M. R. Kenobi started this story on her page but, life being what it is, didn't get to finish it. After a few months, I was able to reconnect with her with what I would like to do with her characters and the tale and, well...

She is a co-author of this work and is blessed with amazing skill. She made my simple story line a fantastic tale and one of which I am most proud. Please visit her site to take in her other stories.

Now, enjoy our efforts in Stainless Steele.

"So, what's your next brilliant move, Steele?" Lieutenant "Lieu" Pinksley shouted at her boss. They were cowering behind an overturned jeep, pinned down by sniper fire from a force who'd obviously known they were coming. The whole situation had fallen apart as soon as they'd stepped onto the perimeter. Terms and conditions hadn't improved since they'd started hanging around. And, they were only getting deeper into a business that neither of them was getting paid enough for.

The boss in question was former Marine, Magnolia "Stainless" Steele; female mercenary extraordinaire and presently, way in over her head. She peeked around the vehicle and pulled back just as a line of bullets outlined the front bumper causing sparks to fly, machine gun heavy in her bruised and bleeding hands. Hair flew into her face, stinging her tongue with mixtures of dirt, blood, sweat, and other various tastes. Flopping back against their barricade, the leader huffed at her counterpart, "I'm working on it."

"Well, I hate to grab you by the balls and rush, but," Lieu, the redhead in question with plenty of attitude, punch, and mouth, responded with some of that same spunk, "work a little faster." Magnolia gave her a quelling glance but she didn't offer any retort. Instead, the young woman retreated mentally to begin visualizing the scene, searching for an alternative. And she couldn't help but think her whole life had been one of searching for alternatives, and it had all hit the fan this gig.

Steele had chosen the mercenary life at the young age of twenty-one, the years flashing through her mind like an automatic spitting off hot brass. She had left the Marines, the authority and discipline on someone else's terms becoming an issue when there were so many more important things. Out of the only life she had really truly known, she bunked in New Orleans, where she had come into contact with an older, former military operative who went by the name of Tool. He'd taken her under wing and taught her basically everything she knew and, she had thought, everything he'd known, as well. If she were honest, she felt she'd known him practically forever – at least, in the sense that her military career had been her forever.

He suggested the mercenary work and Mags took to it like a duck to water. At first, she worked alone, operating out of the Crescent City and sometimes, surprisingly, Minneapolis. As her reputation and success began to grow, she was contacted by Church and his CIA people with an interesting opportunity, one that demanded a determined set of shoulders not afraid to work hard, make tough choices, and take crap. She'd fit the description. It had turned out he was putting together a team of all women, all of them like her - with authority issues and sexist tendencies – and he thought she was the right choice to run the group. The team consisted of three other women: Lieutenant "Pinkie" Pinksley, who preferred Lieu; Riles "Merc" Mercury, and Josephine "Sparky" Sparks, whom the women called Jo.

The chemistry had been instant. The success came easy. People were killed, money was made, and business was under the table, as per the usual song and dance. And Church had a new mercenary ring, the "Vixens."

The job that they now found themselves on involved the African Resistance Movement. Thought to have dissolved after the execution of their leader, John Hendricks, in the late '60's, the extremists had resurged in South Africa, terrorizing villages and missionaries with the motto, "We Will Overcome." Threatening to destroy the U.S. Embassy in nearby Lesotho and kill any Americans who refused to leave the country, Church had hired Steele and her Vixens to take down the target: Aza Makembe, illegitimate daughter of the late Hendricks, and the brains of the South African op.

Steele and her team had reconed a few weeks, finally settling in Lesedi, an African village just outside a munitions fort where intel suggested Aza had been known to frequent. The plan had been simple: Steele and Lieutenant would be in as a strike team, quickly assassinate Aza and get back to their drop site, where a lag team would arrive by air and get them out. Riles and Jo would stay behind, available to mop up if Lieu and Steele couldn't complete the mission. Now, here they were, pinned down and any semblance of a plan completely FUBAR.

In her mind's eye, Steele could see the layout of the area. It had been an old barracks used by some of the original South African apartheid forces, so lots of places to hide men and guns and traps and illegal goods. The ARM soldiers had put the majority of their munitions in a small Quonset hut but with a limited guard, a mistake they would soon regret. When the small charges that the mercenaries had set began to go off, the two soldiers threw as much of the weaponry as they could into the back of a large transport and tried to leave. Those soldiers, however, hadn't counted on a couple of well-placed IEDs which exploded as they drove over the top, flipping the truck and scattering artillery. It also made a natural and quite pricey barrier, keeping the forces inside the camp and effectively cutting off any reinforcements.

Another round of gunfire made Lieu flinch. Her feet ground against the dirt in her boots, which were black with soot, gunpowder, and various other messes. She pinched an eye shut and with a cock-eyed glare at her partner, she dared, "I hate to rush you but we've got a diminishing window of opportunity here. We need to take action or step aside. Either way, it's getting dangerously close to us being left behind. And, while the scenery is beautiful…" A brow cocked along with the attitude.

The jabbering brought Steele out of her revelry, and she swore incoherently, tossing a handful of hair out of her face. "Yeah, yeah, enough already." She glared, "I get it. We're not going to get the chance to complete this job." She slapped the dirt beside her in frustration, "It feels like we've been sold out. The whole thing stinks." And, suddenly, Magnolia had the idea, a small smile beginning to curve her lips as a pungent odor, now suddenly familiar, seized her attention.

"Yeah, I understand, Steele. It does stink but we've got to do something now," Pinksley agreed.

Steele shook her head. "No, Lieu, it stinks," she emphasized the words.

"The whole freakin' place stinks, Magnolia, I get it."

"No, you don't," Steele continued to grin like an idiot. "Take a whiff of the air, Lieu. It smells of…" and as her jade eyes lit up like firecrackers and a wicked grin twisted her lips, which were swollen and bleeding, she knew immediately her partner in crime had caught on when she finished the sentence,

"…gas." Lieu gave her a cautionary stare. Her tone quickly changed, and she sighed. "But, around a munitions dump, Steele? It's going to be…"

"…quite a big bang, yeah. So, if you've got any other ideas, I'm open. Otherwise, I suggest you get ready to give me cover fire and run like hell," the former Marine explained, tightening her grip on the sniper rifle at hand. Then, Magnolia checked her side-arm, and nodded firmly at her compatriot.

Lieu checked the clips in her guns, replaced them with full ones and gave a nod. Magnolia returned the nod and made her move. Pinksley rolled right as Steele rolled left, sacrificing their hiding place and taking aim at the source of the smell – the large transport vehicle leaking fuel like a sieve. It was just a few yards ahead of them, overturned outside the building. Steele took aim and on the second shot, the whole place lit up like a Fourth of July celebration. The gun flew out of her hand, and the force of the resulting blast threw Steele backwards. It was black from there.

…

The rumble of the truck reverberated through Steele's body, jarring her awake. She could hear voices but they seemed far away, muffled. Then, the soldier remembered what she had done – and knew she was suffering from the percussive force of the explosion. When she started to move, however, Magnolia moaned, clutching her side. The wet, stickiness registered and she held her hand in front of her eyes, seeing the blood.

A face she vaguely remembered appeared in her line of sight. The leader of the local militia, a man who called himself Rakur, led a group of grassroots fighters who were doing all they could to thwart Aza and her team with little to no support or gear. He had been all too willing to offer his help to Steele and her Vixens, oddly enough, and had quite a count of dead bodies to prove it.

He spoke across the leader to Lieu, "She is awake."

Lieu immediately leaned over Steele, "Don't move. You caught some shrapnel from that blast." Magnolia held up her blood-stained hand to show her teammate she already knew about the injury. Pain soared through her like a plane gaining altitude. Nodding, Pinksley added, pushing her hand down. "We're about ten minutes from the LZ."

Steele tried to see around her partner, vision still a dancing blur as her head rattled with noise and throbs. Her ears were ringing from the explosion but the voices that she could make out were all decidedly male. That was an issue immediately. There should be women's voices mixed in with those sounds. The one-time Marine grabbed at Pinksley. "Merc? Jo? Where," she choked, realizing it was a mixture of her own spit and blood, "where are they?"

Lieu tried to look away and bit her lower lip, but Steele saw her eyes. She knew they didn't lie - eyes never did. Her heart pitched into her wound, gushing more blood and pain throughout her body, but she didn't care. Magnolia shot up from the back of the truck and cried out in pain as the gash in her side ripped farther. She could've sworn her kidney would drop out on the truck, but she didn't rightly give a damn. Rakur and Lieu grabbed at her shoulders, trying to force her back down, "Magnolia!" Lieu yelled, "This isn't helping! Stop it!"

The boss found her voice, and it was harsh and screaming like searing iron on flesh. "Where are they? Now, Lieu! Tell me!"

Lieu got in her face, spit flying as she argued. "They didn't make it, okay? They were discovered before they could bug out. They didn't make it." Her tone was as dead as the hope that flashed through Magnolia, and she collapsed back onto the truck, head slamming against the bed with a bang.

"No!" The blood-curdling scream spooked the rest of the soldiers. Rakur jumped backwards, shocked at the keening sound, hands off of her as if she'd combusted spontaneously. The men were all staring at the two women as they continued to struggle; their simple understanding of the op was that this injured woman was the brains of the entire gig. This development would change the entire outcome.

Pinksley straddled her leader, trying to get her under control but was quickly losing the fight as she watched the blood ooze from her friend's side like a sticky river. Magnolia, beyond comprehension, suddenly felt her chest begin to compress with rage and swimming guilt that threatened to drown her lungs up to her eyes. More to herself than to Steele, Lieu grated out, "You'll thank me for this later." And, drawing back, Pinksley delivered a right cross to Magnolia's jaw.

Steele was fighting – fighting to get free – fighting to return – fighting to correct her mistake. She could hear the gut-wrenching scream and couldn't assimilate the fact that she was the source. An assault of memories - of her past, her present, and all her mistakes in between - came rushing forward to fill the hole which now resonated in her chest. She saw the fist coming, somewhere in her mind, but didn't have the awareness to move or defend herself. The pain exploded in her head and for the second time that night, the world went dark.

Barney Ross had just returned from a three week job in some no-name place on the other side of the world. He should be so exhausted that he was passed out snoring in bed. But, he wasn't. He was lounging in the alley behind the bar, smoking an illegal Cuban cigar, fighting the pins and needles that poked at the back of his eyes. Every part of him hurt, the knife-wound on his arm throbbing slightly. He had a headache, jet lag, and a dire need for food outside of MRE's. Despite that, it was early morning, the sun just beginning to appear over the building, and he was still alive. Good signs.

"There's a law against those," the sudden voice made Ross flinch. From the still shadowy end of the alley, the CIA operative known only as Church appeared, dressed in a cream polo and black slacks, shined shoes with sunglasses perched on top of his bald dome. There was a file under his arm, and he had a cigarette behind his ear. Barney didn't remember ever seeing Church smoke, but then again he hardly paid any more attention than necessary to him.

"Arrest me," was Barney's terse reply as he blew smoke rings in the air, shrugging a shoulder. He pushed himself off the wall to a rigid stance in front of the operative.

Church's laughter was insincere as he answered back, "Someday, Ross, but not today." He walked up next to the Expendables leader, off slightly to his side, staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Today, I need you for a job." He sounded less than pleased, and the authoritative smirk on his face let Barney Ross know it.

"I'm listening." He raised a brow.

Church handed Barney the file, slapping it against his chest. "Brace yourself. It's a fun one," everything in his tone suggested otherwise, and he chuckled at Barney's terse stare. "I need you to find and bring to me one Magnolia Steele." The CIA spook raised a brow of his own, and rubbed his mouth with his hand, shaking his head. "Up until six months ago, she was the leader of a group called The Vixens; the all-female version of your Little Rascals." He gestured to him with a hand, and Barney snarled at the agent's nickname for his team. "Her last mission was a total train wreck – she didn't complete the assignment and lost two of her operatives."

Ross was immediately suspicious, "If she failed, why do you want her?" That fact showed on his face as well, as he set his jaw and flipped the cover off the file with his thumb.

"Well, truth is," Church paused, "I don't. Could care less, really, but for you to finish what she couldn't, you're going to need her intel."

"I thought the job was just to find her?"

"Well, yeah, and then tie up her loose ends." He narrowed his eyes at Ross' stare back at him.

"Yeah," Barney handed the file back, shaking his head. "We don't do windows." He started to move away, but Church shuffled backwards and cut in front of him to stop the exit.

The CIA Agent caught the reference that the team wasn't interested in mopping up after others. He also caught the sharp stare of the Expendable's head-honcho, and didn't much appreciate it. However, he figured he might just have the right temptation. "You might do these windows," Church corrected. "Look at the price tag." He gestured to the folder and smacked his lips together.

Ross reopened the portfolio and saw the figure. Once again, warning bells went off for Barney. If he was offering that much money, there was something the CIA was leaving out. He read through the information, leaving Church to twist, brow arching a few times at specific details that were both off-putting and intriguing. He glanced up at Church for a brief second, relishing in the man's anxious impatience. Church watched the Expendables leader. He knew Ross didn't trust him as far as he could pitch him, but that was fine. He really didn't trust Ross either. A mutual understanding between them was all that was needed for the type of business they conducted. But, Church knew this was a big job, one that he couldn't screw up - the money was the most they'd ever offered, and the intel was huge. There were several components to this mission, all time consuming, and of course, dangerous. So that's why they got paid the big bucks, he figured. He knew Ross wouldn't bite unless the meat was there. Church didn't like the rules, and unfortunately he didn't make them, either. Just followed them. Sometimes.

"Okay." It was quick, curt, and to the point as he closed the file and tucked it under his arm. Church's brows shot up at that one.

"Okay? That's all?"

"Yeah," Ross stubbed out the cigar against the brick. "That's all." He smirked and left his nemesis standing in the alley in his poorly done golf get-up.

...

Now back inside the bar, Barney shuffled through the people and took a seat in the back, where he was out of the light and out of the line of prying eyes. Ross began to dissect the information in the dossier. He read about the ARM and their leader, Aza Makembe in South Africa and the ballsy movement. The facts of the failed assassination attempt and the destruction of the base camp were accompanied by expensive satellite photos that showed the terrain and the aftermath, as well as headshots of the top dogs and hot names.

The details of two American women, the other members of Steele's team, were suspected of espionage and slaughtered by the Movement while in Lesedi. This information was provided by state-supported news sources, and also word-of-mouth and under the table intel. Although considered less reliable, the fact that the former team leader was now MIA gave the facts credence, and was more than enough for him to confirm the suspicion.

Of course, the first part of this mission was going to be locating Steele, and he set to devouring her personnel files. He read her service record, memorizing physical details that would be necessary for flagging her on the field. At roughly 5'9" and 170 pounds, file pictures showed a stocky woman with long legs and generous curves; an hourglass figure - big top, big bottom; thick and dangerous. She had blue-grey eyes and curly light-brown hair that she kept either really messy or in a more military-style low bun, as he noted from the two snapshots: one military, the other a series of street-shots.

Next, he homed in on her skills. They ranged from archery, to kickboxing, more MMA-style fighting, and on and on it went. Surprisingly, she was the CO of her team, the Marine unit who cheekily called themselves 'The Renegades" - a black op team of fighters that went anywhere and did anything assigned to them. She was a Marine sniper before attaining the rank First Sergeant, but had her complications. Continued disciplinary action finally resulted in a dishonorable discharge. What the root issue was, the dossier failed to disclose.

Church's intel also hinted at another name that flickered through many of the reports on and off. Ross knew that if he could locate Steele's partner in crime, Lieutenant "Lieu" Pinksley, sometimes also referred to as "Pinkie," he'd have better odds of getting to the woman herself. He smiled, thinking Pinksley should be easy to find. The pictures all showed a major distinguishing characteristic: a massive head of red hair in big, spiral curls, which were as distinctive as hell. Her personnel file described a soldier of 5'6'', a slender 130, athletic build; not tall and willowy, instead short and tough. Emerald colored eyes off-set the shoulder-length hair which was usually braided and tied back with a bandanna to help keep it in check, as he noted from another series of similar photos.

After-action reports in her folio described events that had left Lieu with a scar over her left eye and a missing first knuckle on her left ring finger from an unfortunate RPG incident. She specialized in Judo, automatic weapons, and was a fantastic mechanic – or so the records showed. Also a former Marine, she was honorably discharged as a Sergeant before meeting and joining up with Steele and her team of Vixens as the second in command.

Barney now had an idea of his quarry. There were a couple of issues that played over in his mind: first, Steele was an experienced mercenary. If she didn't want to be found, could she be? It would be damnably hard to locate him if Ross didn't want to be found. He chuckled to himself. Well, Magnolia Steele was no Barney Ross, which made all the difference to him, and he'd find her.

The other problem was Church. There was more to this than he was saying, and as much as Ross didn't like the man, he hated secrets more - and there were layers to this. More than even the files and research presented. Steele was integral to the plan for some other reason than just intel, because talk was cheap and information was buyable. No one offered that much money for an ex-soldier-turned-mercenary. He just needed to get the whole picture.

He pushed back from the table, legs of the chair scraping across brutally. The team now had a new assignment. Ross guessed he'd better make sure he had a team to go along with him.