an.Dear Luna: Ahh, your note gave me the warm fuzzies. That is one of my fav chapters too! Danny and Sasha's pact was that they wouldn't let the other be captured... even if it meant needing to put the other down before the enemy could reach them.

Dear Guest: I am at some point going to finish Virginia, yes. I got carried away with all these plot bunnies, and then with St Augustine being its own different origin story it kind of ran away with me. But I super appreciate that you caught the reference and even took this much to read the like... 200,000 words in this series and remember it.

Always happy that you guys are enjoying still. On with the Chapter!

.

.

Tom's ass had fallen asleep hours ago, along with Sasha, who'd succumbed within five minutes of leaning against his shoulder. He'd shifted her after a while, laying her head in his lap so her neck wouldn't hurt, and then forced Eugenio's desperate anguish from his mind—but not the sound of that gun—and every time it fired, he peered down.

"Hey." Tom rubbed her arm, waiting as Sasha stirred and woke up, disorientation evident upon registering their position. "You fell asleep—we're t-minus thirty." She nodded, taking a few minutes to work through the exhaustion before sitting up.

Danny was already pacing, had woken an hour ago with a kind of energy that Tom deduced had everything to do with Captain Green and Pablo. It helped curb his vexation, the one that he'd been stewing on since confirming his suspicions that the guy was in deep enough to actually agree to killing his wife. Helped, but did not erase. Sasha was up now too, working the lethargy from her limbs. Wolf, sheathing and unsheathing his knife for something to do while sat beside Azima... and as counterintuitive as it seemed, in moments like this, Tom found peace. Peace in the trappings of war, perhaps one of the last things that made sense to him.

In CIC, Captain Green and XO Burk stood with Gator around their tactical planning console. Wright manning his radar station behind them, listening, and watching intently to confirm the enemy's location.

"Ma'am, they've just entered firing range." It was urgent, excited.

Kara clenched her hand, adrenaline running rampant, her pulse wild and unchecked beneath her skin. "TAO, batteries release on my mark."

"TAO, batteries release ready, aye," Nishioka echoed.

Burk unfolded his arms, shifting on his feet to rest both palms against the console. Gator wide-eyed, focused, and ready to plot locations on the fly to his best estimations, given their limited systems. Never in his life did he think he'd go up against two other US Destroyers, blind.

"Crossing the zone… now!" Wright relayed.

"Fire!"

Pablo heard the whistle before he registered the light. The noise drawing the attention of the Cuban soldiers manning the skeleton shift. This was it, the signal. A low murmur began to hum around him, like a buzzing nest of wasps woken from sleep steadily vibrating into crescendo. Troops registering what was about to befold them and scrambling to either make it to cover or out of its path. All eight missiles launched simultaneously toward their respective manually entered targets. Three per ship, and two right through the western and eastern walls of Camp X. The Cuban men were yelling now, radioing desperate warnings, and shouting expletives, and Pablo used the chaos. Less than fifty seconds, he told himself, sprinting the hundred or so yards toward the building that housed Montano. Once there, he kicked open the door, yelling in Spanish that they were under attack to draw the guards into the panic. Montano sat upright, bewildered in the small cot in the trailer's corner, which appeared to be more of a cell than an office. Pablo made haste and grabbed Montano by his upper arm, ripping him from the bed.

"Where are you taking me?!" He demanded in Spanish.

Pablo said nothing, rather kicked Montano's shoes toward him and glanced at his wristwatch, watching the seconds count down until the explosion rocked the camp. Montano dove to the floor, hands over his head, scrambling in shock while Pablo gave little more than a blink, and checked his watch for a second time.

"Who are you?" Montano had spoken in English this time, though his accent was detectible. The man peered up from the floor, having noticed the lack of reaction.

Pablo glanced down. "Rambo." He reached down and hauled Montano from the ground. "Move."

The gunfire had already started. Both the Rebels and Marines pulled from Havana and Gitmo, storming the compound on both sides, shooting their way through the mass of Cuban infantry. Pablo moved fast, spotting Wolf scaling one of the concrete towers using a steel pole to take out the gunner—huh—always knew the dude was a machine, the way he'd recovered from Panama was evidence enough, but if Pablo had to comment, that was just downright badass.

"You don't know what you have done." Montano was eerily calm now. "You've killed us all."

Had to frown over that one, but didn't stop traversing the camp or ask questions. There was a plan, and he was sticking to it. Once they reached the manhole, Pablo kicked it open with his foot, noting Miller at the bottom, pointing his weapon upward.

"It's me," Pablo hollered. "I have Montano." He turned, pushing the strategist toward the hole, the force causing him to stumble on his feet. "Get in."

With little choice but to comply, Montano descended the ladder, his footfalls much less assured than those of Pablo's, who followed behind him.

"Dr. Montano."

The strategist pivoted, recognition adorning his features when Admiral Chandler stepped forward into a patch of orange-toned light.

"Admiral." It was said with a kind of acceptance. Like pieces were clicking into place and he was neither surprised, nor affected by it.

"We need to talk."

Meylan approached Ensign Swain. "What's our sitrep?"

Swain lifted one side of his headset and pivoted in his seat to better face Meylan. "Sir, the Mexican fleet's reporting a direct hit on one of the Destroyers but the second splashed our batteries before they could land. Nathan James is still at EMCON. CWIS was seen on the horizon."

Meylan's features tightened. CWIS could only mean one, or both ships had a lock on their bearing. He uncurled his arms, a movement borne of the need to reduce the nervous adrenaline run rampant in his veins. "And the ground teams?"

"Confirmed multiple detonations along the east and western walls, and the package is secured within the tunnels, Sir."

Meylan's fist clenched, and beside him, the President let out a breath and let his weight sag against the chair back, which was secured in a death grip by his hands. It struck Meylan that Reiss was more emotionally invested than he'd ever seen. Shaken by the Admiral's brush with death.

"Let's just hope they can pull this off," Reiss muttered with a sincerity that was just as unexpected.

Russel Jeter caught Joe's eye, a silent look that communicated he'd picked up on the same thing, but he also saw that the MCPON remained steadfast in his faith that their teams would prevail. A source of inspiration that often-humbled Joseph Meylan, as much as left him in awe.

Sasha was pacing, twenty feet from where Montano sat slumped against a wall with Tom stood before him, engaged in the kind of philosophical debate that was better suited to a roundtable than the middle of a Warzone.

"The hell are they talking about?" Danny asked, keeping his voice low.

"The merits of war." Her tone was flat.

Danny clenched his jaw, battling to keep a level head. "Still nothing from the James?"

Woeful she shook her head, stiffening when Danny had an outburst and kicked a rock across the floor. The act drew both Montano and Tom's attention.

"They're not sunk, Danny," Sasha said, adamant in her conviction. "They're just evading that last destroyer."

"We got that update twenty minutes ago—"

"Danny—they're not sunk. If they were, that ship would already be firing on us." She peered at him; his gaze now locked on hers for several seconds until a level of calm descended upon him again. The logic was sound, and despite the chasing panic in his veins, he could cling to Sasha being right for a few more minutes at least.

Montano, who'd been observing, returned his focus to Admiral Chandler. "You know, I understand why they did it," he said.

Tom's entire body stiffened. His blink the only external reaction he gave, to which Montano smiled softly in a way that was conversely chilling above anything else.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Montano moved his head, dark eyes considering the Admiral for several moments before his lip curled again in another soft, but tired mark of dismissal. "Perhaps you don't—you did not confess." His lip curled again in another gesture of pondering. "Even when her life hung in the balance."

Tom maintained a stoic neutral through sheer force of will, though the pulse in his throat ticked upward. "If you understand, then why help Gustavo?"

"I did not say I support Gustavo." Montano had answered fast, fire biting behind his words.

Tom narrowed his eyes a fraction. "You handed him a war plan."

Montano breathed a soft chuckle. "You do not see, do you?"

"Enlighten me."

"I do not fight for Gustavo. I fight for the Latin people, so we will no longer be dependent on the whims of the North."

"Yeah, I've heard. Your boss says the same thing, but America is not your enemy."

Montano's expression hardened. "America is not a country but a continent, Admiral—learn that."

Tom sidestepped the comment, cheeks hollowing a fraction before he continued. "So, you went to Jamaica to what? To run away?"

"To kill two birds with a single stone."

That got Tom's attention, his previously steady gaze flitting up and down Montano. "You wanted to help Gustavo take us out, and then what? Cut the head off your master using a neutral ally?"

Dr. Manuel merely blinked and raised his brows, and Tom drew his wrist away from the rifle where it rested, shifting on his feet. "But Gustavo realized you were defecting and invaded to stop you."

"You can only see a child be burned alive so many times before you question your part in it all," Gustavo said.

"So help us," the Admiral implored, his tone causing Sasha to cautiously peer over. She was closer now, looming within earshot, listening to both their discussion and the constant percussion of gunfire above ground.

Montano shook his head, almost regretful. "No, Admiral. The things that have been set into motion cannot be undone."

"Nothing is impossible."

There was that disenfranchised grin again. "I am not just talking about this. Your war? I am talking about all of it. Everything since the plague. I used to think that war was the only way to keep the peace—"

"I know, I heard your lecture. That's a view we hold in common," Tom interrupted.

Montano paused for a moment, holding the Admiral's gaze before he continued. "I was wrong. Now I have realized that peace is just the awkward pause between wars. The time for the world to reload its weapons." The statement hung between them. "I no longer wish to be an instrument of death."

"So you're a pacifist now?"

Montano looked away, rolling his head back to center against the dirt wall and peering beyond the Admiral's shoulder. "Yes, Admiral Chandler. In one of the great post-plague ironies, the war strategist has become a pacifist." He rolled his head back to make eye contact again. "And whatever I do or do not say has no meaning anymore."

Something about his tone caused a chill to snap up Sasha's spine, and she shifted, moving closer and making evident to both Montano and Tom that she was listening now. Montano spared her a glance, a stark deadness swimming within his eyes. The look of a man who had accepted his fate…

"What is this place?" Her words were a fraction louder than a whisper.

He smiled again. Devoid. Empty. "It is the end."

For several seconds there lay an eerie calm that even the sounds of gunfire could not penetrate. Seconds where the very walls and dirt beneath Sasha's feet seemed to shrink in. The feeling in her gut, which had been plaguing her since sitting on Neptune Beach with Tom, twenty-four hours before this mission, kicked into overdrive. Her lids fluttered, eyes almost vibrating in their sockets while an overwhelming urge hit her. Mouth softly parted while she stared with narrowed lids at Montano.

Sasha snapped her head toward Tom. "Get out of the tunnel," it was breathless. Breathed into the dead space between them.

He squinted, mouth opening to question, but she cut him off. Louder, more insistent. "Get out. Right now. Get out of the tunnel."

Montano was grinning, and whether it was that, blind trust or a response to the absolute conviction in her tone, she didn't know. But he listened. Tom hauled Montano up, hit the button on his radio, and made the call. "All teams, evacuate the tunnels. Head topside, rally at the eastern wall, now."

Everyone burst into movement. Tom shoving Montano toward the ladder first and commanding him to go. Toone, packing up their communications gear, Green heading west toward the opposite entrance, intent to ensure Miller had heard the directive through the dead spot while Sasha snatched up weapons left strewn from their team's topside, loading her back with as many rifle straps as she could hold.

Tom offered her a hand—his left as she emerged from the hole. Hauling her up with the extra pounds she was carrying. Azima and Pablo, who were manning their entrances cover, both exchanged confused looks, alternating between that, and watching the perimeter and picking off any soldiers who came too close.

"Admiral?" Azima asked.

"Change of plans. We need that building—" Tom jerked his chin toward the closest one, right through the enemy's line of fire as they tried to hold their troops from encroaching any further into the camp. Their troops that had used the James' firepower to storm the compound on both sides and pin their enemy in the middle.

Pablo fired a few more shots before looking toward them and then darting out, drawing the enemy's fire. "Jesus Christ," Sasha hissed. Rushing into the space he'd just vacated and providing cover support along with Azima, and now Tom.

"Grenade!" Azima yelled. Sasha reached into her vest and handed it to her, ripping another for herself, pulling the pin, and then throwing it into the enemy's line.

"Move!" Tom ordered.

They ran out, Montano being dragged by his lapel across the hundred yards while Azima, Sasha, and Pablo continuously fired. Toone had just emerged, pushing the equipment topside before hopping out himself. Drawing his weapon, and preparing for the next volley of cover to move with them.

Utt, who was leading the charge from the compound's wall, used the distraction to advance their position, gaining twenty to thirty feet before being forced to take cover amongst various trucks again. "Sit tight, Toone. We'll draw their fire—"

He didn't have the chance to finish. An explosion ricocheted from beneath the ground, shaking the very mantle upon which they all stood, spreading hundreds of feet, right along what Utt knew to be the tunnel's path.

"Toone!?" He couldn't see a goddamn thing through the pulverized dirt, pushed himself to his knees, coughing and squinting toward the storage container.

It all stopped. Everything. Not a single bullet fired. Stunned silence while the sound of crumbling earth-filled what remained of Camp X.

Sasha rolled, mere feet from the building's entrance, nearly blown to hell for the second time in as many days. Immediately she looked for Tom and saw that he was alive. On the ground like her, but moving.

"Sasha?!"

"I'm okay," she yelled. Crawling hands and feet toward Pablo, who was down and not moving. She grabbed his arm, intent on rolling him to his back, but he started hard. Whipped his gun around, only to relax his finger from the trigger well upon recognizing it was her.

"SITREP!"

Sasha wasn't paying attention to the radio at all. Rather, staring dazed at what lay before them… looked like a disaster zone, like an earthquake had leveled most everything and a sinkhole sucked down the rest. "Green," she breathed. She didn't see him. He'd turned in the other direction. He wasn't with them.

She ripped herself upright, pushing and throwing the extra guns from her back—seeing now that most of the Cuban troops were dead or dying, sunk into the chasm along with many of their own by that explosion. Fuck. "Where is Green?"

Pablo froze, snapping his head around upon hearing her horrified murmur.

The names, all the names rattling off over radio. Confirming who was up.

"…Wolf, up… Azima, up… Barco, up…"

Sasha turned, stalking toward Montano, who stood loose, vacant staring at the scene before him. "What the hell!?" Her sidearm was in his face, pressing hard against his temple.

Slowly, he dragged his eyes toward her. Appearing legitimately regretful. "It was always supposed to end here—for everyone."

Rage exploded within, the cryptic messages pushing her past breaking point.

"Sasha…"

She sucked in a sharp breath. Knuckles white on the gun, entire body visibly trembling.

"Don't do this." It was soft, and God, all she wanted was to do was shut Tom out. Scream at him about hypocrisies and the nerve he had to expect her to listen when she'd spent months begging him to do that. Pleading with him to hear her... not to go down the path, trying to walk him off a ledge… A ledge she'd created and then fallen off herself and all but dragged him over...

Tom slowly stepped closer, ungloved hand outstretched, which Sasha saw through her peripheral until it covered hers over the gun. Gentle but insistent. "It's okay."

Her features contorted for less than a second before she forced them level again. Pulling her weapon away with a wrench of her hand and pacing several feet away from them both. She braced both hands against her knees and tried to breathe.

Montano looked on, observing for several extended seconds before turning his focus toward the Admiral. Tom stood rigid, tendons distended in his neck, staring at him with a clenched jaw and cold fire.

"You see, Admiral. This is the cost of war, the result of all that we have unleashed in this world—" Montano glanced toward Sasha again before returning "—it changes us, brings out the worst... Even in those that we love the most."