Once Clay pulls his head out of his ass and stops obsessing about things that really shouldn't matter, he figures out pretty quickly that it wasn't just the team's uncertain interpersonal dynamics that aren't what they should be. The mission itself is bothering him just as much as anything else which is a whole lot more concerning in the grand scheme of things.
The problem is that he just can't quite figure out why. What exactly about it that is making him hesitant on this one.
He's never been one to believe in "gut feelings" or those people who swore they had a bad premonition before something went wrong. In fact he's mocked Sonny on more than one occasion for voicing that kind of opinion, and rolled his eyes more subtly the few times they've spun up with Summer who likes to pontificate thoughtfully about whether or not a mission has good vibes or not.
If you want to go there then this mission has a horrible vibe. Horrible right from the start. Unfortunately, so do a lot of their ops because you generally don't call out a tier one team unless things are pretty bad or pretty fucked up.
But it's not just the subject matter on this one. He's efficiently tucked that one neatly into a box along with most of the more horrific things they have to deal with. No, it's something more, something about the plan, or maybe about the intel. Maybe he isn't quite as over the whole Ray being here thing as he is telling himself. Whatever it is ….Something just isn't sitting right.
Clay keeps hoping that once they get the green light and get ready to go it will resolve itself. That it's just a side effect of being antsy to get going.
It isn't.
Because as they run through the plan for the last time before they finally get to go out and complete the mission they've been waiting for the better part of 3 days to do there is still that nagging itch that he can't pinpoint or scratch. That infuriating feeling like he's forgotten something and it's just on the tip of his tongue, or that fuzzy image on the outside scope of his peripheral vision lurking just there where he can't bring it back into focus.
He stands staring at the diagrams. Hoping to jog his memory or find something that stands out. Something they don't know or maybe something he's missed. Something he should have done differently. This is his job now to make sure the I's are dotted and the T's are crossed and right now something feels undotted or uncrossed so if they go out like this and there ends up being a problem then that's on him.
Jason picks up on that and gives him a chance to fess up and to raise whatever has got him all twisted up.
Clay doesn't take it. He wants to. Childishly wants to ask Jason to reconsider. But reconsider what? The op? The plan? He doesn't know how to explain it and without a substantiated concern there is no basis to rock the boat unless you count the swirling in his gut that could have been caused by bad food for all he knows.
Still his team leader doesn't let it go and continues watching him with a quiet burning intensity that makes Clay wonder if the man can see right through his new number two down to all the doubts and insecurities brewing at the core. If he can see that he picked a fraud, that Clay is struggling and playing something he isn't.
Jason raises an eyebrow at him, in one last question. One last challenge, daring him to speak up and Clay hesitates, torn and unsure with Ray's lecture ringing in his ears. His job is to support number one. Not raise questions or sow doubts in a plan that is sound and especially not when he can't actually explain why exactly he feels like they should change it up.
So he holds his tongue and then takes the reprieve of the vans arrival to break the tense atmosphere.
It isn't until they are lined up to breach that he finally puts his finger on it.
All those vague, wisps of doubt floating in his head suddenly solidify into something more defined. It's clear as day now and equally infuriating that it took him this long to piece it together.
It doesn't make sense that they are using two locations so close together. Sure, human traffickers often have stops along the way but not like this. Why increase their chance of being seen or intercepted and add another layer of transportation, security and logistics to coordinate. Why not just drive the container directly to the next site for transport skipping this one altogether. It doesn't make sense and now he can see the piece they are missing, right there, obvious as anything in the middle of the puzzle and instead of being satisfied with finally locating it he is even more alarmed.
The foreboding feeling increases as he and Brock sit waiting for Jason to make the call. He shifts in places making Brock raise an eyebrow and Cerb to stare at him reproachfully if that's even possible.
The silence stretches because there doesn't seem to be anyone anywhere around here. No one. The building appears completely abandoned for the evening and instead of putting him at ease that serves to solidify his suspicion that something isn't right.
Finally he can't take it anymore. He takes to the radio offering a casual inquiry that is anything but "You think they all went home for the night or what?".
He throws it out like a lifeline. Hoping that someone else is feeling similar. Will jump on board or recognize that something isn't right without him having to make waves. That maybe Jason will pick up on the bad vibes, or bad juju, or just straight inconsistencies in this situation and decide to hold off on entering for a few more minutes.
Before he can get a response one way or another two men appear on their radar at the rear. He tracks them heading towards the front, reporting in with a deepening pit in his stomach. He knows what this means. Knows that as soon as they are out of sight the team will make entry. There will be no reconsidering or waiting now because it's not worth the chance of delaying and encountering another patrol.
Sure enough the order comes swiftly and he and Brock head to the door to make entry.
When the breach command comes Clay goes through the door and leaves his doubts behind on the threshold.
He turns his brain off, running on autopilot and trusting in his training to face whatever awaits.
Muscle memory kicks in and well ingrained reflexes take over.
He watches Cerb push ahead down the hall.
Lines up behind Brock and they follow quickly behind.
Normally a two person stack to breach and assault would be unheard of but they have an extra four legged advantage that tips the scale and make it possible.
He periodically clears behind, as they follow the corridor. Processing what he sees and evaluating as they go.
First door. Corner fed entrance.
They proceed carefully to the last spot of cover next to the open doorway.
Cerb is back at Brock's side waiting for a command.
Clay glances down. No sit response. Clear to go.
He taps Brock's shoulder and in one smooth motion Brock enters first immediately turning to sweep the blind side. Clay follows focusing ahead sweeping the middle and opposite walls through his sector.
Look deep, sweep through, stay in your sector.
Still to this day it's Adam's voice in his head saying what he must have said to them a hundred times during Green team. Maybe a thousand. Its deeply ingrained now. A lasting legacy burned into his brain.
Job done, he drops back and waits for Brock to finish and form on him to exit back into the hallway.
They creep down the hallway and again he hears Adam's voice barking at them as if he is still perched above them
Efficiency of movement. Economy of Motion.
Clay reaches another corner fed room and short steps to meet the edge of cover, shifting his weight carefully in preparation and then takes a larger step out into a balanced assault position overlooking his sector.
Footwork. Footwork. Footwork. Your aim won't save you if you fall on your ass taking the corner.
Clear.
They continue down the hallway working room to room until on the fourth room, center fed this time and full of office equipment. Brock sweeps right while Clay goes left, scanning and pivoting when an irregular movement catches his eye from behind a desk near the wall.
A tango rises, gun in hand
Address the threat. Handle it. Move on.
Spenser unloads 1-2-3-4 shots center mass before his opposition knows what hit him.
There. Handled.
It was barely even a challenge.
Actually this whole entry has been too easy which is making him more uncomfortable with the situation if anything.
They continue methodically clearing, far too well trained to let up or give in to the dangerous assumption that there will be no one else lurking.
The expected larger show of force never materializes though and when they meet up with the rest of the guys in the main warehouse it's readily apparent that they also had a suspiciously easy time of it.
Clay doesn't need to cut the locks off the containers to know they will be empty. Nothing about this has been right.
Sure enough when they are all laid bare, it confirms the doubt that's been growing slowly and steadily inside him for the last few hours.
Something wasn't right with their Intel package.
He and Jason are finally on the same page with that and he doesn't even need to say it aloud because Bravo 1 is already on the coms with Havoc base making it clear that someone fucked up royally.
Clay winces, listening to the blistering words pour through the open channel. He can't say he is overly surprised, and normally Jason wouldn't lay into their support team like this but there is a point to be made here to all the politicians, foreign analysts and other blowhards they've been saddled with all the way along and presumably are following their progress along at the command center. Things have been a little bumpier than usual and tolerance levels a little bit lower than normal.
Unfortunately this particular bump could be costly. This hiccup has slowed them down substantially by putting them here in the wrong place at the wrong time and that could have deadly consequences. Judging by the thinly veiled anger and cool chill to Jason's tone he is well aware of that fact as well.
Seeking something useful to do Clay drifts away exploring outwards in the hopes that maybe there is at least some evidence that might point them in the right direction. He notices most of the team doing the same, conveniently leaving a wide berth around their leader who sounds like he might blow at any minute. Whatever the motivation they are already well on their way to doing a second pass through of the building when he hears Jason give the official order to spread out and search.
Clay ducks into a smaller storage room, a few doors down from the main loading area. A quick glance through tells him this isn't where he is going to find any sort of paperwork that might be of use for tracking importers, exporters or further fleshing out routing. He goes to exit but sees Jason storming down the hallway towards the only remaining room down that way and quickly decides that maybe this one might need a more thorough comb over after all.
Spenser cracks open a few boxes, verifies an invoice or two and then figures he's probably played chicken long enough and he should actually get on with doing his job. Testy team leader or not.
He heads out into the hallway and follows the corridor down in the direction a fuming Jason headed to check in and see what if they can formulate a new plan to try to salvage this mess.
Part of the way down Clay pauses and then frowns as his radio squawks a connection point but then goes silent. He waits for further communication but nothing comes. Maybe some sort of interference or a radio malfunction? When Jason doesn't follow up on it it he decides he better take it into his own hands and toggles the communicator and says "Radio Chec…:
He doesn't get the second word fully out when a wave of heat blasts him off his feet and sends him crashing into the nearest wall and then down to the floor in a chaotic and unexpected flight.
When the world somewhat rights itself again he is on his stomach. Face pressed to a dirty floor watching his uneven breaths blow puffs of dust up into the air. .
He blinks a few times trying to clear his cloudy vision, when that doesn't work he shakes his head gently but stops when something wet drips down into his eye further obscuring his line of sight. Clay raises a hand to swipe at it and then stares at the steak of blood on his trembling fingers.
When his eyes manage to refocus he takes in the partially destroyed hallway. Tracking the damage back further down the hallway to what looks like the epicenter of the devastation.
Fuck.
Jason was down there.
Adrenaline clears some of the fog and he tries to get up. Forces himself to all fours but gets no further, braced on his hands and knees as the walls seem to move around him and the ringing in his ears intensifies rather than abates.
Still the promise of what lies beyond and the unrelenting need to get to his leader has him trying to push off and get all the way up.
He doesn't get far, ends up partially more upright but slumped back into a semi sitting position resting heavily on his knees and ankles while he wavers and sways unsteadily.
Clay registers hands on him first and then in a lagging, somewhat warped delay panicked voices come through in short staccato bursts that cut in and out. People are shouting in his ear, Trent's face blinks into a small window of clarity in front of him but he lets his gaze unfocus again, stares blankly right through him and down the hallways at the carnage.
He tries to get up. To go see what must be somewhere there and this time a hand on his shoulder foils his efforts, pushing against him and causing him to fold almost embarrassingly easily. Concerned faces swirl around him with lips moving but their voices are lost to the ringing thats back and stronger than ever. He gets the gist though and tries to tell them he's fine. He's just not sure if anything actually came out because no one seems to hear him. .
Or if they do they ignore choose to ignore it. Trent taking his wrist and holding fingers to his pulse point. Clay registers a sharp pain as if from a distance. He can tell it probably hurts where the man is pressing. Broken maybe. Sprained at least. But can't be bothered to care right now.
That's the least of his concern right now. He needs to get up. They need to get to Jason.
Faces press back into his line of sight and demand things off him but he still can't make out what they are saying and doesn't really try to.
Jason
He needs to get to Jason.
He pushes them away. Making another attempt to get it his feet, this time he feels Brock assist him and his teammate steadies him until he gets his knees locked. Upright now, hand on the wall to stay that way, he tries to push past them but Trent isn't having it. He holds Clay in place and then attacks him out of nowhere with a bright light that causes another explosion. Pain lances back through his eyes, past the sockets, running along every nerve and firing back through his skull and drilling down into his very core.
Clay bats the offending flashlight away, slamming his eyes shut and swallowing hard against the nausea. They don't have time for this.
Cerberus bumps up against his side looking anxious and he wonders if maybe the dog gets it at least.
Beyond that Sonny is peering down the hall with a flashlight, evidently relaying information back to base, Clay slowly starts to register some words amidst the infuriating high pitch tone that cuts in and out intermixed with deathly silent patches almost as if someone keeps pressing and unpressing the mute button on his life.
"...Explosion... unidentified source. Bravo 2 …... ambulatory….. Assessing now."
After a few seconds Clay clues in to the fact that he is only hearing one side of the conversation and that the usual buzzed response of Havoc is missing in his ear. He fishes around and locates his ear piece dangling and jams it back in with clumsy fingers.
It doesn't make much of a difference, more static and more noise cutting in and out that he has a hard time following so his attention drifts back to a more reliable sensory input and he watches Sonny climbing over some of the rubble, sweeping down the hallway with his flashlight.
Clay knows what he is going to find.
That certainty jars him enough that he finally finds his voice. Clearing his throat around the smoke and the dust and the emotion clogging it, and hoarsly forcing out his first word.
"Jason"
When they still don't seem to get it he spells it out more urgently, fighting to find moisture to continue on with.
" Went ...down there"
Trent and Brock's eyes widen, their hold loosens.
Free now, Clay staggers after Sonny, legs somewhat steadier until he stumbles over a chunk of cement that used to be a wall. He rights himself quickly, pushing onwards.
He has to know.
Even though deep down he already does.
He studied the plans well enough to know that that room is a dead end, no exits, no windows.
Or at least that's how it used to be. Now he can see the explosion has ripped through and opened up large gaping holes and collapsing sections of what used to be the rear structural wall separating the loading bay from a storage room.
So no, that explosion wasn't survivable. There is no way to even pretend otherwise.
And if there was its quickly shatters when he gets close enough to smell it.
Long before he can see past the chunks of walls still standing he knows what he will find in the room. The distinctive odor of burnt flesh easily overpowers the chemical residue and the smoke still lingering in the hallway as he approaches crushing any and all hope.
He finds Sonny in the middle of the floor, kneeling next to what's left of their leader.
It isn't much and if Clay didn't know, hadn't known from the second he realized what happened, he would have sworn it couldn't be Jason.
Next to the body Bravo 3 looks smaller and more broken than Clay ever thought possible. The man is frozen, staring helplessly at the mess before him, and doesn't respond to his entry. The Texan's face a wildly vivid mix of all the sorrow and rage and everything in between and all the same emotions slam into Clay full force again threatening to send him backwards just like the explosion. His stomach rolls and the acrid burn of bile threatening to escape coats his mouth as he braces himself up against one wall waiting for the world to find its proper axis again.
When it rights itself he is back in that dark, wet, alley in India. The smell of garbage, and tumeric, and charred skin all mingling together. Adam's shrivelled corpse, steaming and smoking and missing parts of limbs.
With effort he pulls his head out of memories but reality is no better. In fact the carnage is actually worse this time. Whatever went off here was no homemade S-vest and it was in a confined space. What he's looking at doesn't resemble Jason at all, barely resembles much of a human body. Could be practically anyone except that Sonny has a singed, but distinctive, set of dog tags clutched in his shaking fist so its not.
He almost wants to laugh. Its an absurd reaction to an absurd situation that he never in a million years imagined he would be reliving.
Three years with Bravo team and two of his leaders, two of his mentors ended up incinerated on his watch.
He wants to pinch himself and wake up because honestly they can't be this unlucky. They can't be doing this again.
He slowly starts to register words in the the insistent buzzing in his ear starts to take
"….sitrep…. went quiet.."
". …. Respond…...Status"
"All stations this is havoc base what the hell is going on?"
He looks around and in another soul crushing moment of dejavu realizes that once again that task is on him. And this time Ray isn't here to step up for him this time so he is actually going to have to be the one to break the news.
"Bravo 2 to base, I pass fallen eagle" He hangs his head and forces out the words through a tightening throat "We lost Bravo 1"
His ear reignites with questions and words and this time he simply chooses not to hear them.
When a silence falls again he realizes that an answer probably was expected and that he probably has to have the answers going forward. Not just for Havoc but for the team.
He takes his best guess at what he figures they were asking about.
Probably.
He's finding it hard to care right now, desperately embrace any sort of numbness or apathetic approach that will make this more bearable.
"It was some kind of explosion. Don't know if it the room was rigged or what but Jason took the brunt of it. Didn't have a chance."
The words come of his mouth in a strangely detached manner. It's a voice he doesn't recognize, one that could be talking about some random stranger rather than a close friend and teammate.
That doesn't last long because as soon as he hears a response involving questions about a "Cas Evac" things get real again. In a flash of well remembered pain he is back on the plane from Mumbai sitting with Adam's flag covered casket, kneeling and lifting with the team as one, sitting through the service and watching his wife and kids mourn.
Fresher and more acutely painful thoughts start to crop up as well because this casket which will be lighter than that one was, there's less of him left. And where there was a weeping widow to console the kids, now there will just be two kids burying their second parent in as many years.
How is he supposed to look Emma or Mikey in the eyes and explain how he let this happen. How their only remaining parent won't be coming back because of him.
"Bravo 2 respond"
Blackburn's voice is sharp and insistent he realizes he probably spaced out again.
Shake it off.
Adam's voice chides him, sharp and clear. Demanding better.
Not so hard right? Not so easy either. It felt impossible then. Now it feels absolutely incomprehensible. Except...
Get your priorities straight.
This time it's Jason's voice calling him out. Urging him to get his shit together and to focus on what matters and what can still be changed.
So he follows orders. Both sets of them. Locks the emotions away, slams down the barricade and tells himself there will be a time and place for that later.
He can at least do this. He can do this for Jason. Prioritize completing the mission and getting Jason's team home safe. If nothing else he can do that for him.
"Bravo 2 to Havoc, Negative on the Cas Evac. We are charlie mike to the second location"
"A-firm, Bravo 2. Charlie Mike. Let us know what you need"
Clay clears his throat and straightens up. Looking around him at the remaining members of their team all wearing very familiar dazed expressions of disbelief, anger, shock, and misery.
For a second no one says anything and then finally Sonny spits out his first words.
"We ain''t leaving him here. Not like this."
He glares up at Spenser from the ground with red rimmed eyes and a look that promises swift pain to anyone who comes near him to try to say otherwise.
Clay sighs internally. Knowing on several levels exactly what the man is feeling, and not exactly enthused with the prospect either. But they need to get moving. They need to complete this mission.
"Local military will maintain the perimeter. No one will touch our guy but us. RIght now though we have a job to do. If those women did already get moved then they are in even more danger now. Even if none of these buddies got a call off, even if the explosion didn't get noticed, someone is eventually going to figure it out when one of their friends doesn't check in. We have one window to get this done and it's now."
That's enough for Brock and Trent, spurring hesitant action that shows they heard it and are preparing to leave. Sonny on the other hand doesn't respond and doesn't move.
Clay tries again, still hoping logic will get through.
Son, Jason would have made the same choice, cuz he knows those kids need us more than he does. We can't help him right now but we can help them."
Sonny looks away pointedly, his first acknowledgement of Clay's words but he still refuses to make eye contact and doesn't move or speak apart from silently shaking shoulders.
After a minute it becomes clear this isn't going anywhere so Spenser tries one last tactic. He creeps carefully closer and then lowers his voice for his friends ears only.
"I seem to remember a wiser, more experienced operator once telling me that Now ain't the time to mourn. It's the time for payback."
He hopes Sonny will recognize his own words, understand the sentiment, and maybe just maybe find a little dark humour or irony in the role reversal from when he was spouting the same lines trying to coax Clay away from Adam's side not all that long ago.
He knows he's stuck the right chord because Sonny finally gets up, still looking determinedly away while he swipes his sleeve subtly over his face on his way up.
Only then does he finally turn to give Clay a grim nod. Sonny clears his throat and says gruffly "You forgot better looking."
Clay gives a dry laugh that maybe turns partly into a sob, and reaches out to clasp him on the shoulder, squeezing once before letting his arm drop.
They exit as a team, one short, pale and silent in what already feels like a funeral procession. In short order they reach the vans and pile in, consciously trying not to focus on the extra empty seat that wasn't there on the way in. Trent eases the van away and Clay stares takes one last long look back at the building. From the outside there are no visible signs of damage. He can see a few plain clothes officers moving in to stand guard but apart from that it looks the same as when they arrived, almost as if they were never there. As if this never happened.
God he wishes that was the case.
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Jason opens his eyes to disorienting darkness and a chill seeping in from whatever cold surface he is lying on. Within seconds excruciating pain overwhelms him and he tries desperately to breathe through the spike of fear that accompanies it. He doesn't remember how he got here, or where here is exactly, but there are vague memories of panic and desperation that tells him it probably wasn't good and obviously it didn't go well. His breathing rate increases, sparking new aches in his ribs and his back and hell pretty much everywhere.
He reaches for his radio and his hand comes up empty where it should be. Fuck.
Jason reaches around tentatively by his side, trying not to move but feeling increasingly desperate to find it. His hand ghosts over a damp patch on his leg and he remembers the blinding pain of being stabbed. His fingers wrap find the fabric still wrapped around and he knows it needs to be tighter so he twists and pulls, as best he can from this position. He isn't sure how effective it is but the pain ratchets up substantially so he figures that probably means he got it at least a little tighter.
That small effort has his head pounding, thoughts swirling. He tells himself his team will come for him, he just needs to hold on. Just need to ride it out a little longer. He's not sure exactly when his eyes closed because the darkness is all the same but slowly the discomfort lessons and he drifts deeper and deeper down until he knows no more.
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I wasn't planning on beating up on Clay this time - oops. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯