by J. B. Havens
I threw my tray on the dirty pile in the chow line and shouted the men to attention. Every single one of the toughest motherfuckers on the planet stood and saluted.
“New guy! Get your ass up here, front and center. Double time!” I pointed unnecessarily to a spot in front of me. He hustled up in a running shuffle trot and snapped to attention. A quick salute and back to rigid attention. I knew he’d stand there just like that until I gave him orders.
On the track this morning he hadn’t seen the stripes on my shoulder but they were there now and I saw the shock in his eyes. Surrounded by the five other men, who were big in both body and skill, he wasn’t so different from them in appearance. So what about this one stood out enough to get Jackson to bring him here? Time to find out.
“Name and rank,” I barked at him in a tone that would make any drill instructor envious. Inwardly, I was giggling with glee. I loved this superior stuff.
“Corporal Chris Jordon, Ma’am. Um…Sergeant.” He flushed so red and so hard I thought he was going to faint. His right hand twitched next to his leg, no doubt remembering that an hour ago he had grabbed my ass. His lip was a little swollen and split but all of his teeth seemed to be there. I had to fight to keep the smile off my face. It was a serious effort.
“It’s Staff Sergeant Michaels, Corporal Jordon! Do you see these stripes on my shoulder? Three on top, one on the bottom. That means I outrank you. You do what I say, when I fucking say. You got me? I’m your Staff Sergeant and second only to God and Master Sergeant Jackson. This is MY unit.”
“Hooah! I’ve got you Staff Sergeant!” He must’ve been really nervous if he was saying hooah instead of yes. He was former Air Force, hooah is an Army thing. He’s freaking out a little bit inside and it showed.
“Welcome to Steel Corps, Corporal. We’re the biggest, the best, and the baddest motherfuckers that ever had the balls to walk out of hell.” A huge war cry shook the room. Those were my boys. I let the pride I had in them fill my eyes. “You were given to me to shape up into something resembling a member of Steel. Over the next two weeks I’m going to pull you apart and see what your insides look like. Are you soft inside or Steel?”
“Steel, Sergeant.” Looking into his face and eyes so dark green they looked black, I almost believed him. We would see what he was made of.
“Steel Corps, assemble in the yard ready for drills in ten. Full gear. Let’s give Corporal Jordon here a proper welcome.”
I did my own stalking routine out of the mess hall, smiling all the way. This was going to be a good day. It took me years of ball busting and head bashing to get the respect I have now. Mission after mission, tying them all closer together into one tight unit. I wouldn’t let anything come between me and the hard won respect of my men.
I headed to the hangar to grab my flak jacket and gear from my locker. Mustn’t be there after the boys. I needed to be geared up first and waiting in the yard when they assembled.
Chapter 3
Walking into the open hangar, my steps echoed back to me I headed left to our grey lockers; though to call them lockers doesn’t do them justice. Each one was big enough for me to stand in easily. Metal mesh doors were locked with combination locks. We needed more space than a simple locker to store our toys. Each man has a flak vest, a molle vest with lots of pockets we can add and remove depending on our needs, a helmet, and a radio. I really loved the molles because they are fully adjustable with straps, which helps with my narrow shoulders and breasts. Hard to get a good fit in gear made for boys. We can also add MNVD; i.e, night vision to our helmets. After the standard pack comes the really fun toys, guns and explosives. We each have two main weapons to choose from, mission specific. The Heckler & Koch MP5 sub machine gun, nine millimeter with a thirty round mag and collapsible stock. Ideal for, close quarters battle (CQB).
Then comes the second choice, the M4 carbine. It has a shortened barrel, also with a collapsible stock. The battle sight looks like something straight out of a video game, a scope type design you put right against your eye. If you add on the pump action single shot M-203 forty millimeter grenade launcher, it turns into the ultimate weapon for just about any need. I like the MP5 for urban combat but, in the field or bush I want my M4 with a thirty round mag.
I strapped on the vests and adjusted the straps, clipped the radio to my belt, and put the ear piece in. Next came the helmet. I bent over and smushed it on while slicking my hair back. I’d have a serious case of helmet hair when we were done, but at least it was out of my eyes. I left my M9 where it was on my thigh and debated back and forth over the rifles. I could never decide. If I could carry and fire both, I would. I made my decision and grabbed the MP5, collapsing the stock, and putting the sling over my head for front carry.
I slapped a magazine in and double-checked the safety. Carrying live rounds is always a risk. I only had them today because we would be doing some target practice on the range. I squeezed the pressure grip and checked the flash light on my hand, all good. We would be in the panic room after the march, so I’d need the light. No night vision was allowed in the panic room; that would be cheating.
Letting the MP5 hang from its sling, I put on my gloves and checked the safeties and straps on all of my weapons. Good to go. There was a mirror in the back of my locker and I caught a glimpse of myself before shutting the door. I looked like what I was. A short and curvy woman bristling with weapons. I gave myself a grin and slapped the lock shut on my locker. Time to go play.
I was waiting in the yard, which was actually a combination training area and landing strip for our UH-60 Black Hawk and our wicked Gulfstream G650ER. The jet was in the hangar with our two Humvees and other toys but the chopper was set down to the right of the hangar. Being secret black ops meant there were some downsides, like no families or spouses but we sure as shit got the best gear. The jet alone came with a price tag in the sixty-six million dollar range. American tax dollars hard at work.
As I watched, the men began to march out and gather before me one at a time. All looking pretty much the same except for a few weapons differences. First up was Sergeant Jones with his sniper rifle. He is a former Marine, but doesn’t really look it. Lean and trim like a swimmer, there isn’t an ounce of fat on him. He can disappear almost before your very eyes. If there wasn’t a dead target to show for it, you’d never know he had been there. He is the perfect blend of geek and deadly soldier. He can hack into anything and do a hostile takeover without breaking a sweat. When it comes to technology, he knows it as well if not better than wind conditions and the powder in his rounds.
Next came Corporal Flynn and Corporal Pierce, both former Army Rangers. Inseparable, they have been side-by-side since basic training. These two are the best pilot and explosives guys I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. Flynn can fly anything with wings or rotors and drive anything with wheels, roads not necessary.
Pierce stays cool and level-headed, even faced with a mine field or a suicide bomber. Both had their MP5s but instead of the standard-issue M9, they have their forty fives, matching Sig Sauer 1911 Fastback Nightmare’s in thigh holsters. Sleek, black, and sexy, in the way only a truly magnificent pistol can be.
Last on scene were Sergeant Phillips and our cherry Corporal Jordon. Phillips is our combat and tactics guy, who is more or less a massive male equivalent of me, but with advanced medical training. He was carrying his M4 with an M1014 combat shotgun strapped to his back. I did say full gear and he carries it everywhere. You wouldn’t think such a large guy could be either quick or quiet, but he’s deadly at both. Jackson recruited him from the SEALs. There is a grudging respect between the two of us that is hard to explain. We don’t like each other but we respect and trust each other to take care of our men and get the job done.
Jordon stepped into the line last, and at the same time they all snapped to attention before I could call out the order.
“Good morning ladies. We’re here today to break in our newest member. We’re going to start wi
th a ten mile march, so I hope your canteens are full.” A chorus of groans went up at the news. “Stop you’re bitching, I’ll be right there with you. We need to show Jordon here what it is to be Steel. The march is just a warm up.” I gave them all the evil grin I’d been fighting all morning.
I stepped up to Jordon and looked him in the face. It’s hard to be intimidating when someone is over a foot taller than you, but I managed somehow. Practice, practice. Like a good little soldier, he didn’t look down or acknowledge that I was even there. I checked his gear, including the safety on his weapon. He’d chosen the MP5 also, but lost the M9 in the thigh holster. I know what I was doing was mildly insulting, but I hadn’t seen him shoot yet and I wasn’t going to let someone with a loaded weapon at my back without checking the safety. It was also a test to see if he’d rise to the bait. It wasn’t just his physical prowess I needed to be sure of, I also needed to get a feel for how he was mentally. The quickest way to do that was to needle him and push him until he started to unwind; that’s when I would see what was really on the inside, by stripping away the outside one layer at a time.
“Your weapons are in good order, Corporal. I like that in a man.” I gave him a wink that brought the blush back, then raised my arm and gave the roll out finger swirl. I heard them fall into line behind me, marching in perfect time with my pace. I led the way onto the rocky trail that disappeared into the dense forest surrounding the compound. While it was cooler in the shade of the trees the humidity hung heavy in the air, so thick it could support weight. In the forest, rocks were hidden by pine needles and fallen leaves, making the march treacherous. One wrong step and you could be in a hole or on a sharp rock hiding unseen in the leaf litter. Squirrels chattered at us angrily as we passed their oak trees where they were busy collecting acorns. Birds were chirping and cicadas were singing. It would be a peaceful hike, but fast marching wearing fifty pounds or more of gear in seventy percent humidity made anything other than lounging in a hammock really unpleasant.
****
Corporal Chris Jordon narrowed his eyes and steadied his weapon as he marched to the tune in his brand new Staff Sergeant’s head. He gritted his teeth before he remembered that his mouth was sore. She was a real piece of work, that one. The only thing keeping him from writing her off completely was the respect and regard plain as day on the other men’s faces. He could see the tight knit group they were and wanted to break in and be a part of it. He knew the only way to do that was to man up and take everything they dished out. If, and only, if, he earned their respect, would he be a member of Steel. He didn’t know if Mic had the veto to kick him to the curb if she thought he didn’t measure up but he was sure as shit her recommendation carried a hefty weight with Master Sergeant Jackson.
When he hustled into the hangar, that morning he thought it would be typical training stuff and hazing the new guy. He had gotten his share of ribbing from Pierce and Flynn already, but mostly all he had heard about was Mic. Mic said this and did that. You’re going to love Mic. Then they pointed out a fine looking female running like demons were on her heels and said to go grab her ass. He knew it was some sort of test, but did it anyway. Going back to the hangar after being laid out by a tiny little thing was hard enough; going to chow to find her strutting in wearing her Staff Sergeant stripes with the realization that she was his NCO was like a hammer between the eyes. He couldn’t even gather himself enough to eat his breakfast that morning. All he could do was stare at her. Trying in vain to catch glimpses of those awesome tattoos so many times that Pierce had punched his shoulder and called him lover boy.
He kept his eyes front as they continued on the forced march. He could feel the miles slipping away under his boots with every rock and leaf-strewn step and this was just a warm up. Shaking his head, he thought, ‘Fuck me, fuck me, what did I get myself into?’
He kept his eyes on the back of the crazy NCO in front of him and ticked the miles by in his head, hoping he was keeping up to her satisfaction. He wasn’t going home, he was going to be a member of Steel, no matter what it took. There was no giving up in him. She’d have to drag him to the gate by his hair to get rid of him. A rueful grin cracked his face at the thought of her tiny frame trying to drag him along. It gave him another bolt of energy until he felt like there really wasn’t fifty pounds of gear dragging on him and it wasn’t that hot either.
****
“Flynn! Hit us up with some of your marching tunes,” I said. This was one of the best parts of a march, seeing what crazy thing would come out of his mouth next.
“Affirmative Sergeant,” he said and cleared his throat. “Repeat after me boys.”
“Fat bottomed girls…” Flynn beat out to the rhythm our feet created.
“Fat bottomed girls...” the boys and I sounded back to him. I could see where this was going and was trying to decide if I wanted to let it play out when he shouted/sang the next part.
“…make Jordon’s world go round.” The laughter was plain in his voice.
“…make Jordon’s world go round.” we all said back; except one voice was noticeably missing.
I choked back my laughter and told Flynn in as gruff of a voice as I could manage, “that’s enough music I think.” The laughter they were capable of producing while running was music enough. Everybody had to be a freaking comedian. Someone, most likely Jordon, muttered; “Fucking Flynn” under his breath, causing another round of half choking laughter to ripple through the men.
I saw the ten mile marker ahead on the trail and sprinted to the finish. My breath was rasping and my heart was beating out a frantic tattoo in my chest. Fatigue tried to drag at me, but I shook it off. This was only the beginning. We had a long way to go before I could hit the rack. For the men behind me, it was going to be even longer.
They all arrived seconds behind me, walking back and forth, slowly trying to cool themselves. I took a long drink from my canteen and they followed my lead. Jordon removed his helmet and poured some over his head, shaking the water off and down his neck and chest. I took a second to appreciate the sight of a handsome man all sweaty and wet, then saw red.
I advanced on him, one carefully placed step at a time. Pierce and Phillips saw me coming and beat a subtle retreat. The others stood behind me. Panting heavily and drinking slowly, I think they had an idea what was coming and didn’t want any bits of Jordon landing on them.
“Jordon! What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” I stood two feet in front of him. Yelling wasn’t really necessary; it was more about tone of voice. Layer number two was about to be ripped off in a painful jerk.
He snapped at attention and tried to give me a blank face, but the confusion was too great to hide. He really didn’t get what I was bitching about.
“Sergeant.” was all he said. It was a safe thing to say when you didn’t want to add to the vicious tongue lashing speeding your way like a bullet train.
“I asked you a question, Corporal.” This wasn’t just training to me right this second. I was genuinely pissed the fuck off.
“I’m drinking water, Sergeant.” Way to state the obvious, fucktard.
“What is on my head and the heads of the men behind me?” It was such a small thing, but I’d seen men hit in the head with shrapnel that a helmet would have deflected.
“A helmet, Sergeant.” His voice was grim.
“Don’t they wear helmets in the Air Force?” I was practically snapping the words out.
“Yes, Sergeant.” He was glaring at me, embarrassed maybe that I was dressing him down so hard for something that he thought was small.
“Why isn’t it on your head then, Corporal?” I gritted the words out between my teeth.
“I was hot, Sergeant.” Such a dumb ass. I heard grunts and chuckles behind me. Someone muttered “idiot” under his breath. I jerked my fist up and the noise stopped.
“We’re all hot, Jordon, but you don’t take your fucking helmet off until I goddamn say. This may just be training, but in the field
you wouldn’t take it off, would you?” If glares could kill, he’d be a bleeding pile of half-assed soldier on the ground.
“No, Sergeant.” His voice was guttural with anger. Like I gave a crap.
“Boys, tell him what he obviously doesn’t know.” I spun on my heel and walked away. It was Phillips that piped up and gave him the what for.
“When you’re Steel, you are ALWAYS in the field. Even in training. No lapses, ever. Mistakes DON’T fucking happen with us. That’s why we’re the best.”
I watched as Jordon put his helmet back on and pulled the straps tight. Each movement and jerk expressed the rage gripping him. Fucking hell. Such a stupid rookie mistake. I turned on my heel, giving Jordon and the others my back. I could hear him grumbling at himself under his breath as I continued forward into the trees. He could be pissed off all he wanted. Jordon being butt hurt didn’t change a damn thing, for me, or for him.
Chapter 4
I stepped out of the thick trees and bushes onto a secondary compound. You couldn’t even see it until you pushed through a few box woods and around some mountain laurel with their giant pink and white flowers. Usually, we drove here in our Humvees on the road that was just visible to the left of where I stood. It wasn’t much of a road, more of a logging trail. One of the many that crisscross these mountains, left over from days gone by when logging was the main industry in this area.
