burst snapped past my position and forced my attention back to the Carlisi men steadily trickling in through the gap, but I purposefully positioned myself to keep my wife in my peripheral, her survival fixed in the background of every decision.
It was the third time I made a quick visual check when I saw it—movement below the tower, and inside a distance the line should’ve held.
“Naomi?” I called. “Does Command have eyes on the tower?”
“Stand by,” she responded, her hand reaching for the radio clipped to her chest.
A single crack carried from that direction.
“Naomi!” I demanded.
She listened, fingers pressed to the radio, eyes fixed past the line. “South quad compromised. Possible infiltrator, base of the tower.”
“Does Tower have eyes on him?” I asked, impatient.
She paused, holding up a finger while catching more traffic.
“Does Tower have eyes on him, Naomi?” I yelled.
She shook her head. “Command is redistributing pressure toward that sector. Hostiles are being pushed in that direction. Heavier weapons coming through... Shit, Thomas, they should—”
I left my post and broke into a sprint, clearing the broken edge of the barrier and cutting into the open before my brain had time to argue with the decision.
“South tower, you’ve got incoming!” I barked into my radio.