Kildar

by John Ringo

  "You said that we should speak honestly," the Russian ambassador said after a brief pause. "And so I will speak with 'no bullshit' as you said. My government is . . . I was going to say 'extremely concerned' but in honesty they're more like extremely tired of the Chechens using Georgia as their base."

  "We . . ." Colonel Skachko said and then stopped as Undersecretary Svirska held up a hand.

  "Please continue, Mr. Ambassador," the undersecretary said, nodding.

  "Yes, we all know why," the ambassador said. "But it does not change the fact. And, yes, my government is considering armed incursion into Georgia, even knowing that it will lead to a border war. Which will simply create chaos and probably make it easier for the Chechens to move. I have argued against this but the decision will not be made at my level. The Americans have argued against this and that is perhaps why it has not yet occurred. But if there is nothing done to stop the Chechens, or at least slow them down, we will be forced by the circumstances to invade. For our own defense. Mr. Jenkins, honestly, what do you think you can do?"

  Mike thought about the terrain and looked at the map. He hadn't been giving any thought to the strategic situation, but he could see Steinberg's point.

  "What about going south to Azerbaijan?" Mike asked.

  "There is support through that route as well," Steinberg admitted. "But they don't have the markets there for sales. Mostly what we're concerned about is the trade to Eastern Europe. Weapons are available from Azerbaijan, especially being funneled by the Iranians, but not in the quantity, quality or cost that they can get them in Eastern Europe."

  "It will take months to get the Keldara to the point they can do more than local defense," Mike said. "But by . . . say autumn, I'll have them patrolling. The point to that is to see anything coming before it gets to us. But the effect will probably be to interdict movement through the area. To an extent. I won't guarantee that we'll get everything. I need something from both the Russians and the Georgians, though."

  "What do you need?" the undersecretary asked, sighing. "Money, unfortunately, is not available."

  "I've got some money," Mike said. "But the end-user license is being held up somewhere. I need that expedited."

  "Done," the undersecretary said, nodding. "I will ensure it is done this day."

  "I'm going to be bringing in trainers," Mike said. "American and possibly Brit. They're not mercenaries, but they may end up engaged in combat, given the way the Chechens move. If they do, I want it kept very quiet and I don't want the Georgian government coming down on us."

  "Guaranteed," Colonel Skachko said. "I will ensure this through my office; I have the authority."

  "From the Russians the main thing that I need is an intel feed," Mike said, looking at the two. "If you have concerns on something that you suspect or know is moving through my area, tell me. You should be able to get data on my secure link through American sources. If you have an issue, call me. I'll do what I can to handle it. Okay?"

  "Yes," the ambassador said, nodding.

  "I've got limited manpower, which is currently untrained," Mike said, sighing. "And I don't actually know what they're going to be capable of. But on my honor, I'll do my best to cut out Chechen movement through my area of operations. For the reasons we've discussed and because I fucking hate Islamic terrorists. I would appreciate it if Russia gave me a year to see what I can do. I know that's a long time in a war, but it's going to take at least that long to get a full grip on the area."

  "I will present that to my government," the ambassador said, nodding.

  "I want to make a last thing perfectly clear," Mike said, frowning. "I am not an agent of the United States government. I never have been. All I am is a retired SEAL. Don't go hanging CIA or NSA or any other tags on me. I'm a free agent. I'd just intended to make a tiddly little militia. I'll do what I can to keep two countries from going to war. But I make no guarantees and I'm getting dick all of support. This is all on my dime. Keep that firmly in mind."

  "And you made your money from a communications company nobody has ever heard of," Colonel Kortotich said, smiling thinly.

  "No," Mike said, working his jaw, "I made my money from killing people and breaking things. Specifically terrorists and their operations. Your point?"

  * * *

  He had about a million things to do, but none of them were as urgent as getting a cup of tea from the kitchen and cadging another look at those lovely girls. They were still cleaning the kitchen, even now, and quite frequently on their knees with their lovely butts up in the air.

  When he got there, though, the girls were up on their feet. Well, three of them were, while the fourth was sitting at the kitchen table, bent over in pain.

  "What's wrong?" Mike asked.

  "Irina has a bellyache," Mother Griffina said, frowning. "I think it is just gas."

  "It really hurts," the girl said, her face working in pain.

  "Lay her down on the table," Mike said, looking at the girl's face. She was sweating and pale.

  The two old women helped her onto the table and Mike watched as the girl bent to favor her right side.

  "Okay, I'm not doing anything wrong," Mike said, sliding his hand behind her neck. "Think of me as a doctor. This much I think I know about." She felt extremely warm but Mike didn't have a thermometer. Yes, he did, come to think of it.

  "One of you," he said, looking at the girls who were standing around. "In my room there is a large black bag. There are three pouches on the outside. In the top pouch, there is a small purple plastic case. Get it."

  "Stay still," he said to the Irina, laying his hands on her abdomen. "Does this hurt?" he asked, pressing her near the stomach.

  "No," she said. "Maybe a little."

  "You'll know when it hurts," Mike said, putting his hands on her left side and pressing near the kidney. "Does this hurt?"

  "No," Irina said.

  "This?" Mike asked, pressing into her right side.

  The answer was a cry of pain and the girl arched forward.

  "Sorry, had to check," Mike said, shaking his head as the girl he'd dispatched ran in with the plastic box.

  The case was supposed to be a holder for soap, but Mike had used it for small breakable items he didn't want to be without. One of which was a small mercury thermometer. He shook it down and inserted it under the girl's tongue then took her pulse. It was nearly a hundred and a bit thready. He pulled the thermometer out; she was running a hundred and four degree temperature.

  "Okay, we have a serious problem," Mike said, thinking about the long drive to Tbilisi. "We need to get Irina to a hospital as fast as we can. I'll need one friend, a good friend, and I'll take Genadi since he has to go to Tbilisi anyway. You," he said, pointing at the girl who had brought the thermometer. "Go back up to the room. There is a black box on the top of my dresser. Close the top, unplug it and put it in the small black bag. Then bring them both down here. You," he said, pointing to the next one. "Go get Genadi. Tell him he has three minutes to pack and be out front. You," he said, pointing to the last, a really beautiful blonde. "You're coming with us. She'll need somebody to hold her hand. This is going to get very bad."

  "Kildar . . ." Mother Savina said.

  "You have to stay here and finished getting the house prepared," Mike said. "So does Mother Griffina. Get her mother headed to the hospital tonight if you can. In the morning if you can't. Get a taxi or a car or something. There is a bundle of euros in my top drawer, use those. But we have to leave now."

  "Very well, Kildar," Mother Savina said, shaking her head.

  "Let's go, Irina," Mike said, helping the girl off the table. "You're going to have a very long, very unpleasant ride."

  The girl he'd sent for his jump bag was standing in the doorway holding it carefully when he headed that way.

  "Follow us to the car," Mike said. "Then run and get some bottled water. Where in the hell is Genadi?"

  "Here, Kildar," the man said, looking at the girl who was bent over do
uble in pain.

  "We're going to Tbilisi," Mike said. "Right now. She has an inflamed appendix, I think. There's a couple of other things it could be," he continued, making his way through the foyer. "Mother Savina, have clothes for both girls sent with Irina's mother. Tell the elders she's gone to the hospital. And pray we get there in time."

  Chapter Nine

  Mike had given Irina two tablets of hydrocodone and three of Keflex when they got to the car. He then roared out of the compound with the two girls in the back and Genadi up front.

  "Kildar," Genadi said as the Mercedes took a corner at dangerous speeds. "You might want to slow down. Killing all of us will save nothing."

  "There's only so much time," Mike pointed out. "And it's, what? Four hours to Tbilisi?"

  "There is that," Genadi said, sighing. "Are you sure it's the appendix?"

  "I'm not a damned doctor," Mike said. "But I was on a mission one time when one of the team came down with it. I talked to the team medic about it and when you get that sort of reaction it's pretty much a given. He also said that once they burst, you're in huge trouble."

  "This I understand," Genadi said. "But we are in huge trouble anyway."

  "My driving isn't that bad," Mike said, chuckling.

  "No, that is not it," Genadi sighed. "Kildar, we are two unmarried men in a car with two unmarried females."

  "Oh, give me a break," Mike snapped. "If she didn't go to the hospital, she'd die."

  "You should have brought Mother Savina or Mother Griffina," Genadi said.

  "Fine time to tell me, now," Mike pointed out then shook his head. "I think Savina tried to tell me but I cut her off. How much of a screw-up have I made?"

  "For you, very little," Genadi said, quietly. "For Lydia and Irina, perhaps much."

  "Kildar, it is okay," Lydia said, from the back. "You are the Kildar, you can do as you will."

  "Don't tell me things like that or we will get in trouble," Mike replied. "I'll fix it. Don't worry about it."

  "Kildar . . ." Genadi said.

  "I'll fix it, Genadi," Mike snarled. "If I have to, I'll make them eat it raw. But they are not going to send Lydia or Irina to town because of my mistake. Get that straight. The absolute worst that happens is I'll take them in myself. But nobody mentions that option, understood?"

  "Yes, Kildar," Genadi said.

  "Thank you, Kildar," Lydia replied.

  "How is Irina?" Mike asked.

  "Asleep, I think," Lydia said. "At least very sleepy and quiet. What did you give her?'

  "Enough Loritab to put her under," Mike said. "And enough Keflex, I hope, to slow down the infection until we get to the hospital. The Loritab has Tylenol in it, so it should get the fever down a bit. I'm not sure what I'm doing, but I'm trying."

  "It is very cold in here, Kildar," Lydia said. "Could you maybe turn on the heat?"

  "The colder it is, the harder it is for her body to let the fever run out of control," Mike said. "We're just going to have to put up with it."

  The rest of the drive was mostly made in silence except for when occasional really bad bumps would wake Irina up. Finally they got to Tbilisi after midnight and Mike followed Genadi's directions to the hospital.

  At the receiving dock for the emergency room, an armed guard waved them away.

  "Right, I'm going on full ugly American mode," Mike said. "Genadi and Lydia, get Irina out. I'll handle the rest."

  Mike got out of the car and stalked over to the guard who reacted by pointing his AK at Mike's chest.

  "Get that out of my way," Mike said, slapping the barrel aside. "We have a medical emergency here. Where's a damned doctor?"

  "You cannot park here!" the guard said, trying to swing the weapon back.

  "Like hell," Mike replied. He pulled the AK away from the guard, dropped the magazine and disassembled the weapon before the guard could even reach for it. "Where is a damned doctor?" he snapped, grabbing the guard by the collar and lifting him off his feet.

  "Inside," the guard gurgled, pointing to the doors.

  "Thank you," Mike replied, setting him down. "I'll move my car in a bit. If you have any questions about this little encounter, contact Colonel Skachko at the Office of the President and he will put it in perspective."

  Mike grabbed his jump bag and still made it to the doors before Lydia and Genadi had gotten the shaky Irina to the door. He held them open and then strode into the admissions area.

  "Where's a doctor?" he asked the woman at the first counter.

  "You will be having a seat," the woman said, pointing to a set of folding chairs.

  "Nope," Mike said, leaning over until he was inches from her face. "We have an inflamed appendix. Onset was better than four hours ago. We need a doctor and we need him now. If I have to wake up the president of Georgia, and I can with one call, I will. But you had better get me an internist, one that is sober, in no more than ten minutes or I'm going to make sure you spend the rest of your life in a cheap brothel in Turkey. Do I make myself clear?"

  * * *

  "I am Doctor Platov. What is the problem?"

  The doctor was about fifty and clearly tired, but Mike couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath.

  "Possible inflamed appendix," Mike said. "Pain from palpation on the right side, fever of 104 plus, Fahrenheit. She's had fifteen milligrams of Loritab and seventy-five milligrams of Keflex about four hours ago. Onset was slightly in excess."

  "Get her to an examination room, now," the doctor said to one of the orderlies that had accompanied him. The orderlies were large and male and Mike figured they had two purposes.

  "She comes from a very strict mountain society," Mike said as the orderlies brought out a gurney and helped Irina into it. "As long as possible, her friend should be with her," he added, indicating Lydia. "And a female nurse is going to be required."

  "The first thing that is required is payment," Dr. Platov sighed. "I can confirm your diagnosis, but to open her will require assurance that the bill will be paid. I assume she has no insurance if she is from the mountains. And I cannot, cannot, operate without assurance of payment."

  "Give me an estimate," Mike said, "and I'll give you cash."

  "You do not understand," the doctor said, tiredly. "Even in this country, such things will be expensive. At least a thousand euros."

  "Where's the cashier?" Mike asked as two policemen came in the doors.

  "I believe you threatened her with being sold into slavery," the doctor said, dryly.

  "Fine," Mike said. "Just one thing. I know that there are local medicines and foreign and the foreign are more expensive. They're also better. Use the foreign. I'll pay for it."

  "You, stop right there," one of the policemen said, placing his hand on his pistol.

  "If you draw that, you'll end up on a border post shaking down Chechens," Mike replied, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm quite serious. If you think I'm not, you'd better wake up Colonel Skachko at the office of the President of Georgia. Right now, I'm going over there," Mike said, pointing at the functionary at the desk, "and I'm going to pay her for the services this doctor is about to perform. Come on over. We'll talk about whether I'm under arrest over there, okay?"

  The doctor looked at them and nodded, then gestured at Lydia to accompany him as the gurney was wheeled away.

  "Hi," Mike said, smiling at the woman who was looking at him with a mixture of wariness and anger. "Sorry about all that, I was just trying to get through to you." He dipped into the jump bag, ignoring the police at his back, and pulled out a thick bundle of euro notes. "The doctor estimated that the operation will be a thousand euros," he said, opening up the bundle and counting. "That's fifteen hundred. The extra is for good medicines. I'm, personally, good for any additional treatment. Is there any question?"

  "What is she, your whore?" the woman asked, eyeing the money on the desk.

  "No, she's in the nature of a retainer," Mike said. "As far as I know, she's a virgin. She'd better be one when she leaves t
he hospital. Pass that around.

  "Right," he continued, turning to the cops. "Mind if I pull out my cell phone?" he continued, ignoring them as he did just that. He hit the speed-dial list and held the phone up where they could see it. "That is the personal, home, number of the Georgian Undersecretary of State for Military Affairs, Vladimir Svirska. Would you like me to hit Send?" he asked, hovering his finger over the button.