an. Guest: I'm glad I'm not the only one that just didn't like the ghost sequence ending, which pretty much I guess confirms this story will not be ending with Tom having some kind of weird vision while he drowns. But that is as much as I'll share LOL!

Luna: A fast update for you! Did not want to leave everyone with two weeks between updates with everything that is going on here. That's just cruel!

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Thursday, April 18th, 2019—Camp X, Centeno, Cuba—0738 Hours

Sasha dragged the back of her palm across her forehead. The sun had now broken the horizon, a fact which provided only the ability to better see the full extent of the destruction. The impossible stretch of collapsed earth spanning the quarter-mile in which their people were buried. Danny. Miller. Toone. The Doc. All MIA. All unaccounted for, all last seen in and around the tunnels. The church was leveled, the Well caved in. Had been at this for hours. Hours. Knees in the dirt, systematically digging with her hands, piece, by piece, by tiny. Little. Ineffectual. Piece. Along with the surviving teams. Hadn't sourced enough shovels yet to go around.

Technically, they were winning. The James was still afloat, lifted EMCON an hour after the tunnels had blown. The second Destroyer no longer blocking the bay, but also gone and unaccounted for. Still. Had taken a Mexican Frigate with it, though the other Destroyer was sitting dead in the water, commandeered and under the control of Captain Aguilar. It had been charges. Buried in the walls—impossible for them to have seen, a failsafe in case the camp was overrun. A kill switch designed to bury whatever the hell kind of intel it held, irrespective of who was left in it. That didn't matter to her, though. Their chopper had made dozens of trips, ferrying wounded back to the ship. Montano after that.

She didn't give a damn.

Refused to move an inch until she found Danny.

Tom squinted as he peered toward the horizon, their chopper approaching once more. He frowned; swore he could make out Captain Green through the window. A thought confirmed once Brawler settled their bird in the clearing about four hundred feet east of what remained of Camp X's retaining wall. The knot beneath his ribs flared as she strode toward him, and he excused himself from Fuente's company. The Cuban leader offered a somber nod.

"Captain," his tone was grave when he met her half way.

"Admiral," she responded stiffly.

He'd been about to inquire as to whom was commanding Nathan James, given her XO Burk had already arrived with one of the first medevac's, but she pre-empted him.

"Ship's under the command of Admiral Slattery, Sir. He arrived with the Jamaican Prime Minister thirty minutes ago. It seems they've decided to join the fight. He's keeping him away from Montano until you can get there, but he's indicated he wants to meet with Fuentes too."

Huh. That explained why Mike had been unexpectedly radio silent for more than a day. Still, the rest of those questions could wait until they were face to face. Softly, Tom inhaled before speaking. "Kara… you shouldn't be here to see this."

She pressed her lips into a tight line, attempting to smile against the way her mouth quivered. Blinked rapidly and looked anywhere but him for several moments before returning a hollow and watery stare. "I have to be," she whispered. It hung there while she swallowed, eyes casting off again and taking in the sheer magnitude of what she was facing. "And all due respect, Tom. You would too."

His features had tensed. Knew her statement to be true. Still, no one should have to do this. Dig through the earth like a needle in a haystack in search of their husband's remains. Tom breathed audibly; his compassion sincere. "I would."

1015 Hours

Search and Rescue.

They were still radioing the updates to Southern Command like this wasn't a gravesite. Pablo's hands were bleeding, knuckles raw, and palms blistered beneath his gloves. Havana was officially liberated, Fuentes' troops had re-grouped, trucked back, and taken the Capitol. The remaining Cuban soldiers who'd defected were surrendering their arms across the country. Heard civilians were even going so far as to execute them in the streets for their treachery. Supposed that meant they'd taken Cuba now. Another victory that felt meaningless. More people that would lose everything and no doubt circle back later seeking revenge. Today, tomorrow, in ten years… didn't make much difference in the end.

Parrel to him, spread out every fifteen feet they all dug, a human chain hauling dirt out—the land too fragile to use trucks or excavating machinery from the nearby farms. Kara had said nothing. She was only a few feet from him, working like everyone else. Burk to her right, Sasha after that. Wolf and Azima a little ways down.

He saw the Admiral approach in his peripheral, had noticed that the favoring of his left side had progressed into not moving his right arm at all. Looked pale. Tired. They were all tired, but he looked the worst—Sasha was quickly catching up though.

"Hey." Tom's hand was gentle on her shoulder as he crouched beside her. "You need to take a break."

The shake of her head was jerky. "No."

The hand moved until it cupped the back of her neck, drawing her off balance gradually until she was forced to stop digging and slump backward onto her ass instead of her knees. Tom made sure to catch most of her weight, the movement causing him to wince. Betrayed his desire to pretend like he himself wasn't reaching a point where tapping out was no longer a choice. "You've been at this for six hours."

She pulled her top lip between her teeth; the action causing her cheeks to dimple while scrunching her eyes closed. "I can't." Opened them again, fixed somewhere in the distance. "I can't—this can't happen. We have to find him, Tom—"

He rubbed her back, her TAC vest long since discarded. "I know—no one is stopping, no one is leaving, but you're gonna drop if you don't take fifteen. It's not up for debate."

1300 Hours

Six days.

Six days ago, it had been Tom, and now it was Danny, and there was no way a miracle could happen twice. That's not how life worked, and air didn't last this many hours beneath packed earth. These were all facts that Sasha knew and could comprehend but could not accept.

Until there was yelling behind her, back where Fuentes and Tom were hunched over several maps, solving the problems of how to ensure the country's defenses were tighter than tight because rumor had it Tavo was sending in more men. Finally caught word that the Admiral was no longer in the United States but standing in Cuba. Time was running out.

Or had just expired.

Sasha pivoted; Tom was down. Already knew why. The commotion drew everyone's attention. A deep crease of concern painting Kara's face and mirrored unanimously down the line. Kara pushed herself up, jogging over to where Fuentes was yelling orders in Spanish to his ground medic.

Kara reached them in time to hear Sasha relaying information, swore she caught the word shrapnel with her rudimentary Spanish skills. A thought confirmed when the medic ripped off the Admiral's vest, lifted the fatigues, and removed the field bandage to reveal the extent of damage.

Kara sucked in a breath and toggled her radio. "Nathan James, Cuban Command—we need medevac—Admiral Chandler is down!"

"Copy that, Command—sending the helo now—fifteen minutes out."

Kara removed her hand from the button, approaching the spot where Sasha crouched with the back of her palm against her mouth, elbow rested on her thigh and the other hand braced in the dirt between her legs to keep balance. It hit Kara full force when she took in the complete despair upon her face. More emotion than she'd ever seen Sasha openly display before. The reality. This is where they were, no closer to finding Danny, and she knew why Sasha didn't want to leave. They were the same reasons Kara refused to give up.

Giving up made it real.

Kara lowered until she was crouched beside Sasha. Had garnered enough details on how it all went down to understand the other woman was blaming herself. She reached out and grabbed Sasha's forearm; the action causing her to shake and then lower her head. "It's okay—you need to go with him," Kara said.

Sasha dug her palm hard against her forehead, breathing hitched and uneven.

"It's what Danny would want," Kara struggled out.

Sasha's head was still bowed, unable to do more than respond by removing the hand from her forehead and placing it over Kara's on her arm. Squeezing hard, which Kara returned.

"You did everything you could. We'll keep looking—we'll find him." Kara was saying words for herself now, whispered, and watery and drenched in denial, while Sasha quietly cried.

Mike made it to helo bay one just as Brawler landed; weaved between the cots. Their Mess was at capacity, both bays too, and now the very deck beyond both doors was dotted with the less critically wounded. Spots in the sickbay reserved for only the highest priority cases.

"What do we know?" He asked the awaiting Doc, on loan from Captain Aguilar's ship because their own were over swamped and knee-deep in saving lives.

"Shrapnel wound. Infected," the man answered.

Damnit Tom.

The flight crews waved the signal to approach, and the Doc ran out, conferring with Brawler's crew as to the care he'd received over the past fifteen minutes while they carried Tom on a stretcher inward. That sight was difficult to stomach alone, but when Sasha emerged, her demeanor drove it home. Mike swallowed, finding Tom's statement from before bubbling up from his subconscious 'what you saw after I left was nothing'.

"Where is he?" It was flat, and all the things he'd expected to find, such as sorrow, despair, heartbreak, weren't there. They were lost by an emptiness that concerned him. Figured his expression communicated the confusion too, because Sasha elaborated before he could respond.

"Montano."

For a moment, Mike questioned whether this was a good idea. Something else, she appeared to pick up on.

"I just wanna talk to him."

Finally, she made eye contact. Couldn't say it did anything to alleviate his trepidation, but he also got the feeling Sasha wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer.

"Senior officers' deck—" Mike moved his head to indicate she should follow "—I'll come with you."

When they reached the stateroom, which was flanked by two guards, Mike gave a small nod to indicate his desire to enter and Sasha all but ripped through once they'd keyed in the passcode.

Montano lifted his head, bewildered by their entrance where he sat perched on the edge of the bed.

Sasha pulled the crayon that was still in her pant pocket out and threw it at him, and he reflexively flinched when it bounced off his chest. "That's from the kid that got blown up yesterday for being in the wrong place at the wrong time—you don't wanna be 'an instrument of death' anymore, then don't. Stop punishing an entire continent for the shit that we've done and help end this!"

Mike remained very still, with his back fixed straight, deducing now that he'd been wrong. Miss judged completely what he thought was brokenness. The kind he'd seen before after Tom. It was rage. Burning so hot it was blue and chillingly cold.

Montano picked up the crayon, which had landed on the still folded covers, and held it between his fingers. Studying it.

"You need to make it worth it," Sasha hissed, before turning on her heel and leaving as ferociously as she'd come.

She made a beeline for the Women's Head. Just a few short corridors away from Montano's room. Knowing it would be empty given there were less than fifteen women in the Nathan James' crew, all presently occupied and manning their stations. Her hands shook, fingers clumsy when she struggled to remove the gloves, wincing as the fabric was undug from her raw, blistered palms. The pain was welcomed, soothing for the distraction it gave when she rinsed the dirt embedded in the exposed subdermal layers until they were pink and red again. Used them to splash freezing water over her face and neck, brown trails trickling down like painted stripes while she stared hard at her reflection.

1913 Hours

Denial had a shelf life, and Kara, if she were to look back and be honest, had reached it hours ago. There was just too much. Knew math like the back of her hand, and the equation was insurmountable. As in months. It would take them months to un-bury the stretch of tunnel at their current rate, and that wasn't even factoring in the huge chucks of concrete wall that had been blown through and required machinery to move. Pablo was fixed on the Well, had hollered and yelled for hours until he gave up. Stuck to focusing a crew of guys there who had at least moved the collapsed stone and were about to reach ten feet down. They'd lost more than an hour trying to figure out how to retain the surrounding dirt so all the progress they'd made didn't cave in. Learned that lesson from a few other spots further down the line. Hours of digging wiped out with a single shift in unstable earth.

It was now, as she sat exhausted on the ground, that Kara prepared herself for the concept that Danny was not only never coming home, but that there wouldn't even be a body. Morbid as it was, she'd spent so long living beneath the constant fear that he'd be KIA that she'd mostly learned how to coexist with those feelings. How to compartmentalize as best she could. He'd been running around the world for three years, courting death with the Grim Reaper shadowing his every step and Kara had all but prepared for this day—but she'd never fully considered the idea of having nothing. No one left behind. That was the rule, and for Danny death was most likely to come on the ground, not a ship getting blown out of the water. Not like her. There was supposed to be a body.

Burk only stopped because he heard the crying, stuck his shovel into the ground, and paced the fifteen feet over to Kara. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her face into his shoulder as she finally succumbed to the grief.

"I gotchu."

2133 Hours

"Heard you were up," Mike chimed. Boisterous voice reverberating around the walls of medical. He strode in, stopping short of Tom's bed, hands clasped behind his back and betraying the burden of weight upon his shoulders. Personifying instead the strength that the entire ship needed. This was a dark, dark day. One of the darkest there'd been, and you only had to take two steps through Nathan James to perceive it. It was times like these that Mike missed having Jeter on board.

Tom wasn't in the mood to make idle talk. Could see that from the stoney look alone. "Where is she?"

Ah. Second time he'd received that exact question after Tom emerged from the land of the heavily sedated.

"Sleeping. We're at capacity so she's in the at-sea cabin."

On another day, Tom would find a joke in his wife sleeping in his best friend's bed. This was not that day.

"Green and Miller?" He was pushing himself up, unable to hide the pain when he settled in a sitting position.

Slattery gave a small head shake, mouth pressed into deep regret.

"Kara still there?"

Mike sighed and stepped closer to the bed. "Yeah. They're about to call it—head back for the night, or a few hours at least to rest before they go back tomorrow. Jamaica gave us some guys to switch ours out. That way we don't have to stop digging."

He saw Tom's eyes flick over to the wall clock to their right before they dragged back to his. Swimming with a myriad of things Mike didn't have the capacity to process. "How'd that happen, by the way?"

Mike's lip quirked in an empty mark of amusement. "You're not the only one who can be persuasive when they wanna be. I convinced Reiss to send me after Capn' Green identified the Destroyers. I went to Haiti. Took a few hours, but he came around—Marine's got us to the Mexican fleet, and we hooked up with the James once they lifted EMCON."

Tom nodded softly. "We need to watch our backs; Montano was trying to throw them against both of us. Gustavo and the U.S."

"Agreed. For now—they're cooperating and being useful."

Tom narrowed his eyes over that. "They?"

Mike tipped his head. "Your girl convinced Montano. He gave us a full account. I'll have the report brought to you, but it corroborated all of our intel—and more."

While he looked proud, there was also an undercurrent of cautious concern in Tom's expression. "How?"

On that, Mike was still trying to piece the tidbits together. "Somethin' about a boy—and makin' it worth it."

Intrigued, as much as worried when Tom clenched his jaw and ducked his chin for several moments before lifting it again. Knew the next question would be about Sasha from the way his features softened. "How's she been?"

Mike scrunched his mouth in a sorrowful gesture. "Hasn't hit yet. Think she's stickin' with the anger right now—enough that I didn't let her go see Montano alone." He'd planned his words carefully.

And the way Tom flicked his gaze up and then down almost imperceptibly told Mike he'd read most of this right.

"After him, she went and got cleaned up. Sat by your bedside once they finished cutting out that infection of yours—till I kicked her out. Pretty adamant she's going back to help dig more once she's up—oh, and before I forget—" Mike fished a hand into his pocket, producing Sasha's wedding ring "—Doc found it in your jacket." He dropped it in Tom's palm, who considered it for a few seconds before returning his gaze to Mike's.

There was a facial gesture, a look they'd shared hundreds of times over the years of mutual respect before Mike cleared his throat and rectified his stance. "You want me to tell her you're awake?"

"No—let her sleep."

He gave an affirmative nod and moved toward the door. Turning back when Tom said his name.

"Thank you."

Mike's small grin was natural this time. "Still didn't do it for you." Relieved when Tom breathed a soft sound of amusement through his nose. Features lifting if only for a few seconds.

At least they still had that.