by J. B. Havens
We stood in a clearing about two hundred yards square, with trees and bushes marking the perimeter of the compound in the distance. They swayed and shifted in the hot wind casting strange shadows all around us.
“Ok gentlemen, front and center,” I shouted. The boys knew what was coming, but I could see that Jordon was trying to look at everything at once.
Directly ahead was the shooting range, long wooden benches stretching along with entire length of a fenced in area, with targets in front at fifty yard intervals until you ran out of room at about four hundred yards. Jones set up his own targets out to one thousand yards, but no paper for him. He used what natural targets were available. There was another smaller area to the side that held moving targets. To the far left was a small false urban set-up used for training in close quarters. All of the dummy buildings were movable and interchangeable so that we could constantly switch it up. No memorizing these courses.
“Welcome to Compound Two. Not a fancy enough name for what is the heart of Steel. This is the place where we are made. Here is where I will integrate you into our unit so tight, Jordon, that you won’t remember a time before you were a part of us. You will anticipate the moves of all of us, as we will anticipate yours.” I paced back and forth in front of the men. I felt like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, making a speech to rally the men.
“We need to be mission-ready in less than two weeks.” Grunts came from the men that I translated as shock. “Corporal Jordon, we will do this quicker than ever before. It’s time to nut up or shut up. We’re going into the Panic Room.” I pointed, while registering the looks on everyone’s faces. Phillips’ was blank as a canvas. Jones looked bored which I knew was a lie. He would have that same look on his face even if you were pulling his fingernails out. Flynn was grinning like an idiot. He’s a crazy bastard that actually likes the panic room. Pierce had an eyebrow raised at me, as if asking was I sure I wanted to pop Jordon’s cherry this way?
“Permission to speak, Staff Sergeant,” Jordon croaked out.
“Granted, Corporal.” I was pretty sure what he was going to ask.
“What is the Panic Room?”
“The Panic Room is a specialty training exercise that I personally designed. Its purpose is to freak you out, make you want to shit your pants, and cry for your mommy like a whipped little bitch.” I pointed to the far right, to a windowless concrete bunker with a two-inch thick steel door.
“The objective is to get thorough without any of that happening. You go inside in groups of two. Buddy system all the way. We’ve all passed it, but we’re Steel. Where one goes, so do the others. You simply have to go in the door, complete the course, and exit without losing your shit. Do it as quickly as you can, though it is not timed. Who’s first?” Flynn’s hand shot up without any hesitation, making Pierce hang his head and groan.
I chuckled and walked to the door. Pulling keys out, I unlocked it and entered alone. It was like the inside of a fucking cave in here. Even though I designed it, I hate this damn thing, hated the absolute darkness and the narrow spaces.
Pressing the grip on my MP5, I switched on the flashlight and looked for the tiny door set in the wall to the left. Finding it, I opened it and hit the breakers. Strobes immediately began flashing and machine-gun fire sounded over the speakers. Ahead lay a small opening near the floor that led into the maze. It was actually a very basic maze, but the pit falls and obstacles along the way made this what it was. Mirrors reflected the strobes in all directions, causing near crippling disorientation; the flashing lights making the walls appear to shift with each pulsing flash. A smoke machine set on high added to the almost nonexistent visibility.
“Can’t wait to see how Jordon does in here,” I said to myself. My voice was swallowed by the sounds and thick blackness surrounding me.
The sound system played a combination of machine gun fire, screams, explosions, and orders being shouted until it was a confusing jumble impossible to make sense of. There were even a few crying babies added to the soundtrack, along with pleas for help. In short the Panic Room was like the world’s worst fun house jacked on steroids and shot full of PCP, then dipped in the screams of the dying for extra flavor.
In the right corner there was a narrow staircase that led to a small observation booth set above the maze so I could watch them go through it. No point in having this if you couldn’t see if someone spazzed the fuck out. The booth is also equipped with a kill switch that will turn florescent lights on and end the course. I stepped back outside with a quiet sense of relief, a shudder traversing my body.
“Ok, head in Pierce, Flynn. Phillips and Jones are next. That leaves you with me Jordon, going last.” I turned to hear a blast of screams as the heavy door slammed shut.
Heaving the heavy door open, I glanced over my shoulder at Jordon, expecting to see him pale or worried, but all I saw was rigid determination. I followed the line of his jaw down the sweep of his cheek already showing whiskers to his mouth. What a mouth it was too. Just this side of too wide. With full lips that were as red as strawberries.
Hmm…I like strawberries.
I shook my head to dispel the image. I entered and ran up the steel steps to the observation deck. The very last thing that I needed to be doing was thinking thoughts like that. I was his superior, and nothing complicates a mission worse than a guy thinking with the little head instead of the big one. I had to keep that from happening. Once training was done, we’d head back to civilization for a night or two and we could all chase some tail then.
I put my ear protection in and looked down at the chaos under me. Flynn was leading the way on his belly, with Pierce close behind. A door hooked to a pressure switch in the floor dropped between them, separating them. Flynn continued on with a stupid grin flashing when the strobes lit his face, coloring him in alternating darkness and bright light. Pierce was frozen in place; I could see him breathing in and out slowly, getting his shit together before he turned around and tried to get past the dead end. Flynn was standing now, jumping over “bodies” which were actually bags with a person-shaped wooden frame inside. He shimmied around corners with perfect graceful stealth. It looked like he was singing something, but it was impossible to hear anything.
“Crazy fucking bastard,” I muttered to myself.
Pierce was methodically making his way through a tight space and around a blind corner. He was almost back to Flynn. Both men knew that neither could exit before finding his buddy. No man left behind.
Pierce was coming up behind Flynn, sneaking quietly, as if he needed to. This noise was deafening, screams and gunfire assaulting my ears even with ear plugs in. Grabbing Flynn by the back of the neck, Pierce pulled him down to his knees, jerking Flynn’s startled face close to his own. They are two halves of the same person so I wasn’t worried, they do this every time they are in here. Always trying to one up each other. Flynn punched Pierce on the shoulder and called him a fucker before both of them dropped to their stomachs and belly-crawled out the exit.
I stood and watched Jones and Phillips make their way smoothly through, as if they did this every day. They aren’t the tight knit pair Flynn and Pierce are but they are a team all the same. Jones doesn’t rattle easily so this was a cake walk for him. Phillips’ biggest issue was getting his large frame through the tight squeezes. He had to suck it in and take off his shot-gun, but he did it. They exited and I went down and out.
“Phillips, man the observation deck while I take boy-o through.” He went inside and I turned to Jordon.
“Jordon, remember, buddy system. If we get separated, we cannot exit alone. We go in together and come out together. No exceptions. If you freak, you do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, until you can go through. Any questions?” The others were joking and giving each other shit, relieving the tension I knew they felt. I nodded to them and gave a thumbs-up. Propping open the door, I checked to see that Phillips was in place. I waved to Jordon, and in we went.
I switched
on my flashlight and dropped to my hands and knees, the coldness of the floor leaching through my gloved hands. I began crawling into the maze, Jordon close behind me. I glanced back at him and saw again the iron determination reflected in his jaw. Screams echoed all around us, the stink of the smoke invading my nose. The narrow beam of my light did little to cut through the oppressive darkness. The rapidly flashing strobe coupled with my light, only seemed to make my disorientation worse. Just another day in paradise. I gave a hand signal to Jordon motioning him to go ahead. I wanted to keep eyes on him as much as I could.
I followed him around a corner, and over a stiff body that moaned and cried out in pain when we touched it. Jordon shook his head a little as if to settle his brain, but continued on. The already narrow space became tighter still, and we dropped to our bellies, forcing us to crawl forward with our elbows. I knew this course front and back; yet every time, I swore the walls were getting closer to me, caving in on me, pressing in on me from every angle, top to bottom, each side creeping closer. I could nearly taste the panic in my throat, rising up like so much bile. My lungs seized, refusing to draw a breath. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself one second, just one, to get my shit together.
“It’s in your head Michael’s, all in your fucking head. The walls are NOT moving. You are not trapped,”
I spoke to myself, hating that I had to do so. I opened my eyes, the walls were once again frozen in their rightful places.
Jordon’s pack caught on the lip of the door he was crawling under. He started jerking back and forth trying to get loose. There was a franticness to his movements that belied his calm exterior. I reached up and punched his pack down and he slipped through. Looking back at me his eyes were wide with panic and ball-shriveling fear. I smiled at him as the pressure switch he just knelt on engaged with a click that was more felt than heard. The door slammed down. I knew I had to turn around and go through a tight squeeze to get back to him. He just needed to continue on for a few more turns and he’d be out.
I hustled through, ignoring my own escalating fear rising up with the foul taste of bile in my throat. My heart was slamming around in my chest like a wild thing and I knew real panic. I drew air deep down into my belly and let it out in a big whoosh. I could do this. I have done this. I glanced up to the deck and saw Phillips looking down at me. He gave me a thumbs-up and I stood, squeezing through a narrow gap between the walls, sucking in my breath as I did, trying to keep from touching the walls.
I detested this part worse than the others. The walls were so close, too tight against my body. It was like being in a grave, one full of the sounds of the dying. The screams of babies and women pierced my ear drums, the sulfur stink of smoke coated my mouth and throat, each struggling breath just seeping this place deeper inside me. A different smell registered from my brain, a dusty close smell. The smell of moth balls and moldy clothes. Hard wooden walls pressing close to each side of me, my small fists beating on the door, screaming to be let out until my voice gave way. I was trapped in the comprehensive darkness, alone and afraid. Sheer terror engulfed me, swallowing me whole, gulping me down like the whale did Jonah.
Wiping the sweat pouring off my face with shaking hands, I stopped, dead in my tracks. Fighting to come back.
I am not in a closet, I am not trapped. I am Steel dammit and I will make it through this fucking course again if it kills me.
“Keep going Mic, you’re almost there. Just a little farther,” I spoke aloud to myself, knowing no one could hear me in this hellish place.
I rounded a corner and was suddenly behind Jordon. He didn’t look as if he had moved, he was pressing the floor, trying to find the switch to open the door. I didn’t want to chase him back through if he got it open. I touched his shoulder, his shocked expression nearly pulling a laugh from me. I gave him the lead again. The touch of his body brushing mine as he passed, halted the panic rising in my throat, his sweaty, salty smell hitting my nose. I swallowed hard, purposefully sucking in more smoke to erase his scent, as we made our way to the exit.
As soon as we crawled out, Jordon stood quickly, shoved his weapon into Flynn’s hands, and dropped his pack in the dirt. He put his hands on his knees and hung his head. He was soaked in sweat, pale, and shaking. I had sweat pouring off my face myself, but I felt no shame in it. I feared the Panic Room, but I did it anyway. Anyone who says they have no fears is a fucking liar. Everyone fears something. True strength is facing it head on and confronting it. I clasped Jordon on the shoulder and squeezed, making him turn his head and look at me.
“You did good, Corporal. Jones is the only one of us to make it through on the first go. Well done.” I gave him a tight smile and stood.
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant.” His voice was still tight but his breathing was slowing and his color was back. He’d be fine.
The men all shook his hand or clasped his shoulder. They were welcoming him into the group.
“I thought you were going to lose it there for a second Jordon, but you pulled through,” Phillips said. He was the only one that had seen his performance besides me. Flynn handed his weapon back to him and gave him one of those combination hand shake-back slap hug things guys are so fond of doing.
“Just be glad that its day-time. Sometimes she makes us do it at night, then extends the course out the exit into mud and freezing cold water. She’ll set flares off over our heads and pop smoke. Yell contradicting orders at us while firing live rounds with tracers. That’s when it’s really fun,” Flynn informed him, with barely contained glee.
“You’re not right in the head, are you Flynn?” Jordon joked. Laughing and shaking his head, he stood up and put his pack back on before slinging his MP5 back across his chest.
“No. Not really,” Pierce said laughing. Flynn tackled him and off they went. Rolling around in the dirt and pine needles like a couple of fools.
“Children!” I barked at them. They got back up, still shoving each other and laughing.
“Yes mommy?” Flynn smarted off. Grinning at me, thinking I wouldn’t do anything.
I shook my head and started walking past him, but foot swept him at the last second, earning a surprised grunt. I slapped him twice on his flak jacket and walked to the range, knowing they would follow like deadly little ducklings.
Chapter 5
“Clear down range!” I shouted and put my ear plugs in.
“Range clear Sergeant!” They sounded off as one.
“Begin firing!” All five men opened fire. Each man was at his own wooden bench, pack at his feet, concentrating with single-minded determination to put every round exactly where he wanted it. Jones had nothing to prove; plinking away at targets two hundred yards away was nothing to him.
The others were in a fierce competition to get the tightest group possible. They were all great shots; they had to be. To keep it interesting, they had a bet running. Whoever got the tightest group, would get out of watch duty tonight. Everyone wanted the extra shut-eye, including me. I was waiting for Jones to finish before taking my turn. We would need to build a sixth bench, this taking turns crap was for kids. Jones was disqualified on the grounds that he was a sniper and had an unfair advantage. After much arguing, he finally agreed that as far as challenges go, it wasn’t much of one for him. Jones finished his five round magazine in his bolt action M40A1 sniper rifle and I stepped up to the bench.
I extended the stock on my MP5 and made sure the switch was on single fire. Sitting the stock tight against my shoulder, I braced my elbow on the bench. Breathe in…hold…aim…and squeeze. Breathe out. I checked the target through my sight and saw I was dead center. Now to get every last round within a two-inch diameter. I squeezed off round after round, no longer checking the target between shots. The smell of gunpowder was hot in my nose as sweat trickled off my temple. I was centered and focused completely in the moment. This was as peaceful as my world got. Everything had centered down to the feel of the weapon in my hand, the grip under my palm, the stock tight against
my shoulder almost hurting; my blood singing with joy with each pull of the trigger as each round cleared the muzzle. Blam… blam… blam, round after round, shell casings hitting the dirt at my feet and the bench beside me like hot metal rain.
I clicked empty and closed my eyes for a second, as an empty shell casing hit my bare arm, burning me. I jerked back from the heat and stood, taking a few deep breaths to bring myself back to the present.
“Secure your weapons, gentlemen,” I said, popping my empty magazine and switching the safety on. I heard all the men doing the same. I placed the MP5 on the bench in front of me, magazine beside it.
“Retrieve your targets.” As one, we walked around our benches and out onto the range.
Flynn continued his ribbing of everyone; bragging that he had the best grouping and the rest of us were just bitches.
“Your mama has the best grouping,” Pierce said, giving Flynn a cat ate the canary smile; knowing he was safe on his side of the range.
“Group this!” Flynn yelled, grabbing his crotch. This was followed by yet more lame, ‘your mama’ jokes and good natured bitching. I kept my own little secret smile to myself as we reached our targets. Jordon and I were both quiet, letting the others needle each other. He and I had the most to prove to each other. I had to show him that I really was the best shot of all of us, and he needed to show that he was worthy of being Steel.
Flynn stopped in front of his target first, letting free a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. Pierce was laughing at him, until he saw his own target. All but two rounds were in a very nice group.
“Poor babies.” I laughed, giving them a good pouty face. “Little bitty rounds didn’t hit the center. Aww. Does Mommy need to give you a hug?”