Core of Steel

by J. B. Havens

  “I wouldn’t be going if I wasn’t. For fuck’s sake, no way would I put you guys in danger like that.” Flynn might come across as the resident class clown and screw off, but he had ice in his veins just like the rest of the team. The near death experience rattled him like it would anyone else, but nothing would keep him down for long. He shook it off and went back to work. Shit happened; everyone was going to die someday, it was just a matter of when and how. If he was perfectly honest, there was no other way he would rather go than doing what he loved best. Flying was his release, where he was truly free.

  Pierce studied him intently, reading all of this on his face. They had been friends for so long that words weren’t really necessary, not that Flynn applied that too much. More often than not, words sprang from his mouth when they shouldn’t.

  “I got you, man.” Pierce held up his fist for Flynn to bump. They clinked the necks of their bottles together and resumed watching TV, knowing that they were solid and good to go. Flynn didn’t bother to ask Pierce if he was good to go. Nothing rattled him on a mission. He had a one-track mind when in the field—deadly focused and precise. It came from working with explosives so much he guessed, where one wrong move or misplaced wire would mean the end of them all. With that heavy weight bearing on Pierce, there was no room for anything else but cold calculation.

  ****

  Jones and Phillips were going through a similar routine, only with less talking. Both enjoyed a wonderfully cold beer and psyched themselves up for the morning. No one would sleep much that night, they wanted to enjoy their beds while they had them. For the next few days or a week they would be sleeping in jump seats on planes or bouncing around in the back of a Land Rover. There would be no cold water, let alone beer. There would only be thick heavy heat, clouds of smoke, and pools of blood. It didn’t take much for any member of Steel to hear the pop of rifle shots or the ground-shaking boom of grenades. Just like any soldier who has seen combat, the sounds and smells of war were never far away. They were frightfully easy to recall, and brought back in bursts of color and sound.

  There was more to preparing for this mission than packing the right gear or cleaning their weapons. They needed to mentally prepare themselves to dive into the belly of the beast and crawl back out. They needed to prepare for the possibility that some of them might not return from this trip. They would always do everything in their power to keep that from happening but as evidenced by the stars in the war room, it was not always the case.

  ****

  While Mic and the men were preparing to fight the good fight Lincoln Adams was making preparations of a different sort. It was very late, and deadly quiet, which was exactly what Linc had been waiting for. He needed to take the server uniforms he had stolen and hide them in the storage closet next to the service entrance. He had been instructed to get one female uniform and one large male uniform. He couldn’t fathom why they would be sending a woman into the hell hole, but Yanks were a crazy lot and there was never any telling what they would do.

  He bundled the clothes into a small laundry bag that would go unnoticed. If anyone stopped and questioned him, he could just tell them he was going to do some wash. All of Mateo’s men gave him a wide berth; they knew he was valuable to Mateo and didn’t question anything beyond that. Too many men had been brutally sacrificed to teach that lesson. Do not question El Jefe or his orders, not if you valued your life.

  In stocking feet, Linc crept down the hallway leading from his room, down the stairs, and to the small closet. He heard voices and quickly ducked inside, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He stuck his ear to the door, straining to hear. There were two men talking and coming closer. His heart was racing with the fear of discovery. He could not blow his cover now, not when tomorrow night he would be putting this all behind him.

  “El Jefe is slipping, using too much blow. It’s fucking with his head.”

  “What the fuck can we do about it, Carlos? Nothing, that’s what. I’m not risking my head or my hands.”

  “Be a pussy then, Hector. I’m going to offer my services to the Frenchie at the party tomorrow. I’ll offer to take care of El Jefe and give all our business to the Frenchie.”

  “You’re fucked in the head. I’ll be sure to give your head to your mama after Mateo cuts it off your stupid neck.” The voices faded away down the hall. A door slammed somewhere upstairs and Linc breathed a little easier.

  Setting the wash bag in the corner, he retraced his steps back to his room. He had a lot of thinking to do. He didn’t expect that he would be getting any sleep tonight.

  This was fucked. Beyond fucked. Linc had two choices. He could let them carry out their plans tomorrow, let them do the dirty work for him; or he could tell Mateo and slide deeper into his good graces. Maybe he would have the chance to get the Frenchie’s name. But ratting on those two would mean a death sentence for them and maybe for their entire families; a horrible, sick, fucked up, death at that. Could he live with the blood of innocents on his hands for the chance to get this name? Were their deaths worth it? This was just the opportunity that the team coming in would need.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning I waited in the hangar next to the plane for the men to arrive, leaning my back against the plane with my pack sitting at my feet. I had already geared up, with my weapons loaded and slung across me. I crossed one heavy boot over the other and mirrored the movement by draping my arms over and around my MP5. I had my M9 strapped to my thigh as usual. The only difference in my weapons choices today were that I added a few extra knives. My KA-BAR was on my hip but I had added a switchblade to each boot. They rubbed, but no way was I going in that death trap with only one knife. As it was, I would have to leave my rifle behind. It would clash with my maid’s uniform. I was hoping to be able to tuck my M9 in somewhere, but I wouldn’t know until I had the stupid dress on.

  I was here ridiculously early considering I had hardly slept at all last night. I had eaten a quick breakfast that wasn’t sitting very well. I crossed and uncrossed my ankles over and over. I couldn’t settle or find the icy calm I was used to. I was worried about Jordon and his injuries. I was worried about all the things that could go wrong today. I had to find a way to sort this shit out or I wasn’t going to be any good to anyone. And that was unacceptable.

  Back at my locker, I dug out my MP3 player. Slipping in my ear buds I tapped the screen until I found the song I was looking for and hit repeat. It wasn’t a fitting choice for war or assassinations but it calmed me in a way sometimes nothing else could. Hozier’s, Take me to Church soothed me like a balm for my soul. It wasn’t even a particularly happy song but it spoke to me in ways I could not explain. His voice and the piano were magic. I lay flat on the bench in front of the lockers, closed my eyes and lost myself in the music.

  A light tap on my shoulder had me jerking awake. I hadn’t even realized I had fallen asleep and I was disoriented. I sat up and stood too fast which had me sitting back down just as quickly. A bottle of water was shoved into my hands and I took it without even looking at who had handed it to me. My mouth felt dry and sticky at the same time. I downed half the bottle before really opening my eyes all the way and seeing who was in front of me. It was Jackson.

  I took my ear buds out and gave him my full attention. His expression was grave. Something was wrong with the mission, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.

  “What happened?” I unintentionally left off his rank but it didn’t appear as if either of us cared right now. I hadn’t ever seen Jackson look quite this way. I had a very bad feeling about what he was about to tell me.

  “New intel just arrived. I don’t know how he got it out and to us so fast, but it’s good he did.” Jackson sat next to me with a heavy sigh. Never a good sign.

  “Just spit it out and make it fast.” I looked at my watch, the men should be arriving any minute.

  “Linc apparently overheard some of Mateo’s men planning a palace coup for tonight. One
man in particular is planning on offing Mateo and offering the whole enterprise up to the Frenchie on a silver fucking platter. We can’t allow this to happen. MI-6 has tasked Linc with getting as much information on the Frenchie as he can before we get there. If we fail, the Frenchie gets more powerful and more dangerous.” Jackson scrubbed his hands over his face. “Another objective has been added. MI-6 wants the Frenchie taken out as well.”

  “Fuck me! God dammit mother fucker.” I stood and kicked the bench over and over. We didn’t have the man power for this. The mission was already spreading us too thin; add in another target and we were treading into fantasy land.

  “Chill the fuck out, Mic. I know you need an extra man to pull this off, that’s why I’m coming along for this one.” He couldn’t have shocked me more if he had told me he was boffing the Queen Mother.

  “Come again?”

  “I’d appreciate a little more faith than that Mic. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been in the field.” Pulling me by the arm, he towed me over to the table where he spread out the map of the mansion.

  “Jackson, just fucking no. You are not coming with us. The only good news here is having someone already planning a coup means it wouldn’t be as hard to fake it.” I was taking a huge risk talking to him this way.

  “I don’t believe you get to tell me what to do, Mic.” He said in a deadly calm voice. I was pushing him and I knew it. But I had to. I couldn’t risk him. He wasn’t old in the conventional sense, but he was too old to be running through the jungle with people shooting at him.

  “Jackson, I’m speaking as a friend. You can’t do this. Hell, when was the last time you had someone shooting at you? When was the last time you had to wash blood off your boots when you got home? We’ll find another way; there is always another way.” I had an idea actually. It wasn’t like there was an absence of bodies on this compound. We have Marines guarding our gates. We would read one of them in just enough so they didn’t get killed. I just needed someone to take Phillips’s place so he could be in the mansion with Jordon and myself.

  “Granted it has been a while, but I’m not seeing another choice here, Mic. You need an extra man. No way can you pull this off without an extra body.” He didn’t want to go, but he didn’t trust anyone else to do it.

  “We take a Marine off the guard shack, make him sign in blood, threaten his life if he talks, and brief him on the mission just enough that he knows his place. That’s it. I just need him to take over for Phillips. Phillips can get in there and take out this fucking Frenchie, no problem.” It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best we could do in the time crunch we were in. Better than Jackson going in for us. It was risky as hell, but I had my ways. I could make damn sure that guard knew that if he spoke a word, I’d personally cut his fucking tongue out with a butter knife.

  “Alright, Mic. Go pick your man. But if this blows up in your fucking face I won’t be able to save you. This is a huge collaboration between us and the Brits. There is not room for one single tiny fucking inch of a fuck up. Got me?” His big chocolate eyes blazed with intensity. I knew that if this went south, it was not just my career and life on the line, it was Jackson’s as well.

  “I’ve got you, Master Sergeant,” I said to his retreating back.

  With that I folded up the maps and went to find me a grunt to sacrifice. Who knew? Maybe he could be a filler man more often? The problem was I didn’t know any of the guards. For obvious reasons, we don’t speak to them. They have enough security clearance to know that we were a black ops unit but they know nothing beyond that. They don’t know our name or what our missions entail. All they know is that if they speak of anything they see, they will be convicted of treason on the spot, they will not see the inside of the courtroom, they will not get a fair trial, and they do not have the right to face their accuser. They will just rot in an isolation cell in Leavenworth until they die of old age or go insane. Got to love the good ol’ U. S. of A.

  I drove one of our Humvees down to the guard shack at the second gate. I don’t usually ride around in a Humvee on base. They might look cool, but they were a damn shitty ride. I pulled up to the small structure with its red and white striped gate blocking the road. It was just a deterrent. The real danger was in the spikes that shoot out of the ground if someone tries to drive through the gate. These are not the little pussy stop sticks that cops use. These are twelve-inch steel spikes that will not only destroy your tires, they will snag the undercarriage of the vehicle. Anyone stupid enough to continue, either on foot, or if by some miracle their vehicle is still operational they will be greeted by screeching alarms, halogen lights, and a few extra special homemade surprises, courtesy of Pierce. Only someone with a death wish would ever try to breach this compound.

  As I came to a stop, the three guards in the rather nice shack came out. The shack wasn’t really a shack. It was the size of a small apartment, fully loaded with amenities like an actual flush toilet, small shower, TV, and Wi-Fi. There was a nice couch and a few chairs, besides all the high-tech surveillance equipment that linked with the control hub in the hangar. We could control and see everything in the shack from that hub.

  Getting out to meet them, I looked them over. The man closest to me was average height with a small bit of red hair showing under his helmet and a solid build. Stocky, I would call him. The second man, who was walking towards me, was the one in charge down here today. He sported Corporal bars on his arm and chest. I didn’t see any hair, but he was cut and lean, topping out at around six feet tall. I ignored the last man; I already knew that I wanted the Corporal. I could see it in his eyes, he had a look about him that agreed with my gut. This was the man I would take into hell with us.

  “Staff Sergeant,” the Corporal said.

  “Come with me, Corporal.” I gestured for him to follow me back to the Humvee.

  “With all-due respect, Staff Sergeant, I can’t leave them a man short. Until a replacement gets here, I can’t leave my post.” Smart man, following the rules. Before he was even finished talking, another guard was headed down to us. I didn’t speak, just pointed at the man jogging down the road. He fell into step behind me without another word.

  Once in the Humvee, I drove us up to the hangar in silence. We walked past the men finishing the last of the preparations and I took him into the war room.

  “Have a seat, Corporal.” I sat at the table across from him, unslinging my MP5 and gently placing it next to me on the table. Time was running out, I thought, as I looked at my watch. We needed to be in the air in twenty minutes. Any longer and the whole timetable for this mission was fucked. No way was I going to make this already crap-tastic situation any worse.

  He was looking around, seeing our emblem and the stars on the wall. As a guard, he had never been granted access to this room. He took off his helmet and set it before him on the table. His hair was very dark and buzzed so close to his scalp, he should have just shaved it off. He had a long scar extending down from just above his ear, down the side of his face, and curving below his earlobe. Looked like a knife wound. So he had seen pain and death in combat like the rest of us. He’d have to do. He was waiting for me to speak like a good little Marine.

  “I’m sure you are wondering why you are here, Corporal. First of all, what is your name?” Just like us, they had rank on their uniforms, but no names.

  “Riley, Ma’am. Corporal Andy Riley.” His voice was surprisingly deep.

  “Ok, Riley, I don’t have time to mince words or hold your hand. We are leaving for a mission in a matter of minutes. You have a choice here, but at the same time, not really. I will debrief you on the plane, but basically it’s like this. I need an extra man and you’re it. Make no mistake though, you are NOT a member of Steel. I have a paper here for you to sign.” I slid the official gag order paper across the table to him with a pen. “This says that anything you see, hear, do, or otherwise experience from the moment we walked into this room until the moment you go back to guard du
ty will not be spoken of. EVER. If you do speak of anything that you know about this mission, our team, or anything involved in either, you will be immediately convicted of high treason. You will be sent to Leavenworth, where you will spend the remainder of your miserable fucking life in a tiny cell, with only yourself for company. There is no trial, no jury, no fucking anything. You have no rights when it comes to this. Got me?” I stared straight into his dark eyes and waited. He didn’t make me wait long.

  With a curt nod, he bent and scrawled his name across the line. “Affirmative, Staff Sergeant.” He pushed the paper back over to me and put his helmet back on.

  “Good, Riley. First off, call me Mic, everyone else does. Understand this, I am in charge. Period. You follow my orders to the fucking letter and we will have no problems. Fuck this up and I will bury you.” I stood and slung my weapon back across my chest and opened the door to the hangar. All the men were gathered near the lowered steps of the jet, waiting for us.

  “Riley, Jordon is around the same size as you, he will lend you a set of gear to change into. Go get changed and gear up. We need to get this show on the road.” I looked at my watch again, we had mere minutes to spare.

  “Come on ladies, time to go. Get your asses on the plane. I will explain once we’re in the air.” I ignored the grumblings coming from them and followed my own orders.

  The outside of the jet looked like everything you would expect from a business class jet. It was black and silver with sleek lines and two big Rolls Royce engines. Inside on the other hand, the jet was everything an expensive corporate jet wasn’t. There were nice buttery-soft tan leather seats and gleaming wood details and that is where the similarities ended. The lights were low and the carpet thick and soft. The juxtaposition of such luxury with battle-hardened warriors never failed to wring a smile from me.