Core of Steel

by J. B. Havens

  Core of Steel

  Steel Corps Book One

  J.B. Havens

  Core of Steel

  Copyright (c) 2015 J.B. Havens

  All Rights Reserved.

  Core of Steel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Playlist

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by J.B. Havens

  Connect With Me!

  Acknowledgments

  The list of people to thank for helping to create this book is a long one. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I quickly found that it also takes a village to write a book.

  First and foremost, I want to thank my amazing and wonderful husband, Mike. You have supported me every step of the way, listened to me ramble on about the people in my head, and kicked me in the ass when I needed it. I love you.

  Next, are my Mom and Aunt Linda. Thanks for being my sounding boards; thanks for listening to and believing in me. For all that you do, I thank you. This is for you two!

  To Will Mc. You crazy Irishman you. You’re my editor-in-chief, my proof-reader, my friend. Thanks.

  To Casey, without whom this book would not be in your hands, dear reader. Thank you for showing me the light. For geeking out over books with me. For the coffee. Oh yes, for the coffee. One of these days we’ll see if we can get tossed from Dunkin!

  To United States Army Sergeant (Ret.) Nobel Havens, whose superb military advice helped make this book what it is. Thank you for your service to our country and your continued service to your community. One of these days we will have to meet up and go shooting, cousin.

  To Eric, dude! Beta reader extraordinaire, doctor (sort of), and amazing person. Thanks for the surgery pictures, it’s nice to know what bones look like.

  And to my kids, you children of the candy corn. I hope one day you read this and see what Mommy was doing all that time on the computer. I did it for you. For us. I love you all.

  Lastly, to you, dear reader, thank you for picking up this book. Thank you for giving Mic and the boys a chance.

  Playlist

  Nine inch Nails-Bite the Hand that Feeds

  Hozier-Take Me to Church

  Red Hott Chili Peppers-Californiacation

  Breaking Benjamin-Rain

  Breaking Benjamin-I Will Not Bow

  Korn-Coming Undone

  Frank Sinatra-Come Fly with Me

  Johnny Cash-Hurt

  Flogging Molly-Devils Dance Floor

  Disturbed-Indestructible

  Godsmack-Voodoo

  Godsmack-Serenity

  Dropkick Murphy’s-Shipping up to Boston

  Korn-Got the Life

  Rob Zombie-Superbeast

  Johnny Cash-The Man Comes Around

  Prologue

  The pain was settling deep into my muscles. A vicious throbbing ache that was going to take weeks to get rid of.

  I caught another fist with my face, the crack echoing in my ears, pain exploding throughout my mouth. Today was just not my fucking day. I spit blood in the general direction the hits were coming from. Feeling around with my tongue, I counted my teeth. Yup, all present and accounted for.

  “Fuck you. You hit like a girl.” Another solid hit added to the growing agony spreading throughout my body. Fucking guy was too arrogant to cover my face, some hostage taker he was. Needed to go back to ‘How to Kidnap 101.’ This stinking foul beast of sex trafficker had proved smarter than he looked, I had to admit. Sniffed me out and blew my cover. Too little, too late, to save him. We would still bury each and every one of these fuckers.

  “Not so tough now, are you? Tied up and beaten, you’re just another cunt. I’m gonna keep you around. Get you all healed up nice and pretty, sell your ass and everything else. I’ll make a tidy couple G’s off you before you kill yourself.” He whispered in my ear, his breath smelling like he hadn’t seen a toothbrush since the 80’s.

  I laughed in his face, twisting my wrists nearly to the breaking point. I jerked them from the ropes binding me to the chair. Finally!

  Not giving him a chance to react, I slammed my closed fist into his throat. He gagged and gasped for air. I didn’t waste any more time. I smashed the heel of my hand up and into his nose, crushing it and shoving the bones deep into his brain.

  Blood gathered under him in a pool, where he lay twitching and seizing on the disgusting floor. Brain was done for, his body still figuring it out.

  Lookie there, just like a snake.

  I untied my legs and willed them to work as I stood. Stepping around his body, I relieved him of his weapon and radio.

  I fiddled with the radio, tuning into a little used frequency. At first I got nothing but static.

  “Blue Jay calling Black Bird, Black Bird do you copy?” Like avenging angels, my team was on the way.

  “Blue Jay, copy, Black Bird here. Procced with Operation Kill Joy, Radio silence. Over.”

  Creeping to the heavy wooden door, I cautiously peeked around the corner. Clear left, one target on right. I slid out, holding my stolen pistol in front of me.

  What I wouldn’t give for a knife right now…

  Chapter 1

  I sank into some stretches, trying to work out the kinks left over from our last mission. Today was my first day back, both to the track and my normal warm up. At least this time around I had no serious injuries to contend with, just some left over stiffness in the muscles of my arms and legs. Being tied to a wooden chair for days will do that to you. No new bullet holes to report; for me at least, can’t say that for the other guys. I slipped my ear buds in and the pounding bass of Godsmack filled my head. I finished up my stretches and slid my Ray Bans on to guard against the glaring summer sun.

  Tugging and twisting the elastic band that held my iPod on my arm, I set off. My feet hit the dry packed dirt of our track and I beat out a rhythm with my feet to match the pounding of I Stand Alone. The drums and bass were thump thumping in time to the blood rushing through my veins and the sweat dotting my brow and neck. My lungs were heating up in the thick humid air as I gasped with every running step.

  My neon pink sports bra was already sticky with sweat, my shorts tight on my thighs, stretching and pulling with each powerful pump of my legs. The advantage of running around our track, rather than in some yuppie gym, was that I could run in just my bra without some meat-head hitting on me. I finished my first lap, only four more to go to get in the daily run. I rounded past our operations hangar, glancing out of my peripheral vision as I jogged pa
st. The guys were there, warming up and pumping weights; getting geared up for the same run that I was doing.

  Being the only girl in our specialized unit means that I have to run farther and faster just to keep pace with a bunch of guys the size of moving mountains. Being five foot four and one hundred and twenty pounds means that I’m outweighed and outclassed in almost every way. I can do the same take down moves and shoot better, but being a chick means I just don’t have the body mass to make too much of a difference against these guys. Good thing they are my team and not my enemies. So why am I a part of this team if I’m so much smaller? I’m fast and I’m quiet. I can sneak in and out of small spaces and slit someone’s throat before they even open their eyes. I’m an extraction specialist. Which means if one of our boys or a civilian finds themselves trapped behind enemy lines or chained in a POW camp, I’m the girl that goes in and gets their sorry ass. Me and my team.

  Normally I would just do my run and head to chow without paying too much attention to the guys. Today was different, though. A new guy was delivered in like a freakin’ Christmas ham late last night. A smile tugged at my mouth. Fun times today. Getting to screw with the new guy was always entertaining. On a classified compound in the backwoods of the Appalachian Mountains in Pennsylvania, entertainment was hard to come by.

  I finished another lap and saw the whole team pushing the new guy out onto the track and pointing to me. His long and powerful legs ate up the track at an impressive speed and thick arms pumped along in time with his legs. It was going to take more than an impressive set of pecs to get anywhere with me, though. What’s between the ears mattered more. His hair was cut so short that it was hard to tell what color it was, some shade of brown. He was wearing a tank and shorts like the rest of us. Thick, all black tribal tattoos covered his shoulders and ran halfway down his ripped biceps. We all had at least one or two tattoos. Mine are on my back, shoulders, and upper biceps, down to about my elbows, just like his. Wings ride down my shoulder blades and both sides of my spine to disappear into my shorts. No feathers here; steel plates, chain mail, and rivets make up the graceful sweep and curves.

  The smile I had been fighting was breaking out in full. My muscles were warm and loose. My blood was heated and pumping with the adrenaline and anticipation of what was to come. I hoped one of the guys had the camera ready. This wasn’t just about hazing him in, it was about making him understand that I might be a small female but I would fuck him up. I couldn’t trade punches with the guys but I got through by anticipating and reacting before they made a move, and by fighting dirty.

  He sounded like a lumbering giant behind me. I heard him clearly even over Voodoo. I made a mental note to make sure we took care of that. You can’t sneak up on someone when you sound like a freaking elephant. He was almost on me, right on my heels. My boots slapped on the dirt in an even rhythm. I heard the change in his stride and got ready for what was coming. I tuned out everything around me, breathing in deep and going on full alert, just waiting to see what he was going to try on me. A huge meaty hand palmed my ass and gave a hard squeeze. At the same moment my elbow snapped back at an upward angle, made contact and I knew I got him right in the mouth. I felt a sharp sting as his teeth cut my elbow. I spun on my heel and foot swept him, getting a good visual of his shocked expression and the blood running down his chin before he hit the deck.

  I leaned over him, with my hands clasped behind my back, and could see his green eyes rolling around in his fool head like he’s never taken an elbow before. I took out my earbuds and tapped them against my leg in time to the beat of Breaking Ben’s, I Will Not Bow. I gave him a big smile and offer a hand up.

  “Next time one of those fuckers over there try and get you to play grab ass, I suggest you take my advice. Don’t.” He was spitting blood and shaking his head. This was just too much fun.

  “Roger that, ma’am,” he managed to painfully choke out while taking my hand. I braced my legs and pulled him up with both hands. What the hell was with all the huge corn-fed fuckers ending up in my unit? Not a single one of them was under six foot.

  “It’s Michaels, not ma’am. Or Mic. Welcome to Hell.” I dusted off my hands, put my earbuds back in and continued my run. On this lap I went closer to the hangar and got a string of high fives as I ran past. Lots of whistling and hooahs going on. Bunch of animals. The sting of sweat hitting the cut on my elbow reminded me to clean it. The human mouth is a dirty freaking place.

  Chapter 2

  After finishing my daily run and PT, I hit the shower in my private cabin and went to go get some grub. The food seriously sucks here, but it’s better than no food. Eating MRE’s in the field and this crap here makes you learn to swallow fast before you taste much of anything. Even the coffee is like two day old tar with a side of gym sock.

  My heavy boots thud on the floor as I walk into the mess hall. Three tables are lined up horizontally in the center, chow line to the right, rec area along the left wall. Complete with air hockey, ping pong, and a huge flat screen with every game system you can imagine. Couches and recliners are haphazardly lined up in front of the TV. My short blonde hair is already curling out all over the damn place in the heat. No amount of bobby pins or crap will keep it contained, so I keep it as short as possible so I can hide it under my helmet and not have to deal with it. My stupid hair is a sore point of contention with me, especially when someone gets brave and tugs a curl. Or worse, calls it cute. These events usually end up with a head lock on whoever does it and them running around with me hanging off their back like a monkey. I have on the standard military chic. Black tactical pants with more pockets than God and a black cotton polo with my rank on the right shoulder tucked into the pants. No fabric trailing around to trip on or get caught up, nothing that will catch the light and reflect. An M9 standard issue nine millimeter sidearm on my right thigh, KA-BAR on my left hip.

  I wear the M9 and the KA-BAR at all times, even in the mess hall. Every member of the team is dressed more or less the same, a few blades added here and there. Rifles aren’t allowed in here; they are stored in our lockers.

  The cat calls and hooahs continue like they didn’t just do this an hour ago. The fresh bandage on my elbow gets some comments too. I give them the bird and sit down at my usual spot without a word. Saying anything is like throwing gasoline on an already huge bonfire. We may give each other shit to the point that normal people would be a bleeding heap on the floor, but we’re family. I trust each and every one of these guys to do what needs doing, whatever that means. Covering my six or digging a bullet out. The amazing thing is, they trust me to do the same. Case in point is the massive black man I sit beside, Master Sergeant Jackson. Skin so dark and shiny you can almost see your reflection in it, with his head shaved down to skin and reflecting the lights above us. His giant hands nearly engulf his coffee cup, his face twisting into a grimace as he takes a drink.

  I gave him a nod and a respectful “Master Sergeant” before digging into powdered eggs and fake bacon. The coffee is as expected but the caffeine keeps us all going. To say the Army runs on its stomach is true enough but you sure as shit better have some coffee too.

  “Fucking hell, Master Sergeant, this food is getting worse by the day. When are we getting a new chef? These guards are Marines, not chefs and it shows. Don’t get me started on this shit excuse for coffee. How hard is it to make a cup of fucking coffee?” The last private civilian chef left unexpectedly and suddenly, so we are floundering in a mess of tasteless food. Riots could soon ensue if we don’t get a qualified replacement.

  “Soon I hope.” Jackson grumbles as he swallows his own mess of gross egg-like crap. “Heard you gave the new guy a proper welcome, Mic.” His deep rumbling bass of a voice shakes the bench of the cafeteria-style tables. That same voice can raise over the sound of machine gun fire and exploding grenades to bark orders. It was a statement, but I answer the question it was.

  “Yes Master Sergeant, I did indeed.” I let the bit of pride I feel l
eak into my voice. It’s an unspoken honor, getting to break in the new guy. He’s got a ways to go though. Elephant feet. Which gave me pause. To even be considered for our unit you had to pass a gauntlet of physical and mental aptitude tests. You didn’t get here without being able to stalk quietly in the night. I decided to leave that tid bit out of my report.

  “What’s your assessment so far, Mic?”

  I choked down my rubbery bacon and answered honestly. “Took the hit like a man. I didn’t know we were getting him until first thing this morning though. Why do we need another man, Master Sergeant?”

  “At this point, you don’t know much more than I do. Anything else?” Jackson asked as he drained the last of his coffee.

  “Not many men can get taken down by a girl half their size and still get up with any pride intact. As for a man in the military, forget it. He earned respect today for getting up, spitting out the blood, and going to work,” I said as I finished my breakfast.

  Our unit is unique in that it is the best of the best of every branch. We’re not solely any one thing. We are the biggest and baddest from every corner of America. Munitions experts, explosives, tech, combatants, long range rifleman; (snipers) and me (extraction and undercover). Given a mess of ego, testosterone, and C-4, the man beside me smashed us together and made us a five man unit with one brain; his.

  “Glad to hear it. Pop his cherry and fast. We’ve got a mission in two weeks, we need him for it. Sorry I couldn’t give you more notice. The powers-that-be are holding this one very close to the chest. Assemble the team and get started. Have fun.” Throwing that bomb in my lap he stalked off. No one around here simply walks. We stalk, creep, and glide. Or if you’re a sniper you are just a fucking ghost. Poof and you’re gone in the shadows or the jungle with a thirty caliber rifle and the expertise to kill from a thousand plus yards.

  Hooah! Love my job. Our five man unit gets to be six. We never get much notice for missions, this was way more than normal. I’m generally happy with a few hours; two weeks is unheard of. Must be something big to bring in someone new with so little time to train him. We are all trained in the basics; but to be part of us, the Steel Corps, you have to be better than that. SEALs don’t have anything on our training. Normally, a new guy goes through six weeks of intensive training with us. We drill and drill and then drill some more until you can’t separate yourself from the man next to you. You feel him move before he does, you know where he’s going to be, what he’s going to be doing and where his line of fire is. There are no mistakes. If someone gets taken by the enemy, we are schooled in advanced interrogation resistance. We can lie to lie detectors and withstand torture without giving up more than our name and rank. Then I come in and drag your bleeding broken body out and patch you up before the next mission. Time to get to work.