Hardened by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  “No.” I pulled the hammer back; it was unnecessary on a semi-automatic weapon, but it got my point across. “I just spent the better part of a day under that bastard’s care. These women have been here for much longer. Either you help them, or I’ll kill you and your men can pick up your humanity from your brains that are about to be splattered onto their chests. Got me, fucker?” When he didn’t respond, I pressed the barrel harder into his forehead. “Listen here. We’re special operations. We don’t exist. We can’t help them. Take them, get them medical care, and we’ll arrange for transport to the U.S. Fair enough?”

  “Mic…,” Jackson started to say, but I cut him off.

  “No! They need help. These fuckers can get them to doctors. Then you get on the phone and get them placed in safe houses. That’s what’s going to happen, dammit! If they experienced even half of what I did, they need extensive medical care... food, water, the works. We can do this, I know we fucking can.” My speech was exhausting me, I was only just managing to stand and my hand was wavering all over the place. I was too weak to keep it pressed to this bastard’s head.

  “Si, we go.” He nodded and backed away. I lowered the pistol and handed it back to Jackson.

  “Now, can we get the fuck out of here?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I just threw open the double doors and limped into the cool night air. It felt amazing on my face and arms, so fresh and cool. Rain was pouring down in sheets, puddling on the walk.

  I stepped out into the rain, the water washing away the blood and dirt. I rubbed my hands all over my arms. If I had been alone, I would have stripped my shirt and washed my chest clean. As it was, the puddle under my feet turned brown, then a dull pink, as the refuse of my torture ran from my body.

  “Mic. What the fuck are you doing?” Rook shouted, trying to pull me out of the rain.

  “Why are we still here? I’m getting in that Jeep and I’m driving back to the airfield. I have to call the captain back. I told him to leave without me if I wasn’t back by nightfall.”

  “We already did. He’s on his way; that’s why we’re waiting. No sense in waiting there, piled into a small car while it rains like this.” Rook gently pulled on my arm again, but I jerked away. Jordon stepped up beside Rook.

  “No! I’m not going back in that house!” The bandage on my face was sodden and falling off, so I tore it away, throwing it into the mud. The rain stung and burned my face, but I tipped my head back anyway. I let the rain wash over me, absolving me and washing me clean.

  “Come on, Mic, let’s go.” Jordon took my hand and led me to the Jeep. “The jet will be there by the time we get to the strip.” He had my machete clutched in his other hand, no doubt knowing I would want to keep it. I took it back from him, the weight comforting me like a security blanket.

  “How did you guys get here?” I asked him.

  “We brought a chopper in, then hiked the rest of the way.”

  “Wait!” Jackson shouted from the doorway. “Take Flynn and Rook with you. Rook can patch her up while Flynn returns for us in the Jeep. Leave the chopper where it is, if the Mexican military wants it back, they can come get the fucker.” Jackson turned back to the house, leaving the door open behind him.

  “Come out of the rain. I have to get my gear before we leave.” Jordon tugged on my arm, trying to get me into the Jeep.

  “I need some air, dammit. I’ll wait out here.” I jerked my arm from his grasp and walked further from the mansion. I stepped over debris from the explosions; an engine block lay about twenty yards from the remnants of a truck body. Dead corpses of the guards littered the area, along with what appeared to be hundreds of rounds of spent brass. The boys put up one hell of a fight to get me. It was amazing that none of them were wounded beyond a cut or two.

  The rain began to let up slightly and the moonlight broke through the clouds, its white shine lighting the way enough that I didn’t trip. As I rounded the corner of a house, I stopped in my tracks, frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

  Mercedes stood in the middle of the street, dripping wet and filthy. She must have been out here the entire time.

  “This is all your fault,” she said slowly advancing.

  “Mercedes. What are you doing here?” I needed to stall. I had the machete, but I was alone. Finding myself in the same position as earlier but with only slightly different circumstances made me reach a new level of immense frustration.

  “I have to finish it... honor... demands... that I finish it. Finish this! Fault... all your fault…” She kept ranting as she drew a pistol from the small of her back. Stepping closer to me, she kept it trained on my head.

  “What’s my fault?”

  Keep her talking... just keep her talking…, I thought to myself as I slowly stepped closer to her. I needed to get into her space so I could disarm her.

  “Everything!” She screamed, becoming even more agitated. She advanced on me slowly, pointing the small Derringer at my face. Jabbing it closer with each word, she shrieked. “He’s dead and you killed him! He’s dead!” She turned her back and resumed pacing. It was then that I noticed she was barefoot; the bottoms of her feet were sliced open and bleeding. Each step left a tiny footprint in the thick mud.

  “I thought Julio would take care of you. He wanted you so bad, but Adolfo said no. Then you killed Adolfo! My only family left in this god-forsaken world! You’ve destroyed everything!”

  “You’re still alive. Not everything is lost, Mercedes.” I kept my arms at my sides, hoping the patchy moonlit darkness hid the machete.

  “I’m a shell. In a matter of hours, you took everything away from me. You killed me and now I must kill you.”

  I balanced on the balls of my feet, shoving the pain of my wounds aside. Stepping backward and to the right, I drew her out into the open street; I needed more room to maneuver. She was overly skinny, but anger and insanity makes even the smallest person strong. She didn’t fear death; I could see that in her madness-glazed eyes. I kept walking backwards, drawing her out.

  I could see the mansion again and I hoped one of the guys would look out a window and see us.

  “Mercedes, you don’t want to do this. My death won’t finish this. My death won’t bring Diego back.”

  “Don’t you think I know that, you bitch? This isn’t about bringing him back. This is about vengeance! This is about honor! I will kill you and follow him to the afterlife.” She had crazy on her side, but she lacked skill.

  Striking out with the machete, I smacked the flat of the blade hard against her wrist. Her hand fell open and the pistol dropped into the mud below.

  She rushed me, hands curled into claws, going for my face and eyes.

  Using my forearms, I blocked her and kicked her in the chest, forcing her back. Balling up a fist, I punched her in the jaw as hard as I could, which in my weakened state, wasn’t hard enough.

  She shook it off and kicked out, catching me in my already injured leg. The mud was slippery beneath my feet, making my footing treacherous. If I fell, I’d be dead.

  I grunted and nearly went down. She took advantage of the moment and rushed me again, slapping at my hand and wrenching the machete from my grasp. I stumbled backwards, desperate to stay out of reach of the deadly blade.

  “Now, bitch, you die.” She swung at me, lunging forward and chopping through the air. I ducked and bobbed; backing up with each vicious swipe, I barely managed to keep my feet. My back hit the wall of a house.

  Striking downward, screaming her hatred into the night air, she aimed for my head. Blocking the blow with my forearm, I caught her arm, but she still managed to hit me with the tip of the machete. Stinging pain burst from my arm as I felt blood trickle out. It was not a deep wound, just a painful one.

  Jerking hard, she freed her arm from my hold and drew back for another jab. I kicked her in the side of her knee. She shrieked in pain as the knee collapsed under her. She went down hard, mud splashing up around her. I didn’t give her time to recover. Swinging my le
g back like I was going to punt a football, I kicked her in the face, I tried to plant my foot inside her brain, putting the full weight of my body and heavy boot behind the blow. Her nose gave way with a crunch and blood flew out in an arch; splattering into the dirt and mud behind her.

  Her fingers finally released the machete from their grasp, and I scooped it up with my good arm. The wound on my left arm stung fiercely, but the bleeding didn’t seem too bad.

  She tried to sit up, spitting blood to the side and gasping for air through the destroyed remnants of her face. It looked like my heavy combat boot did more than break her nose; her orbital bone was shattered and her face was lopsided and swelling rapidly.

  “Kill... me,” she begged, bloody bubbles bursting from her nose as she kept trying to breathe through it.

  “Gladly, you fucking crazy-ass bitch.” I knelt one knee in the mud beside her chest and gripped her throat with my left hand. Pushing down and squeezing tight while I angled my right elbow and arm back, I prepared to drive the machete deep into her chest.

  I put my face close to her, leaning down toward her ear, her gasping breaths warm against my cheek.

  “You messed with me and mine; your husband died by this blade, wielded by my hand... and now so will you,” I whispered into her ear.

  I lifted the machete straight up and drove it into her chest, digging under her rib cage. I angled it a little wrong and caught a rib, the cracking of her bone loud in the small space. It sounded like chicken bones snapping under a chef’s hands. Her chest rose upwards, arching her narrow back off the ground. She gasped and gurgled as blood filled her lungs and throat. I wrenched on the blade; twisting it back and forth viciously, doing my best to hit her heart and shred her lungs. I wanted her to fucking die, right now.

  She twitched a few times, and finally her hands went limp against the ground as bright red blood welled up around the blade and slid down her side to puddle under her. The blood looked unnaturally bright under the white light of the moon. Her head fell to the side, hiding the swelling and bruises. Blood slowly trickled out of the corner of her mouth, running down her once beautiful face. Insanity had made her ugly, but in death she had relaxed back into the cultured beauty that she had been before madness consumed and destroyed her.

  Planting one foot for leverage, I gripped the handle of the machete with both hands, and jerked it free. The blade made a nasty, wet sucking noise when it pulled free from her chest cavity; it was enough to force bile into my throat... almost. I stood as blood dripped off the blade in a steady stream and gathered near my foot in a small puddle.

  The rain picked back up, falling harder, washing the blood from her face and the blade.

  “What the ever loving fuck happened now?” Jackson roared as he came around the corner of the house. I dropped the machete onto the ground and took a step back from the growing spread of blood.

  Rook and the others appeared seconds later.

  “You really need to try harder to keep your blood inside your body, Mic,” Rook snapped at me, taking in the sight of my new wounds.

  “Tell that to machete-wielding lunatics.”

  “Right. Well, get in the Jeep so we can get you patched up on the jet.” Rook stomped off the way he came, back in the direction of the Jeep.

  “At least we know she’s not out here plotting revenge or something,” Pierce said from where he was crouched beside Mercedes. “You really did a number on her, Mic.” He found her small pistol in the mud, inspecting it for a few moments before dropping it back where he found it. “Lucky she didn’t just shoot you.”

  “She was too busy ranting at me,” I said, leaning heavily against the house behind me. “Crazy will only get you so far; she didn’t know how to fight.”

  “True enough. Flynn go in the Jeep with Mic and Jordon. Come back for us once you drop them off,” Jackson said, before walking back to the mansion with a silent Jones.

  Jordon took my hand, pulling me to his side and supporting me as we hobbled my broken ass to the Jeep.

  “Shotgun!” Flynn shouted, running for the Jeep. Jordon released my hand and opened the driver’s door. He pushed the seat forward, ushering me into the back.

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I kept my hand pressed to my cheek; blood was leaking out from between my fingers.

  “Are you going to drive?” Flynn leaned over, brushing water off his face. Rook was calmly standing in the rain, ignoring us all.

  “Fine. Fucking jerks.” I climbed into the back and scooted over to the passenger side, pain wracking me from the movement.

  Rook took his cue and slid in beside me. “For fucks sake, Mic. You undid all my work. Bandages are your friend when you are bleeding from your face, dammit woman!” He berated me while pulling out his IFAK again to put a new bandage against my face. “Flynn, I need your kit.” Rook extended his hand over the seat, impatiently waiting. “Numb-nuts here used all my rolled gauze and threw it in the mud.”

  “Fuck off,” I gasped and jerked when he put pressure on my face, not even pretending to be gentle. I tried to pull back and make him ease up, but he just pressed harder and held my head still. We hit a large rock or something, rocking us sideways. I groaned in pain, my broken rib again making its presence known.

  “What happened in there?” he asked gently, his voice even and full of sympathy considering his touch was not.

  “I’ll tell everyone at the same time. After I’ve had some drugs.”

  Rook finished taping the ends of the gauze down and I leaned my head back, letting the rocking motion of the Jeep and the sound of rain lull me into a trance. It wasn’t sleep or wakefulness, but somewhere in between; a soothing limbo where I didn’t need to think or feel, I could just be.

  ****

  “Mic, we’re here,” Jordon said, as he shook me gently awake. “Let’s get you out of here so we can fix you up.” He slid an arm behind my back and slowly helped me step from the Jeep. I landed ankle deep in a puddle.

  “Really? I mean, really? Because I didn’t have a shitty enough day, now I have wet socks. Nothing is worse than wet fucking socks.” I grumbled and whined as Jordon helped me into the small hangar.

  “When will the jet be here?” I asked. My answer came in the sound of an approaching plane.

  “Now,” Rook said, casually leaning against the wall of the hangar.

  “I’m headed back. See you guys soon.” Flynn hopped in the Jeep and drove away with a splash of muddy water.

  Jordon kept his arm around my waist even though I was perfectly capable of standing on my own. I was debating whether I should use the ruse of my injuries to allow him to continue or if I needed to man up and step away from his comfort. Jordon decided for me by urging me to sit in the only chair.

  “They’re circling to land. I have the gear on board to stitch you up and manage your pain,” Rook said. “If there’s anything you need to explain about your injuries before the others get here, now’s the time.” He turned his dark head toward me, his long hair dripping water down his cheekbones and onto his still bare chest. I realized we’d left his and Jones’s shirts back in that basement.

  “I have a cut on my thigh, one on my elbow, and one on my face. A broken rib and some bruises. That’s the extent of it,” I was angry, and not in the mood to answers there fucking questions.

  “It’s just that I saw how you were tied up. If you were raped and don’t want people to know, Jordon and I will take it to our graves. But if you need medical care, I need to know.”

  “Listen, Rook. I meant it when I said I was not raped. He was probably headed in that direction, but you guys got to me first.” I gave him solid eye contact, hoping he would see the truth in my eyes. “Besides, rape is about power; not sex, if I was raped; which I wasn’t; I wouldn’t be ashamed to admit it.”

  “Okay, Mic, I believe you.” He turned from me and watched the jet land and taxi over to the hangar, the noise deafening and not allowing for conversation.

  The plane
came to a stop and the engines shut off, the silence a welcome relief. The stairs came down and we walked out into the rain. My bandage was again soaked in seconds. The pain was a dull throb in the background. I was still running on an adrenaline high, but I knew once I truly felt safe and relaxed I was going to want an injection of something wonderful.

  Rook headed into the jet first. I followed with Jordon close behind me. “How long do you think it will be until we take off?” Jordon asked.

  “As soon as Flynn gets back with the others; so maybe a half hour or so” Rook answered.

  Boarding the jet was like stepping into a luxurious paradise compared to where I’d been for the last day. It felt so much longer than a day; I was a different person from the one who had gone into that basement. Since the moment I saw those pictures, I had been running toward what I had considered might be certain death, and now…I was free. The abrupt change was messing with my head.

  “Come on back, Mic.” Rook motioned me to the rear of the jet where the once fully-stocked galley was now an advanced field-medic station. There was a small fold-out table, just big enough for someone to sit on and have a tiny bit of room to spare.

  “Jordon, stand guard,” I ordered as I tipped my head back and let Rook begin to unwind the soaked bandages from my head and face.

  “For a bit, then I’ll need your hands, Jordon,” Rook said, to his back as he ducked out of the cabin door.

  “He really did a number on you, Mic. Do you want to see before I stitch you up?” Rook had his hand on a small mirror.

  “Sure, why not? May as well get used to having a fucked-up face.” I took the mirror from him and surveyed the damage. While large and deep, the cut wasn’t too jagged. It curved slightly on the end closest to my mouth. If closed properly it wouldn’t be too bad of a scar, just a long white gash.

  “A scar from battle, especially a facial scar, showcases that you’ve faced great hardship and overcome it with courage. It’s the mark of a true warrior; wear it with pride.” Rook took the mirror from me and prepped a suture kit, snapping gloves on each hand.