by J. B. Havens
“When did you start all of this?” As usual she pushed the immediate unsolvable problem aside and instead focused on what got us here.
“Aunt Beatrice, it’s a long story. I was caught in a nasty situation in Afghanistan. The long and short of it is that I proved my worth, saved my men, and I became the first member of Steel Corps. I lead them now. I can’t tell you more than I already have. I’m sorry. They used those phone messages I left you to track you; along with my death certificate.”
“That was the worst day of my life. The day those men came to my door and told me you were dead. You weren’t even supposed to be in the field! You were supposed to be behind a computer somewhere!” She was shouting now; the men were looking and trying not to. It was a big plane, but it wasn’t that big. There was no way for us to not be overheard. All of the men were listening raptly; I could feel it. Until now, they didn’t know any of this; they didn’t know how or why my aunt was targeted
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t enough, but it was all I had.
“Sorry isn’t good enough, young lady. Until I started getting those phone calls, I was a mess, sunk into my grief over you. I thought I was going crazy when I heard that first message…,” she trailed off.
“I shouldn’t have called. All of this is my fault.” Guilt was eating my insides like a cancer.
“Don’t you dare say that, Bea! Don’t you dare even think it! I’m glad you called. Just hearing your voice saved me from sinking into an abyss.”
“It’s against protocol,” I said softly.
“Screw your protocol!” Her beautiful face twisted with anger. I had put her through so much already, and here I was, dragging her down again.
“Aunt Beatrice! There’s a reason our families are told we are dead. This is it, right here. So this doesn’t happen. The things we do... there is no room for family in our lives.”
“How sad for all of you. Good thing I’m here now. I can mother you all.” Her voice was firm and resolute.
“Aunt Beatrice, you can’t. My Master Sergeant will have you out of here as fast as he can. Don’t get your hopes up. Where we’re going, we’ll have a little time together, then that’s it. I’ll be gone again. We need to get rid of this threat, then you will have to return home.” I pointed to the rest of the plane, the team no longer trying to hide their interest in our conversation. “The men and I aren’t around enough for you to mother anyway. If we aren’t on a mission, we’re training for one.”
“It’s true, Beatrice,” Pierce said. “Though, Mic, we do need a cook in the worst kind of way.”
“I could be your cook! You know I love to feed people! I would only need an assistant from time to time.”
I groaned. Usually it was Flynn getting me into these messes. “Pierce; Aunt Beatrice; no. It can’t happen. You’ll just be in more danger. Not less.”
“I have to disagree with you there, Mic.” Jordon surprised me by speaking up. “She couldn’t be safer than in the arms of Steel.”
I threw my hands up in the air in defeat. “Fine, go ahead. Bring it up to Jackson. I dare you. I want her there more than any of you could ever know, but I refuse to get my hopes up. He won’t allow it.” I dug my iPod out of my pack and slipped in my ear-buds. It was rude, but I didn’t give a crap. I wasn’t having this conversation.
Aunt Beatrice smacked my arm, much to the delight of the men. I ignored her. I felt like a teenager again, struggling for my voice to be heard. It was not a feeling I enjoyed. ‘Mad World’ by Gary Jules washed over me and I let the lyrics carry me away. At least until we landed; then I would be back in the shit and I knew Aunt Beatrice wasn’t satisfied with the answers I had given her. I was looking forward to the jog down memory lane about as much I wanted another bullet dug out of me. My leg gave a twitch at the memory.
****
Rook relaxed back into the large leather seat. During his military career whenever he flew, he was stuffed into one of those huge C-17 troop transport planes, packed in like a sardine. This was traveling in style for sure. Plenty of leg room and no one constantly bumping into him. The whole jet was apparently designed for large men and their deadly toys. It was an unexpected and very welcome luxury. Anyone who had ever been crammed into a coach seat on a commercial flight knew this; try doing it five seats deep with smelly, overly loud men. Not something he wanted to do again if he didn’t need to.
He took his time observing everyone around him. Mic and her aunt were deep into conversation; Jordon couldn’t keep his eyes off Mic. There was something between them—it was obvious to everyone. It was comical how they tried to hide it. Why they even bothered, he wasn’t sure.
Jones appeared to be sleeping, though Rook was pretty sure he was faking. He was a sniper; he could sit still for days if he needed to. There was nothing as calm, quiet, or deadly as a sniper. Rook would do his best not to piss him off; if such worry was even necessary. Jones seemed level-headed, but it was hard to tell with the quiet ones.
As of yet, he was unsure of his place within Steel. But standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Pierce back there had been everything he ever wanted. He had loved the comradery with his brothers in the Marines, but he hated the red tape and bullshit that held them back from being as effective as they could be. Steel unleashed them and let them actually make a difference in the world.
He had been with Steel for only a day and already had been in a firefight. He couldn’t wait to see what else they had in store for him. He just needed to be careful to ensure that his past remained secret. There were some things that were better left unsaid.
****
“Buckle up, ladies; we’re landing in a few,” Flynn said over the loudspeaker.
I held Aunt Beatrice’s hand as we began our descent. The Wonka House was the safest place for her and us. It was nearly impenetrable. Like any good soldier, I knew that a breach team could break through just about anything, given enough explosives. However, we could cover and defend every single opening in our fortress. Anyone attacking us would immediately feel the pain of hot lead ripping his body apart.
We landed on a small airstrip at a tiny forgotten airport about fifteen minutes from the Wonka House. We were on the outskirts of Rothenberg, the next town over from our compound.
“Okay boys, let’s go. Two vehicles. Flynn, you drive the lead car; Pierce, follow with the second.” My orders given we gathered our gear and disembarked.
There were two Suburbans waiting for us, kept here for this express purpose. We separated into groups and climbed in. We could all fit into one, but it was too tight. The men had bitched enough that we finally ordered a second one.
I climbed into the passenger seat of the first Suburban with Flynn in the driver’s seat. Aunt Beatrice got in the back with Jordon and Rook. Pierce, Jones, and all of our gear were in the other one.
“Try to keep it under seventy, Flynn,” I said, settling back into the seat. The dark road before us was illuminated by the headlights, twisting and turning through the trees. Houses were few and far between. Large plots kept the neighbors from being too close, which suited our purposes perfectly.
“Bea, tell me about this bunker-thing we’re going to,” Aunt Beatrice spoke from the back.
“It’s a safe house. Which doesn’t really explain it at all, honestly. It’s so much more than that.”
“It’s the coolest, most rad, and most intense fort you could ever imagine,” Flynn said. “Being in the Wonka House is like a little kid being in a multi-story tree fort with gun turrets.”
“While that sounds like lots of fun, Flynn, it doesn’t really explain anything,” Jordon added.
“I forgot you haven’t been there yet.” I turned in my seat to look back at him. “You’ll like it. It’s got a track.”
“Our safe house has a track?” His eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. I really liked how he said ‘our.’
“You’ll see soon enough. We’re here,” Flynn said, slowing as he made the turn into the gravel driveway. Th
e stones crunched and pinged under the Suburban as we made our way to the house set at the end of the long lane. It was your standard split-level house, though on the small side. It was blue with black shutters and a red door; very American looking. Nothing set it apart from thousands of other houses all throughout this area, which was exactly the point.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Jordon said.
“Very observant of you,” I replied as I took a small controller from the glovebox. It looked like a small TV remote, but appearances can be deceiving. When we turned onto the lane we had engaged a silent alarm. Right now, there were alarms screaming and screeching in the control room, which I shut off by pointing the remote at the sensor hidden in the security light which was currently blinding us. Four digits later, the light turned off, which was our signal that it was safe to proceed without the other security measures engaging.
I pressed a different set of numbers and the door on the small attached garage rose up silently, the lights inside automatically turning on. We drove into the pool of light as I again entered some numbers on the remote. Flynn stopped with the front end only about half-way inside.
“Now comes the really fun part, Jordon. Aunt Beatrice, don’t worry. It looks crazy, but it’s very safe.” No further words were necessary as the concrete floor just in front of the Suburban began to vibrate and slowly lower. A ramp opened up in the floor of the garage like magic; though magic it was not, just giant hydraulics and damn impressive engineering.
“What the fuck?” Jordon gasped. I knew what was coming as soon as ‘fuck’ left his mouth. Aunt Beatrice hauled off and whacked him in the arm.
“Watch your language in front of me, young man. Talk however you want when you’re alone, but you will keep a civil tongue in your head in my presence.” The shock on his face was beyond comical. Flynn was laughing like a mad-man and I just smiled.
“Yes, ma’am,” he wisely said, rubbing his arm. There was really no other appropriate response. Only I knew that when Aunt Beatrice was upset, she cursed as bad as the rest of us. This was her way of trying to make up for it.
Flynn swallowed the rest of his laughter and drove us down the ramp. While not overly steep it had enough of a downgrade to make you grab your seat. It was a short ride. At the bottom, the narrow tunnel opened up and there was enough parking for eight vehicles to fit comfortably. Jackson’s truck wasn’t here yet. Odd that he didn’t beat us here.
Everything around us was concrete and recessed lighting. It was what was hidden behind the concrete that made this place so amazing. Thick plates of re-enforced steel surrounded the foot thick concrete. It would take so much more than bunker bombs to breach our house.
We exited the vehicles and quickly gathered our gear. I hit the remote and closed the ramp. The noise from the hydraulics echoed all around; we patiently waited for it to stop before speaking. It was damn loud down here while it closed.
“I get the Wonka reference now. Small on the outside, big on the inside. Clever,” Jordon said. Rook didn’t say anything. He was silent as ever, taking his time looking at everything. He quickly noticed the only weak point, the elevator.
“What now, Bea?” Aunt Beatrice asked, holding her robe tightly closed against the chill.
“Follow me,” I said, stepping over to the elevator. Next to the shiny steel doors was a small recessed panel and a key pad. I entered my ten digit code, a beep sounded and the light flashed green. The door on the small panel slid up and I put my face close to it. A green light beamed out and scanned my right eye, first back and forth, then up and down.
“Holy crap, Batman; enough security measures here?” Rook said.
“Enough, yes,” I replied. The pad beeped again, turning the light yellow. The keys slid back and a flat scanner slid out. I placed my left palm on it and waited as I was once again scanned by a green light. Another beep sounded and the light changed to red.
“Done yet?” Jordon asked.
“No. Now shut the hell up.”
“Name and rank,” an electronic voice asked from the panel. There were a lot of hoops to jump through, but they were damn effective. The chances of anyone getting my biometrics, the codes, and my voice were slim to fucking none.
“Staff Sergeant Michaels,” I spoke clearly into the panel.
“Security phrase.” I changed this after every visit. I tried to keep with a theme, to make it easier to remember.
“August 26th, a day to remember and one I always forget.”
“Welcome to Wonka House. Enjoy your stay, Steel Corps,” the voice said before beeping a final time. The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.
“What’s August 26th?” Jordon asked as we squeezed into the elevator. There were three levels to the Wonka House; we were going to Sub-Level Two first. I pushed the button and the doors slid closed.
“I could tell you, but then….well you know the rest,” I said. It was my secret and that is how it would stay.
It was a short ride. The typical elevator bell sounded and we trooped on out.
“This is the level you’ll probably spend most of your time on, Aunt Beatrice. It has our quarters, the kitchen, and a common room. Sub-Level One is more for the team, with our war room, a shooting range, and the medical center.” I walked her down the hallway. It was carpeted, but that is where the comforts ended. The walls were concrete block, painted a soft grey. “Sub-Level Three houses our weight room, the track, and a decent-sized swimming pool. This is all set up in the event that we need to live down here for years, if necessary. There is a large stock of MREs and canned goods. For now, though, Jordon and Flynn can go to the store to get supplies whenever you are ready. Just give them a list.”
“Hope there aren’t any zombies…,” Jordon said, trailing off. He seemed spooked, looking behind him and all around.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Jordon?” I asked him, truly bewildered.
“Well, it’s like Resident Evil down here. I feel like I’m in The Hive. Where are the bio-labs and shit?”
“They’re on Sub-Level Four and only Mic or Jackson can access them,” Flynn told him, completely deadpan. Jordon paled and took a step back toward the elevator.
I rolled my eyes. “He’s just fucking with you, Jordon. Christ, there are no zombies! No bio-labs. Un-bunch your girly parts and let’s get going.”
“Bea! Watch your mouth! You’ve always had a foul mouth, but this horrible.” Aunt Beatrice gave me her best mother-glare-of-death.
Just off of the elevator was a hallway with our quarters. Each was a simple room with a small bathroom. Nothing too fussy, but still comfortable enough. At least we didn’t have to share bathrooms. That was something I had strongly spoken against when we began the design.
“Here’s your room, Aunt Beatrice; mine is right beside you.” I pointed to the two doors to our left. “The rest of you guys will just have to check out the other rooms and call dibs.”
Aunt Beatrice poked her head into her room and seemed satisfied enough. There was a twin bed and a desk and chair. Along with a dresser and a small wall-mounted TV, those were the rooms’ only contents. They were built to be functional and nothing more.
“Follow me; I’ll show you to the common room and the kitchen.” We continued down the short hallway. It opened up and out into a large room at the end. The common room had thick carpet and even some posters and paintings on the walls to break up the starkness of the blocks. Couches and chairs were arranged in front of a giant flat screen. There was an air hockey table and a pool table.
“Homey,” Rook said, flopping down on the couch and quickly propping his boots on the table.
Aunt Beatrice looked as if she was going to say something to him, but I shook my head ‘no’ at her. There were times to tell the guys off, like she did with Jordon in the car, and there were times when not to tell them off. This was one of the latter.
“Over here is the kitchen, Aunt Beatrice. I think you’re going to be suitably impressed.” I opened
the double-hinged door and flicked the light on.
A giant expanse of stainless steel and culinary wonder was revealed. Her gasp of surprise echoed back to us. Long tables and counters were sheathed in gleaming stainless steel, and a giant Viking range with ten burners and two ovens was the focal point of the room. An industrial sized fridge was more than large enough to accommodate the amount of food required to feed these men.
“Bea, this is amazing. I can’t wait to put it to use. It looks like it’s never been touched.”
“It hasn’t been much. We haven’t had to use this place that often. And when we have been here, it’s only been for short periods, when eating MREs was easier than getting groceries and a cook.”
She walked deeper into the kitchen, running her hand along the edge of the large table in the middle. She touched each knob and dial on the stove and opened the fridge, only to find it bare.
“I haven’t gotten to spend a holiday dinner with you in over five years. Even with all you’re going to have to deal with to keep me safe, I’m thankful to be here. I’m making a grocery list. Tomorrow is going to be Thanksgiving.”
Chapter 6
Later that night or morning considering the time, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep was more elusive than usual tonight. Seeing and being around Aunt Beatrice brought even more of my past to the forefront of my mind. It had already been working its way closer to the surface, and now it was oozing out.
A knock on my door startled me out of my thoughts.
“Who is it?” I called out. I couldn’t be bothered to get up right now.
“It’s me,” said Aunt Beatrice. I should have known this was coming; I had hoped that she would have held off until tomorrow.
“Come in.” I sat up, pulling a pillow into my lap. I clutched it tight as if it would protect me. “It’s late, why are you still awake?”
“I think you know why, Bea,” she said simply, sitting down beside me on the bed.
