"Abort! Abort! Take cover!"

Dalton, had just enough time to look up from his rifle and meet Jaz's confused expression before the first explosion hit. It shook the walls of the building they were holed up in sending pictures crashing off the walls.

Okay, apparently the DIA hadn't been kidding.

He saw Jaz duck down on the far side of the room. There was no hint of panic in her eyes as she calmly crawled away from the window she had been scoping. She moved gracefully, sliding her gun protectively in front of her and shuffling after it.

Of course she was saving the gun first.

His exasperation was short lived as another explosion rocked them. It was nearer than the first and blew out the windows on her side of the room, sending dirt and debris inwards.

Shit.

He dropped and rolled away from his window before it did the same. He moved unsteadily as the ground underneath shifted with the aftershock of the blast. There really was no good spot to take cover in the room and he settled for shuffling towards the corner as fast as he could manage.

Despite the chaos his mind was quickly running the scenarios as he moved. The small targeted explosions made him think drone strike, a series of them. They had apparently found themselves in the epicenter of the strike pattern.

He flinched as another one struck, thankfully further away.

There was no point in trying to run. Without knowing the target sequence they would be just as likely to move into the path of the next blast as they would be to avoid it. Better to hunker down here where they at least had a structure to give some form of protection.

He prided himself on planning for every eventuality. Preparing for every situation so that he could keep his team safe. But he had no idea what was happening right now and he hated it.

They were fish in a bowl. Trapped ...powerless and he was going to be royally pissed if this was how it ended.

The next explosion was close. Too close.

It blew out the entire wall, sending chunks of sheetrock and him across the room and into the kitchen. He slammed into the cabinets, hard. The air rushed out of his lungs and he lay stunned for a second, thoroughly winded.

He silently gasped for air, waiting for his lungs to be willing to pull in air again. Logically he knew that he wouldn't actually suffocate, that he would breathe again, but his body ignored him and panicked anyways.

Finally his lungs returned from vacation, kickstarting and allowing him to relax slightly. Somewhere between his ringing ears and his rapidly beating heart he recognized a stop to the bombardment patterning.

He lay still for another minute, just to be sure, but then started working to free himself from all the debris piled around and on top of him. Excavating out from under a piece of the kitchen table, and the chunks sheetrock, and all the other general crap that had accumulated in the corner with him. He brushed off as much dirt as possible, checking the source of the blood on his sleeve and locating a few grazes on his uncovered arm. Nothing serious, he would have some good bruises tomorrow but all in all he would take it.

Quickly his mind shifted to the status of his team, stomach knotting with worry. Had the others been so lucky.

He was already scanning across the room in the area he had last seen his sniper and some of his tension eased when he caught sight of her dark hair pop up amongst the debris. Similar to him she was pushing her way out from under piles of rubble and was coated in dust and dirt. She looked slightly shaken and a hell of a lot pissed.

Noah's voice was urgent in his ear, calling for a status report, practically begging for a response from the team.

Preach was the first to report in. Amir closely following. Both had been a few blocks to the east and reported no damage or harm to their location.

Dalton reached down to his shoulder to respond and realized that wasn't going to happen. His ear piece was still wired into the radio transmitter at his waist, connection undisturbed under his shirt and vest. The microphone and control piece, that was usually attached to his vest….wasn't anymore.

Jaz's keen eyes caught his problem.

She keyed her own comm, answering for the pair.

"No harm. Top and I are alright, but it was too close for comfort on our end. What the hell happened?"

She started out calmly, but her voice was tight and bursting with barely controlled anger by the end.

Patricia clearly shared her sentiment, and she didn't have to try and hide it. Her fury blistered through the comms and he readjusted his earwig to sit further out in his ear. Jaz winced at the volume as well, mouthing a "Wow" and raising her eyebrows in surprise.

Most of the team had not seen this side of the deputy Director before. She was normally calm and collected in her dealings with them. But Dalton had a longer history with her and was not surprised in the slightest. She was fiercely protective of her people, and whatever fuckup had occured, she wouldnt take lightly.

He zoned out slightly, only half listening as he dug around trying to find the rest of his radio set. He gathered that someone had failed to notify the proper channels prior to executing the strike. Her tone promised swift retribution for the responsible parties who hadn't taken the necessary, and required steps, to ensure their was nothing or no one else operating in the area.

He finally found the missing piece, jamming it in with excessive force so he could join in the conversation.

"Wait, you're telling me that was friendly fire. We did that?"

Just fucking great. He shook his head, breathing through the anger so he could move on to other problems. There would be a time and a place.

For now, he wanted to find the rest of his team and get the hell out of here.

And by his count he still was one man short.

"McG, status..."

"McG."

Jax stilled in the corner where she had been busy clearing a path to the door. Her back hunching, hands clenching at her sides.

"McGuire, talk to me buddy…."

The silence on their comms hung. It terrified him more than any explosions could.

"Noah, get me a fix on his GPS"

He kept his voice carefully calm, but even still Jaz abandoned her efforts, turning to face him with fear all too visible on her expressive face.

"I'm sure he's fine. His radio probably just got jacked up like mine."

He tried to be reassuring but her eyes told him he'd done a shitty job. That she didn't believe it anymore than he did. He tried to ignore the the dread that was creeping into his gut. Tried to come up with alternative explanations for the lack of contact.

He tried to be hopeful. To be optimistic instead of pragmatic for once in his life.

It worked for a few seconds.

Right up until Noah sent the coordinates where McG's GPS was pinging to, and confirmed that the signal hadn't moved an inch since the strikes stopped.

Right up until they received the IMINT for the that area. The aerial photos clearly depicting the devastation the strike had caused to the structures.

He zoomed it in to McG's last known location and his stomach sank, realism quickly blowing away any remaining false positivity he had mustered.

Shit.