GUNNER, page 1
GUNNER
Steel Patriots MC
Book FIVE
Mary Kennedy
Copyright © 2020 by Mary Kennedy
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission form the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CHAPTER ONE
Gunner Michaels stood before the military action and disciplinary review board, waiting as the four men whispered amongst themselves. His chest was laden with ribbons and medals from previous missions and deployments, fifteen years of service to his country represented by a bunch of colored thread and metal tied together. That stellar career now held in the hands of four men whom he held little respect for; whom knew nothing of what he and the rest of his team faced during this last mission.
He was a good Marine…better than good. A member of the Special Forces branch of the Marine Corps, he was the best of the best, no bullshit. He took every mission seriously knowing he protected the lives of his teammates as well as those assigned to his care. No one should be questioned about what went down with their recent mission, no one.
Sent to rescue twelve innocent little school girls stolen from their school; the team found them tortured, raped, beaten, and left hanging on the side of the cliff. Gunner and his teammates were sent to free the girls, bring them home and kill the terrorists.
They found the girls hanging from that cliff, their tiny bloated bodies being desecrated by buzzards and vultures. They cut them down, wrapped their little bodies and sent them home to their parents. Then they went in search of the terrorists.
Gunner remembered every detail of that mission…every last detail of the faces of those innocent children staring down at him in death, begging for salvation. He vowed in those moments to never have children of his own. He wouldn’t subject them to this kind of world…the kind of world that allowed innocent children to be kidnapped and tortured.
The team found the men responsible for the girls’ deaths inside a small hut near a river. One guard on the outside, barely even awake, taken out by the hands of his teammate Zulu. Gunner happily set the charges on that little hut, blowing it to pieces and the bodies of the soulless pathetic animals inside.
At six-foot-two and two-hundred and ten pounds of hard-earned, well worked muscle, Gunner was a capable man and more than that, he was a capable, well-trained, highly skilled killer. One of the Marine’s finest. He was more than happy spending the governments money on a bullet or block of C4 on the bad guys.
Gunner’s team lead, Eric “Ghost” Stanton was a Navy Seal, but the team was made up of various members of the Special Forces community. They were a team of elite warriors hand selected by Ghost and the government to take on missions that regular teams couldn’t…or wouldn’t…take on.
My Title is Marine, but it is my choice and my choice alone to be a Special Operations Marine. I will never forget the tremendous sacrifice and reputation of those who came before me.
At all ranges my fires will be accurate. With surprise, speed, and violence of action, I will hunt enemies of my country and bring chaos to their doorstep. I will keep my body strong, my mind sharp, and my kit ready at all times.
Raider and Recon men forged the path I follow. With Determination, Dependability, and Teamwork I will uphold the honor and the legacy passed down to me. I will do the right thing always, and will let my actions speak for me. As a quiet professional, I will not bring shame upon myself or those with which I serve.
Spiritus Invictus, an Unconquerable Spirit, will be my goal. I will never quit, I will never surrender, I will never fail. I will adapt to the situation. I will gain and maintain the initiative. I will always go a little farther and carry more than my share.
On any battlefield, at any point of the compass I will excel. I will set the example for all others to emulate. At the tip of the spear, I will teach and prepare others to seek out, dismantle, and destroy our common enemies. I will fight side by side with my partners and will be the first in and last out of any mission.
Conquering all obstacles of mind, body, and spirit; the honor and pride of serving in special operations will be my driving force. I will remain always faithful to my brothers and always forward in my service.
Gunner recited the MARSOC code in his head as he waited for the assholes in front of him to give him the time of day.
“Sgt. Major Michaels do you believe you acted in the best interests of your team, your country, and more importantly in the interests of those children?”
“I believe that whole heartedly sir,” he said staring at the man. “Those children were gone…dead because we didn’t get the proper intel to arrive in time to save them. Those men…those terrorists left us no choice but to hunt them down and remove them as a threat to future victims.”
“Is it your belief then, Sgt. Major, that you had no other choice but to kill the terrorists and return the dead girls to their parents?” said Admiral Crossing.
“It’s not my belief sir,” said Gunner. “There was no other choice. Period. Those children did not deserve to be executed, tortured, and raped. Those children didn’t desire to be kidnapped. Those children had no choice in the outcome of their young lives…those terrorists did. I helped them reach the conclusion and outcome of their lives based on their actions and I don’t regret it…not for one damned second…sir.”
“Sgt. Major…do you regret your actions?”
“Not in this lifetime sir. I did exactly as I was ordered. Exactly. I hope that my actions gave those parents some relief knowing their daughters’ killers were no longer plaguing this earth.”
“Thank you Sgt. Major Michaels,” said Crossing. “You can step outside and wait with your teammates while we finish with the others.”
Gunner moved into the hallway letting out a long, frustrated breath. He looked at his teammates, an anger filling his eyes and simply nodded, taking his seat. He waited as each man told his story and then Jack “Doc” Harris was called.
Because of the shitty construction of the building, they could hear everything being said inside the room and when Jack “Doc” Harris notified the members of the panel that he possessed photos of the girls, they all stirred a bit in their seats. Taking photos of prisoners, dead bodies, anything to do with a mission was strictly forbidden unless directed to do so. Doc could be placing a noose on all their necks…or he could be saving them.
Doc stepped outside the room and stared at his teammates, nodding at them to walk with him to the end of the hallway.
“Fucking hell Doc, we didn’t know you had photos,” said Ghost.
“I know. I took them when we were cutting the girls down. Don’t ask me why…I know it’s a violation but I just had this feeling and shit for luck, it paid off.”
“Well,” said Razor, “I for one am fucking eternally grateful. They won’t court martial us with the fear of those photos becoming public. The liberals would be screaming about human rights and the conservatives would say the killing of those men was justified. They don’t want to have to argue that.”
“This shit is getting fucking exhausting,” said Ghost. “I’m so damned tired of having to follow rules created by men who don’t do the damn job anymore…or for that matter ever did the job.” They all nodded as the doors of the hearing room opened once again. The MP waved them inside.
Standing before the committee, the men all removed their hats and stood at attention.
“Gentlemen, you have presented us with a dilemma, and I won’t lie…it’s one I hate,” said Admiral Crossing. “Your work as a unit has been indisputable, but we are getting pressures from the country’s’ government claiming you murdered innocent men.”
Gunner nearly rolled his eyes, but closed them instead.
“I didn’t say I agree. However, we are tasked with making a show of…hell, I don’t even know anymore. We are asking you to retire gentlemen. If you refuse, you will be dishonorably discharged. If you take the retirement, there will be no mark on your records. It saddens me to do this…to lose some of the finest men I know and that I know we need in our service.”
“I accept retirement,” said Gunner through clenched jaw.
The chorus was heard down the line as each man agreed, regrettably. The Admiral nodded at them, handing them their papers that would tell administration they were taking retirement effective immediately.
“You will be expected to be packed and on the next transport home within forty-eight hours. I wish you good luck men. The world needs people like you. I hope you find a way to continue to the good fight.”
Gunner followed his teammates out of the building, finding a secluded, quiet spot to finally speak amongst themselves.
“Where will you go Ghost?” asked Whiskey. Ghost looked at the men he’d called teammates for the last decade. Each man was hand selected for his team, partly because he knew of their skills, but mostly because he trusted them with his life and the lives of every member of the team.
“I have a proposition for all of you. I know some of you have family back home, but nobody has an old lady that I’m aware of,” he said smirking at the men on the transport.
“Fuck you Doc, at least it’s a female mule,” he grinned. “So what’s your point Ghost?”
“My point is…when my pops died he left me a huge piece of land. It’s nothing special, but it’s got an old garage on the property where he used to repair cars, bikes, tractors, shit like that for neighbors. The house burned down years ago, but pops made the barn into a pretty livable space.”
“SOOO…. you want us all to live there?” asked Gunner.
“Like…share bunk beds or some shit?” questioned Zulu.
“No…I mean, yea. Look, I ride…you all know that and I know that most of you do too. What if…what if we formed our own club…motorcycle club? We pick a name, make the garage something that we can all work and maybe open a bar or some shit.”
The men all looked at one another nodding. It was a good idea, but not one of them knew anything about running a business or a bar.
“I’m in,” said Tango, “but I know jack-shit about operating a bar. I can fix anything with a motor, and so can most of you, but a bar? I don’t know man…I know how to drink…just not how to mix drinks.”
“Look, it doesn’t have to happen right away. MC’s are pretty territorial. We need to make sure we’re not stepping on anyone’s toes. I’m not a fan of becoming an outlaw MC, we got our taste of outlaw in that fucking shithole we just came from and it didn’t do any of us any good. I’m suggesting that between the bar and the garage, we’ll have two legitimate businesses. Maybe…maybe on the side we sort of informally help people.”
“Help people? Like…good Samaritans?” asked Gunner.
“Sort of…I’m thinking more like we take jobs others won’t…but only the ones we want to take. We find lost kids, kidnap victims, we help the old lady being screwed over by a nasty landlord…shit like that.” The men all looked at him raising their eyebrows. “Look, I know we’ve spent our entire careers doing just this kind of shit, but now we get to do it on our terms. The shop needs cleaning up and the barn will need to be made inhabitable…adding more electrical, plumbing…but it’s huge. I’ve got a shit ton of money saved from all my deployments and pops left me a nice little chunk of change.”
“And we’d be partners?” asked Whiskey.
“Yea we’d be fucking partners…we’d be brothers asshole,” he said with a grin. “Just like we are now…we’d rely on one another and do shit our way. No red tape, no governments telling us what to do. We ride our fucking bikes when we want, we take the jobs we want, we fuck who we want, and we drink ‘til we can’t drink no more.” The men smiled in his direction.
“I’m in,” said Tango.
“Me too,” said Doc.
“Why the fuck not?” said Razor.
“Fuck, you know I’m in asshole,” said Gunner.
“I guess we need a name,” said Whiskey. “How about Steel Soldiers?”
“No fucking way asshole…I’m a SEAL, not a fucking soldier,” said Tango. They others laughed and nodded. They were all from different branches of the military and loved teasing each other about the superiority of their own branch, but deep down held mad respect for one another.
“Steel Patriots,” said Ghost. “The steel between our legs…and the fucking patriot spirit we all still carry.”
“Steel Patriots…” whispered Whiskey. The others nodded and smiled.
“Steel Patriots it is.”
CHAPTER TWO
Darby Greer was racing against the clock. She needed to get her things packed up before her ex-mother-in-law came home from her monthly garden club meeting…or was it wine club? It didn’t matter, the woman was involved in more clubs than should be legal and her controlling, manipulative ways were about to end for Darby and her four-year-old daughter Calla.
Darby didn’t want to live in her house, she just hadn’t had much of an option when her ex-husband died suddenly in a car accident basically leaving Darby with not enough money to even feed herself and her daughter.
Darby wasn’t terribly upset by his death, hell she’d barely seen him since the divorce just six weeks after the birth of their daughter. Despite allegedly sharing custody of their four-year old daughter, Clint rarely showed up at his allotted times. Clint had seen his daughter a total of eleven times since her birth. His mother had been present on every one of those visits, Darby suspecting she orchestrated each of them.
She’d accepted long ago that Clint had no interest in being a father or husband. It was stupid really…their whole relationship. Darby had been a fool falling for the muscular, model-like good looks. He asked her to dance one night while she was out with her girlfriends. They spent the entire night in one another’s arms. The sex was good…better than most, remembered Darby. Six months later they were talking marriage and when she announced she was pregnant, they were standing in his mothers’ living room with a minister by the weekend.
Of course Olivia Runyon made it seem like a secret wedding planned for months, not wanting the gossips to know her new daughter-in-law was pregnant. The vile woman even told her friends the baby was born early. Hard to explain an early birth when the baby was almost seven pounds.
When Clint died, all source of income was gone for her and Darby couldn’t afford the rent on her two bedroom cottage any longer. Olivia generously offered her a place to stay so she could be closer to Calla, but it didn’t take long for Darby to realize it came with a heavy price.
She wasn’t allowed to date, wasn’t allowed to go out with girlfriends, wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without one of Olivia’s trusty chauffeurs tagging along, and worse her daughter was forced to attend a pretentious daycare where children had to wear uniforms. Without even realizing it, Darby had given control of her life to Olivia.
For almost a year Darby suffered the posturing and snobbery, the belittling remarks about her weight, her hair, her clothing. She came home one day to find her entire wardrobe discarded, replaced by clothing her mother-in-law selected. Able to salvage her clothes from the trash, she promptly returned everything Olivia purchased, earning her nasty stares for a week.
Darby thought she would be stuck forever working her hourly wage job at the small bookstore downtown, living under the thumb of her nemesis. She loved the bookstore; it just didn’t provide enough income for her and Calla to live on.
Then three months ago the owner of the store decided to sell and shared in the profits of the sale with her two loyal employees. It wasn’t millions, but it was enough to give Darby and her daughter a new start on life.
Now all she could think of, all she wanted to do, was take what belonged to her and her daughter and start a new life away from Memphis. Finally shoving the last of her things into the suitcases, she lugged them downstairs to her car, closing the trunk. The chauffeurs were all busy with whatever club Olivia was attending today, so it was her only chance.
Pulling into the daycare she checked her daughter out early, telling the administrator she had a doctor’s appointment. Darby knew the woman was a friend of Olivia’s, but she hoped she would be hundreds of miles away by the time she discovered them gone.
“Where are we going mommy?” asked the sweet-faced child in the back seat. Her long brown curls were held by a big blue ribbon at the back of her head, her huge brown eyes staring at her.
“We’re going on a trip honey. You and mommy are going to find a beautiful new house with just us. How does that sound?” she asked excitedly.
“Just you and me? No more Grandma Olivia?” she said cautiously.
“That’s right honey, just you and mommy. Is that okay? Maybe later we can call Grandma Olivia,” she said thoughtfully. The little girl sucked in her bottom lip and looked out the window. Then shaking her head, spoke to her mother.
“No…I don’t need to call Grandma Olivia,” she said quietly. “Just you and me mommy…like it was before.”
“Like it was before sweet girl.”
CHAPTER THREE
Darby stacked the last of the books on the shelf and smiled, staring at the colorful book jackets lining the long rows of shelves. Her own bookstore…The Page Turner. She had no idea where she was going when she left Memphis, originally thinking she might settle in Florida. When she entered the little mountain town, she couldn’t believe it!
