Sasha flung herself to the ground as Martinez pulled the trigger. The tip of a weapon had poked through the tent flap behind the General. A split second later, an explosion rocked the camp, streams of bullets and yells erupting around them. Hector cowered on reflex at the sound, expecting debris to rain down, and Sasha seized the distraction. Crawled as best she could across the ground while still bound, clumsy and frantic, while Hector shot at the men who were swarming the tent. Desperate, she scanned for anything to break her bonds, coming up stuck—and she'd almost made it to the edge of the tent when hands yanked her feet back. She yelled and kicked with both legs as hard as she could, her feet hitting something that made a loud cracking sound, a short-lived satisfaction. Hector's enraged fists wrung themselves around her neck, his blood dripping into her face from the broken nose as he sought to squeeze the life out of her.
Sasha struggled, fought with every ounce of strength that she possessed, but the fact remained—he was stronger than her. Had at least fifty pounds of muscle over her lithe frame, and she had no leverage to help her escape his grasp. Her vision tunneled, edges turning black. The ringing from the explosion in her ears intensifying until she could no longer hear the sounds of her own violent suffocation. Her face turned red and then purple, her movements becoming less vigorous and then weak until suddenly he was yanked from her body.
"Cooper!?"
The voice floated through the haze. A voice she recognized. She willed her body to move but couldn't. Martinez weight crushing down on her chest had knocked every piece of air from her lungs. Checking his sights, Danny cleared the tent while Wolf engaged in a fist-to-fist fight with Martinez that had just ripped straight through the canopy. He kneeled, checked for a pulse because he didn't see her moving and her eyes had an all too familiar deadness to them. Dirt-jammed fingers pressed down until they detected the flutters of life. With great relief, he leaned over and slapped her cheek lightly to rouse her.
"Cooper!" He called again, watching as she blinked—the only response she could give. Danny pulled her up into a sitting position, supported her weight with his knee, and cut her restraints as she struggled to force in air. Finally, she gasped, a haggard and labored sound, and Danny grabbed the back of her neck, laughing in triumph, as she clasped at his forearm in shock.
"How!?" A rasp that sounded like music to his ears, and he shook his head a wild grin—blinding exhilaration as adrenaline propelled him to the highest of highs.
"Freaking Pablo, that's how!"
Her brow twisted. Who the fuck was Pablo? How the hell did he expect her to know who Pablo was? But her mind jumped to more pressing matters. Tom. Off-balance and panicked, Sasha scrambled, crawling on hands and knees until she reached the camera. Movements almost rabid while she turned it over several ways. Danny stilled and frowned in confusion, watching her as if she were insane.
"What are you–"
"He thinks I'm dead." She'd thrown it once she realized it was useless. There was a bullet hole, and the cable had been ripped clean in the chaos. There was no way of knowing when the broadcast cut out, none. Next, she stumbled to her feet, dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Looked around the tent for a radio to broadcast, something with a long-range frequency. She was tearing through things, pushing them to the ground as she scoured every crate, picked over every surface of supplies—still coming up empty.
"Sasha?" He was worried now.
"I need a radio!" She whirled around—she was crying. Danny's elation evaporated in response to her fixation and state. "They were broadcasting it. I have to get a message to the James." Voice hoarse thanks to Martinez—hadn't seen anything like this from her before. Not even the last time they were in Panama.
"Okay, it's okay we'll find a radio," he agreed, attempting to placate her. Pablo chose that moment to enter the tent, catching the tail end of the conversation.
He inclined his head in greeting at the woman before turning back to Danny to shut that train of thought down. "Sorry, no can do. We don't have much time. Once Tavo finds out we're here, he'll start moving those troops. You radio now we lose our only advantage."
Sasha slumped, placing her hands on her knees as she hunched over. Her breathing was still elevated and coming in uneven puffs. Had to fight with every ounce of her being not to scream. Shoulders shaking. A few breathy sobs broke through before she enacted control. Straightening again, she turned away from them, wiping her nose with one hand while the other rested on her hip. Paced in one spot and grimaced when she felt herself smear Hector's blood over her skin.
"Fuck!" It burst from within, unable to keep it in check as she imagined what was befalling Tom right now—if they'd heard the gunfire and explosion or whether the feed had already been cut.
"I'm sorry," Pablo added in earnest. Glancing over to Danny to see the tense look on his face. Had no idea what was going on or why this was so important to them.
"What about the Sat phone? We haven't tried it in days," Danny suggested, and Pablo looked confused.
"You guys don't know?"
Sasha spun around, her long neck welted, and Pablo stared at it. "Know what?" She demanded vehemently.
Pablo stepped forward. "They hacked your satellites. That's how they got the drop on the fleet in Mayport."
She made a face of disbelief. Her mouth hanging open a fraction as she blinked. "So there're no comms? Anywhere?"
Pablo shrugged and shook his head. "There're no satellites. They fell from space the night of the attack."
Sasha looked at Danny; nostrils flared as hate bubbled in her system. "No way they pulled this off without people on the inside—"
"They've been kicking our ass down here for months, and now you guys show up? What gives?" Pablo interjected.
Her brow quirked, sarcastic. Ignored his question and fired back one of her own instead. "Pablo?" He looked like every run-of-the-mill military-type if she'd ever seen one. Clearly American, definitely not his name—and definitely not someone she cared to explain herself to.
He smirked, shrugging a shoulder with ease. "Guilty. 'Paul Shemanski' doesn't quite have the same street cred down here."
Well, she couldn't argue with that and the begrudged expression showed as much.
Danny interjected, sensing her hostility. "Pablo's D.I.A. He's been in the jungle so long he's practically gone native. We worked joint ops in Brazil and Columbia back in the day."
Judging by the reverence in Green's voice, it was clear he respected and trusted the guy… and he had just saved her life, even if he was in her way. Softening a fraction, she inhaled, letting him know she appreciated the save—even if he'd put the kibosh on her plan to radio the James. "Well thank God for D.I.A." —she extended her hand—"Sasha Cooper."
Pablo took it, giving a stiff nod in greeting. "So what the hell is going on? We've been trying to get the U.S. involved with the resistance for months and get nothing, then suddenly, this guy's ugly-ass mug is all over the news and Mayport's attacked." He alternated between looking at the two of them.
"Not a coincidence," Danny said.
"Tavo's trying to take the Canal, choke our supply chain, can't do that with a U.S. fleet patrolling the Gulf," Sasha finished for him. "And the bridge? I overheard Troops talking about it while we were being held. He's seriously planning a full-on invasion?"
Pablo's lip quirked in somewhat of an amused smirk causing her to wonder what was amusing about any of that.
"You speak Spanish?"
She gave a curious look, lip twitching as if to smile but not quite doing it. Her response was simple. "Si—" to which Pablo chuckled, turning to Danny, and gesturing at her.
"And I bet your ass can still barely order a Taco," he quipped. Danny laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, and Sasha found that curious micro-smirk spreading into a genuine grin as she observed. "You heard right; Gustavo's amassed a huge army—forty thousand troops at least." Pablo paused to let the information sink in before looking at them both with steely determination. "We're gonna blow it. If you want in, you're in."
God damn it.
Danny could see the conflict roll across Sasha's face, the way she cast her eyes to study the ground while she fought with herself. Knowing what needed to be done and doing it were two different things. Her heart was begging her to find a plane and get back to the states now. To find a way to make contact with Tom, but their fight was here now. Home would have to wait. After several moments, her eyes searched for Danny's, finding him waiting with patience for her agreement. She gave a tight incline of her head.
"We're in," he confirmed.
Pablo grinned and grabbed his shoulder in excitement. "Danny frickin' Green!" Still not believing fate had seen fit to give him back the man he'd considered his best friend. "Come on. I'll show you the plan and introduce you to the guys."
USS Nathan James, Straits of Yucatán
There was pain, yes. Blinding, unyielding, and ghastly. Agony so frigid it scolded. It clawed and shredded his insides, ripping him clean in two. It debilitated. Tears could not fall; screams would not pass. Nothing could soothe it, nor distract from it, nor take precedence. There was time which moved with no bearing, could have been hours, minutes, or days as he replayed those horrendous seconds. But more than that, there seethed a deep and consuming hatred. A rage and violence that had always simmered within. Burgeoned just below the depths of his mantle, hot, thick, and tumultuous for most of his life. Controlled. Only wielded with expert precision when required—like a weapon. Until it had been taunted, tried, and ignited—occasionally jettisoned in eruptions of fury. Fleeting episodes where it had exploded—like killing Shaw. But never once had he wanted to let it loose. Never before had he revered it as his only salvation.
Until now.
With terrifying clarity of focus, Tom committed. This was his purpose now, the sole factor that would help him stand on two feet instead of languishing in torment on the ground. He was going to hunt them until the ends of the Earth, and he was going to make them feel pain as they'd never felt it before.
Mike didn't think they'd be in this situation again, yet here they were. Holed up in Captain's Quarters in a closed-door crisis meeting. Attempting to process but knowing there wasn't a damn thing any of them could do. Should he check on him? Should he offer the requisite condolences? That pathetically inadequate statement which everyone used 'I'm sorry for your loss.'
This wasn't a loss to Tom. A loss was something you grieved and moved on from. This was destruction, and they all knew it. Tom would never move on from this.
Kara's eyes felt stiff and scratchy, the tip of her nose sore from the number of times she'd swiped it. The intense and overwhelming fear that Danny was already gone growing more harrowing with every minute. Would be lying to say she wasn't thinking of sending a team to Panama—though the trace was unsuccessful thanks to their limited capabilities, it had confirmed a general bearing—South. Just as the Admiral had said, and her mind was reeling, tactically running every play in the book yet reaching the same conclusion every time. They were too far for the Helo, a plane would be shot down, and the James couldn't leave the Strait. There was nothing she could do, and the weight wanted to split her in two.
It was up to her now; she was the Captain of this ship. Her crew would look to her for reassurance; they needed hope. Where before the mere presence of Admiral Chandler was enough to breathe life into their wide-eyed and star-struck spirits, there was no way of knowing what he'd do now, how he was going to react. This felt so different from the pain of the virus. It was personal. Violent. Planned. It was one human being inflicting misery upon another for pleasure, and that knowledge alone was damning.
Mike's quiet mutter cracked the silence. "I should check on him," and Kara looked up, nodding tersely from her chair. She didn't disagree; as callous as it seemed, it was her duty to know if their CNO was about to go absent without leave. It certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility given his response to Shaw. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if he attempted to sequester their Helo to reach land and tear his way through Panama from there. Mike lingered, wasn't ready to see what kind of state Tom was in, but knew ripping the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later would be best.
He didn't get the chance.
There was a brief knock before the door opened—neither of them doing particularly well at hiding their shock. Kara scrambled to her feet, much in the way Mike had as Tom stepped through the door. Softly, he closed it behind him with a resounding 'click' that seemed louder in the silence than it should have. He loomed. The perfect picture of the controlled and stoic Captain of old—save for the murderous hatred in his eyes, and pallor of his skin.
That part was new.
Tom observed them both for a moment, not missing the sympathetic expressions, and his jaw clenched. Biting against the spike of molten rage because he didn't want it. Didn't need sympathy or pity or condolences. Hoped for their sakes, that they didn't say her name, that no one did because he didn't know if he'd be able to dampen the eruption.
His was voice was gruff and unaffected when he informed them, "Mission hasn't changed. We hold the Strait—come find me when Mexico's finished laying the mines."
"Sir," Kara acknowledged with a nod, and he left, just as abruptly as he'd arrived, leaving behind an unsettling tension in his wake. Mike and Kara glanced at each other with trepidation. Where Mike had been concerned before, he was now quietly convinced that his friend had gone off the deep end.
"What do we do?" Kara asked and watched as Mike's brows drew into a saddened state.
"Give him space. And make sure the crew doesn't try to offer any condolences," his tone was terse.
Kara lifted her chin a fraction. "I'll have Burk spread the word." Her words were quiet and she paused, clinging to a modicum of hope that felt threadbare. "At least we know he's here for the fight." It didn't elicit the reaction she'd expected.
Mike's lips drew together tightly, and he sounded regretful. "Let's just hope it's the same one." Choosing to leave the rest of his fears unspoken.
USSOUTHCOM, Mayport, Florida
"This is a goddamn cluster fuck!" Reiss threw the offending report down on his desk; his eyes bore at Meylan. "How did they even find out about Panama?"
"Sir, it's likely Kelsi had access to the files and shared that information with Octavio. She joined the White House as Admiral Chandlers' assistant during the operation." Joe answered, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood at attention before the President. In the background, the broadcast was being replayed on every news station left in the country, lighting up the screens in the War Room as personnel watched in disbelief.
"And the accusations of War Crimes? What story am I supposed to spin? If this is true, how do we know Tavo won't just release the evidence for the rest of the world to see? This is a propaganda war as much as a physical one, Admiral—and these god damn reports say nothing!"
Joe clenched his jaw, weighing his next words carefully. "I can't speculate on what happened. I was not a part of the operation—"
"No. I wanna know what you think. You've worked with them closely, seen them in action. In your professional opinion, is it possible that he's covering for her?" Reiss clasped his hands together, leaning forward to scrutinize him.
Joe swallowed, that uncomfortable feeling of being forced between a rock and a hard place settling in the pit of his stomach; surprised, actually, by how much he'd come to respect Chandler. Enough that he felt a sense of duty not to answer truthfully, though ultimately the oaths he'd taken to the United States compelled him to.
"It is... possible that his personal feelings may have clouded his judgment, Sir."
Reiss bobbed his head, regarding him for several uncomfortable seconds before leaning back in his chair again. Seemingly satisfied with his answer. "That's what I thought."
Darién Gap, Panama
Wolf was locked in a silent battle of wills with Martinez as the General sat bound in the middle of the camp. His men lay dead or captured around him as the rebels and American's pilfered the tents for intel, and the burly man stood guard over him.
Hector watched as the one they called Danny called Sasha over to the tent he'd been using as his quarters.
"Coop, I found something!"
She crossed the camp, favoring her right foot over the left, grimacing against the sharp pain that emanated whenever she stepped. Could feel the swelling getting worse against the thick leather of her boots. When she reached his side, Danny handed a black folder to her. Wordless, she flicked through the pages. "Some kind of codebook—it's encoded though." Handed it back to him.
"Well, I'm taking it. Maybe they can use it up North."
Her eyes were drawn instead to the charter map on the table. Squinting she moved closer, moving papers until she had an unobstructed view. "Danny, this is the James." Breathless and more whispered than intended.
He was at her side again, reading the map. "They're in the Strait," he confirmed, a reverent look upon his face.
"Jesus—they're sending six ships and another airwing," she muttered, examining the figures and notations to the south. "Even with Mexico and Cuba, those are tough odds."
"How long do they have?"
Eyes scanning, she did the crude calculations with her best assumptions—this was far from her area of expertise. "They're slower, and we have no way of knowing how current these positions are, but I'd guess a day maybe two before they reach them?"
Running his tongue over his bottom lip before biting it Danny nodded, glancing over from his peripheral. "Once we take out the Bridge, we find a way to warn them. Hell, if we can get a plane to Mexico—we can join them."