Hardened by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  “What the hell?” Flynn said, stepping back from the chess board with a sigh of relief. He continued to smart off. “What next? Are we going to be wearing aprons and peeling potatoes?”

  “If you keep that attitude up,” Aunt Beatrice said, “then yes, and I’ll make sure it’s a lace one with ruffles. If you want to eat, you help. Since you seem to be so excited for it, you get dish duty, Flynn.”. She walked back through the kitchen door, leaving a shocked silence behind her.

  “Well, Flynn, I’m going to start shopping for your apron now. With your mouth, I think you’re going to be in constant trouble with Beatrice,” Pierce said, shoving Flynn as they walked into the kitchen.

  “Fuck you man, you’re no angel,” Flynn snapped back.

  “Make that two days of dishes. The only person who gets to swear in my kitchen is me,” Aunt Beatrice said calmly, as she laid the platter with the giant omelet onto the table.

  Flynn’s face colored, but he shut his mouth. It was a nice change. We should have brought Aunt Beatrice in years ago.

  We had just sat down and began to pass the heaping platters of food when a loud buzzer sounded.

  “Jones?” I watched as he pulled out his phone and tapped into the live feed of the cameras.

  “It’s Jackson,” he said, turning his phone so I could see our Master Sergeant jumping through all the security hoops at the elevator.

  “Let him in.” A few taps later, the doors slid open. Jackson got onto the elevator and came our way. “Ready to meet the boss, Aunt Beatrice?” I asked.

  She stood and took off her apron, smoothing her already flawless hair into place. She was wearing a pair of my jeans and a soft pink sweater she must have knitted last night or something, I had no damn idea where she found it. “He’s a man, Bea; don’t worry darling, I got this.”

  Flynn snorted orange juice up his nose, and was gasping and coughing when Jackson strode purposefully into the kitchen.

  “What the fuck is this?” The strain on his face from holding back his drill instructor shout was evident.

  “I presume you are Master Sergeant Jackson?” Aunt Beatrice asked, standing and walking toward him with her hand extended.

  “I am,” he said, shaking her offered hand. The rest of us sat back in stunned silence, watching as the drama unfolded before us.

  “This is breakfast; if you are unfamiliar with it, please have a seat and become acquainted.”

  “Ma’am, I am perfectly aware of what this is, but these men have work to do. They do not have the time to sit and have a leisurely brunch.” Jackson looked at each of us in turn, but in that moment I think we were all more afraid of offending Aunt Beatrice.

  “Let them eat. They haven’t had a decent meal in months. I won’t have all my work go to waste.” Aunt Beatrice very deliberately turned her back on Jackson and again took her seat. “Will you pass me the potatoes, please?” Pierce startled and handed her the platter. I know I was in shock; Jackson looked like he’d been hit by a two-by-four.

  “Don’t get comfortable, Beatrice. Your stay will be a short one. Mic, I want you in the war room in ten minutes,” Jackson snapped as he left the kitchen.

  “So... that went well,” I said, stuffing bacon in my mouth.

  “Yes, I think it did.” Aunt Beatrice stabbed a piece of waffle with undo force. It was not over between them, not by a long shot. I just hoped I was around to see it.

  “Jackson is right. We have a lot to do today. Rook?” I got his attention. He had been single-mindedly clearing his plate; he looked up and swallowed quickly. “You’ll be doing more training today. Lucky for you, we have facilities here to accommodate you.”

  “Copy that,” He said, before bending back to his task.

  “Jones, I want a file on the Vega cartel as soon as possible. Everything you have, I need it. Jackson already has some info; get the file from him and start there.”

  “Copy.” Jones took his plate to the sink and rinsed it before heading off to get to work.

  “What about us?” Jordon asked.

  “You and Pierce will be with me, training Rook. I have to talk to Jackson first. I’ll meet you on Sub-Level Three as soon as I’m finished. Get warmed up; I want to see you spar.”

  “Forgetting me?” Flynn asked.

  “Nope. You have dishes to do. And then you can help Aunt Beatrice. I think she’s going to need someone to run to the grocery store for her. You’re her errand boy for the day.” I smirked at him as I took care of my own plate. Any day I got to stick it to Flynn was a good day, indeed.

  ****

  Jackson entered the war room and sat with a rare and heavy sigh. He would never let onto the others, but he hated this place—this room in particular. Too many painful memories were here for him. He was being hard on Mic, worse than normal, and it wouldn’t be long before she called him on it. He was sort of surprised that she hadn’t already.

  He was just so fucking mad at her. After Riley betrayed them and Phillips was killed, he had never been so glad that the team was all ‘dead.’ Then Mic had to go and call her aunt and put them all in danger again. Losing Phillips was like losing a limb for them all. Mic had been the first and Phillips had been the second member of Steel. Jackson didn’t think he could take losing another team member. He was getting too old to be standing over flag-draped coffins; he had seen enough of them to last him a lifetime.

  Beatrice was a huge complication. The men were getting attached to her already; it was so easy to see. The breakfast had made them all feel like a family again, surrounded by friends and good food. It was something not many of them had experienced in a long time. It was a feeling they were going to fight him to keep. He didn’t blame them in the least, but if he had to sacrifice their happiness for their lives, he would.

  As soon as he was done with Mic, he was going to the kitchen and telling Beatrice the way things were going to go. She had to be made to understand that she couldn’t stay here. Being with them put her in mortal danger; he wouldn’t have more innocent blood on his hands.

  ****

  My orders given, I left the others in the kitchen and took the elevator up to Sub-Level One. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I passed the dark medical center. The war room was the next door. I stood outside, knowing I had to go in, but dreading it all the same. It felt like I was in high school again and being sent to the principal’s office. Sucking it up, I knocked firmly.

  “Enter.”

  I took a seat at the long gleaming wooden table in the center of the room. The walls were concrete block like the rest of the Wonka House, but a little more effort at decorating had been made in here. The walls had been painted a soft tan and framed photos of us all were evenly spaced along one wall: pictures of us in BDUs, with painted faces, on at the compound, in jungles and deserts, and some even in Finnegan’s. There were years of memories on this wall. Each picture with Phillips was like a punch to the throat, equally stealing my breath and rolling my stomach over in a nauseating wave.

  Forcing myself to look away from the memories, I instead focused on the man impatiently waiting for me to acknowledge him.

  “Sit down, Mic,” Jackson spoke, clasping his fingers in front of his mouth.

  I sat. I had decided before I came in here not to speak until he asked me a direct question.

  “I could have you brought up on charges of insubordination, among other things.” I just stared at him, not saying anything. He returned my glare. “The only reason I won’t, is because I’d have a fucking munity on my hands. If the men didn’t love you so much, you’d be out of Steel... for good.” His tone was perfectly serious; I knew he meant every word. “Anything else going on that I don’t know about?” He continued.

  My thoughts jumped to Jordon and the kiss on the track last night. Then to my flashbacks and nightmares. There was nothing I could mention and still remain a member of Steel.

  “No, Master Sergeant.” I wasn’t sure if he knew I was lying and had decided to let it go, or if
he actually believed me. Only time would tell.

  “Fine. Next is your aunt. She can’t stay here and I don’t care how good of a cook she is. It’s not safe for anyone. Once we deal with these Vega bastards, she’s going home. Got it?”

  “Copy, Master Sergeant.” He looked suspicious, but I wasn’t about to defend Aunt Beatrice; she’d do that all on her own. Seeing these two butt heads was going to be worthy of pay-per-view.

  “Not going to argue with me?” he asked.

  I laughed. “No. She’s perfectly capable of doing that on her own.”

  “I’m sure she is. But the fact remains, her being here puts her in danger not to mention us. I don’t know about you, Mic, but I don’t care to bury another one of you,” He said, pointing to the pictures lining the wall.

  “Is that what this is all about? Phillips?” If he was harboring guilt over Phillips, it would explain his behavior of late.

  “Follow my fucking orders, Staff Sergeant. You won’t get another pass. Train Rook, get as much intel on Vega as you can, and send your aunt home. That’s it. Dismissed.”

  ****

  Down on Sub-Level Three, I stood back and observed. Rook and Jordon were sparring, with Pierce acting as referee. Rook was damn impressive. There weren’t many people faster than Jordon, but Rook was managing it. Every time I thought Jordon was going to get a solid hit in, he somehow dodged it.

  Jordon was going to be a hurting unit tomorrow, I thought, as Rook tried to drive his fist through Jordon’s rib cage. I stepped over to Pierce at the edge of the blue mat. Rook hooked an arm around Jordon’s neck and dropped him on his back. Quickly moving behind him, Rook wrapped his legs around Jordon’s torso and squeezed; at the same time he compressed his carotid artery. Jordon tapped Rook’s arm frantically.

  “I’d say he gets an A plus in takedowns,” I said to Pierce, as Rook helped a coughing Jordon up.

  “Agreed,” he responded as Jordon and Rook squared off again. “How did it go with Jackson?”

  “Well enough,” I said, wincing in sympathy as Rook took a solid kick from Jordon.

  “That doesn’t really tell me anything, Mic.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” At this point both men were sweating profusely and tiring. “How long have they been going at it?”

  “Since we came down here, right after breakfast.”

  “For fucks sake.” I stepped onto the mat and shouted to get their attention. “What the hell? You’ve been sparring for over a half hour? Do you two want to be able to walk and use your arms tomorrow?”

  “Has it been that long?” Rook asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his taped hand.

  “Go clean up, both of you. Rook, I don’t think you need any further training in hand-to-hand combat. Let’s go to the range.”

  A tone sounded over the speaker that was in each room. I went to the panel near the door and pressed a button.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mic? I have something you all need to see.” There was a tone in Jones’ voice I had never heard before. He sounded almost... scared.

  “What is it?” A shiver of dread slid down my spine.

  “I can’t... just come up here.”

  “Copy.” My bad feeling only got worse, Jones was unshakeable. For him to be unnerved was very unusual.

  “Back up we go boys; meet me in the war room.”

  Chapter 8

  Jackson was hovering over Jones’s shoulder, staring at the monitor. Their tense postures didn’t bode well for us.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, sitting at the table. The atmosphere was charged with tension; the very air was heavy with it.

  “Wait until the others get here,” Jackson said, his voice firm and all business.

  I didn’t have to wait long. The table quickly filled. Jordon, Rook, and Pierce had taken the time to change, but little else. Flynn came in last, a large wet spot in the center of his shirt. Doing dishes really sucked.

  “Jones, put it up.” The lights dimmed and the large flat screen on the wall came to life. It showed satellite images of a small town. It looked like Mexico or somewhere similar; basic infrastructure with little in the way of anything modern.

  “What are we looking at here, Master Sergeant?” I asked.

  The images quickly began to play. The time stamp advanced a few hours before the photos slowed. Jones began to narrate as the images slowed down even more into individual pictures. “This is Villahermosa. A small town on the southern end of Mexico and home to the Vega Cartel. Here they grow poppies and process them into heroin. It’s an extremely labor intensive process and must be done by hand. Usually done by the local people. It takes thousands of poppies to yield a single kilo.” The images showed a mass of about a hundred people being gathered in the town square. Cartel assassins or sicarios with AK-47s pushed the people into a tight circle. A man and a woman stood in the center of the circle. The pictures stopped for a moment and Jones kept talking.

  “The man and woman in the center are Adolfo Vega and his cousin, Mercedes Fernando, Diego’s widow,” Jones said.

  “Fuck me,” Flynn said with feeling.

  “What else?” I asked. Jones didn’t respond, just advanced the photos a little more. One of the Vega flunkies shoved an elderly man into the center of the circle, forcing him to his knees. An equally old woman off to the side collapsed at the sight. The man folded his hands in prayer and bowed his head. The sicario shot the old man in the head, spraying blood and brain matter all over his wife.

  “Fuck me,” I gasped. I’d seen executions before; hell, I’ve been the executioner, but defenseless, innocent people being coldly executed was something I never got used to seeing. “Tell me, Jones.”

  He turned off the screen. “This happened yesterday. A confidential informant within the cartel said the old man was executed because he refused to work in the poppy fields anymore. Anyone who refuses to work is executed, or their families are. Or they starve them. Sometimes a combination thereof.”

  “We’ve always known that the cartels are cruel bastards. This isn’t news. These fuckers are going to be coming for us,” Jackson explained. He stood and began to pace.

  “Agreed. What’s your plan?” I asked. I was all for raining down hell and burying every last one of those fuckers. We were outnumbered nearly ten to one. We were better trained and better equipped, but sometimes that just was not enough. If it weren’t for the innocent townspeople, I would just call in an air strike and be done with it.

  “We watch and wait for now. The brass is holding us back on this one. They don’t want us to go in too early and endanger the life of the informant,” Jackson said.

  “We could get him out, do what we did for Linc. Seems to be working for him,” Pierce said. We had gotten an update; Linc, now known as Josiah Keen was very happily living out his life in upstate New York.

  “They aren’t ready for him to be extracted,” Jackson said.

  “So, our hands are tied? We can’t go in there without knowing who this CI is; and if we go in and take them out and he lives, his cover is blown. Fuck,” I swore. “So, Master Sergeant, what the fuck do we do now?” I snapped at him. My aunt’s life was dangling in the balance. Failure was never an option with us, but the stakes were higher than ever this time around.

  He glared at me. “We wait, Mic. We gather intelligence, we get Rook trained. Now is not the time to go in there. We have to wait for the status quo to change.”

  “I get what you’re saying, but I don’t fucking like it.” I stood up and flung my chair backwards, knocking it over with a crash of breaking plastic. “While we sit around, those fuckers will be killing more innocent people. I have half a mind to tell you to take your status quo and shove it.”

  “Stop right fucking there, Staff Sergeant.” My feet stopped of their own accord. Jackson’s authoritarian tone made the trained soldier in me respond. I stood at attention, waiting for the verbal beat down I deserved. He came closer and stopped less than a foot
away from me. I didn’t look up at him or to either side. I stared straight ahead at his broad chest.

  “You will address your superior officer with more respect or I’ll smoke your ass. Stow your fucking emotions and use the brain the Army gave you. My threat is not idle, Staff Sergeant Michaels. You will follow orders or you’ll be on the next plane to Alaska as a measly little Private. Do I make myself clear?” He never even raised his voice; he didn’t need to.

  “Yes, Master Sergeant!” I continued to stand at attention until he dismissed me. The others stared in stunned silence. They had witnessed Jackson reaming me out, but they had never seen him go off like this before. They were frozen, not wanting to move or draw attention to themselves.

  “All of you, get the fuck out of my sight.” Jackson turned his back on us, staring at the blank TV monitor; presumably lost in thought.

  We followed orders and got the hell out of the room in a hurried but orderly manner.

  ****

  Jackson paced the length of the war room. Hours passed and still he had no solution. No matter how many circles he made, he couldn’t settle his thoughts. Mic and Beatrice kept swirling around in there, posing impossible questions.

  What to do with Beatrice? She couldn’t stay, but leaving would keep her in danger. Cartels were notorious for their blood debts and feuds.

  Mic was being an unreasonable bitch; there was more going on with her than she was saying. Should he push her and get the answers, even if those answers were things he didn’t want to hear?

  Jordon couldn’t keep his eyes off Mic; it was plain as day for everyone to see. She, on the other hand, ignored him, which told its own story. She made a pointed effort to not be near Jordon. There was something going on, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Strong emotions like love and hate almost had a physical presence. Fighting them often caused more damage than just letting them go.

  He wasn’t going to find any answers in here. He would tackle these problems like any other: start at the top of the list and work his way down. Beatrice was first.