by John Ringo
He took them back to the house and up to the balcony overlooking the harem garden.
"This will do," he said, setting the Robar on a table and unfolding the bipod. "Lasko, spot my rounds on the third zero target." Mike loaded a magazine in the weapon and took a good sight picture on the target. The scope was strong enough that the bull's-eye filled most of it.
"Right, high," Lasko said at the first round. "Low, left, just outside."
Mike took five rounds to get the weapon zeroed in to where his last two went perfectly through the X ring. He replaced the magazine and loaded, then swiveled the weapon to look down into the valley.
"What time of year is it?" Mike asked, noting a small group of deer down by the stream. "Spring. Any hunting laws around here?"
"You're looking at the herd?" Lasko asked, looking through the spotting scope. "That is nearly two kilometers away."
"Which one?" Mike asked. It was a long time since he'd shot at this level and he wasn't sure he could make the shot. But he was sure enough to try. Even close would be impressive at this range.
"The bigger darker one on the left," Lasko said, quietly. "That is the buck. He has nothing to do for the rest of the year but eat. He's skinny now, though. He'll be very tough."
"I'm making a point," Mike said. "You can have the meat if I'm on."
Mike looked down into the valley at the trees and tried to gauge the wind. About seven knots from the southeast. Range . . . if the deer was a meter and a quarter or so at the shoulder he was 1500 meters based on the measurements in the scope. Mike wished for a moment he'd gotten a laser range finder out. There was one sitting in the equipment room but he hadn't expected to need it. He adjusted the scope and considered his target. Even with the 20x scope the deer was small at this distance. He took a slight breath, breathed out, drew back on the trigger and timed the last bit of squeeze for when his heartbeat was off.
The Robar cracked and Vil sighed.
"Missed."
"Wait," Mike said. A moment later the deer took a step forward, then fell to his knees and over on his side. The slush beyond him was red with blood. The other deer sniffed at it for a moment and then trotted away in confusion.
"Vil and Lasko," Mike said, straightening up. "Get the Expedition and go pick up my deer, please. Dress it and present it to Father Kulcyanov with my compliments and apology for it being so tough."
"Yes, Kildar," Vil said, quietly.
* * *
"Right through the fucking heart," Vil said that night at dinner. "Right behind the shoulder."
"Formidable," Lasko said, nodding. "Very formidable. I look forward to what he can teach me."
"We have a real Kildar again," Father Shaynav said, nodding. "Not some fat commissar or corrupt policeman, but a warrior as the Kildar should be."
"I think he should be brought into the mysteries," Vil said, boldly. "He is equal to them."
"It is early to decide that," Father Shaynav said, sternly. "We have not seen him tested in struggle and he still does not know our customs. When he stands the test, when he has been one of us longer, we can consider if he should be brought into the mysteries."
* * *
"Ladies," Mike said as the four whores filed into the foyer and looked around in interest. They were each carrying small bags, probably all they owned. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you where you're going to be staying."
The harem quarters had been cleaned up but the rooms were still Spartan in the extreme. He showed them to the four rooms he'd chosen for them, had them drop their bags there and then showed them to his office.
"Here's the deal, girls," Mike said. "I've been trying to figure out how much money you're making in the bordello. I'm still not sure but it's not more than ten euros a day, average. Anybody disagree?" he asked, looking at Katya.
"I've made more than that," the blonde said, sadly. "Is that what you're going to be paying us."
"You've made more from time to time," Mike said. "And I'm talking about after your split to the house. But on average, you don't. There are days when you don't have any customers. So. What I'm doing is paying Yakov ten euros per day to, well, 'rent' you. But you'll be earning thirty euros a day, working."
"That I can live with," Katya said, raising one shapely eyebrow.
"Yeah, I bet," Mike said. "However, besides what you're experts in, you'll be expected to act as general house help and hostesses. There are going to be about twenty people staying here for several months. We can get help from the Keldara for cleanup, especially heavy cleanup, but you're going to be doing some of that, for sure. Notably, room cleaning of the visitors, making beds, things like that. Then there's being general party girls. You're getting paid a flat rate, don't go fishing for tips," he added, looking at Katya who raised her eyebrow again.
"Room and board will be provided; there's no kickback. And the board will be better than at that fleabag you're staying in. On the subject of fleabags, you know how I am about vermin; don't get a lice attack started. Shower every day, check yourselves for lice and treat yourself as needed. If you suspect bedbugs, see Mother Savina and she'll work on it. If you see fleas, expect a major assault. This place is clean, now, keep it that way.
"Your rooms aren't particularly pretty," Mike continued. "And you don't have much in the way of possessions. There are some magazines around that have room furnishings, pictures, things like that. There are others that have clothes, including lingerie. I'll set up two funds. Each of you will be allowed to order from the magazines to the limit of your funds each month. The first month you'll have about six hundred euros, apiece, to buy things for your rooms. Those will be staying. You'll also have about five hundred euros to order clothes. Shipping will not be included. After the first month it will go down a bit to two hundred for stuff for the room and two hundred for clothes. If you don't use one month's, it rolls over to the next. But use it or lose it; when you leave you don't get what's left to have as cash."
"For that I will gladly stay here for some time," Katya said, raising an eyebrow. "What about jewelry?"
"That falls into the clothes budget," Mike said. "Anything you'll be leaving with." He looked at the girls and shook his head. "I'm going to rename you all. Expecting troops to keep up with Katya and Illya and Latya will just be too tough." He turned to Latya, a young brunette, and pointed.
"Flopsy," he said, then pointed at Illya the slightly "older" all of sixteen, brunette, "Mopsy, and . . ." he looked at Katya and smiled. "Cottontail. I know you are."
"Very nice," Katya said, smiling thinly. "A nursery rhyme?"
"Something like that," Mike said.
"What about me?" Inessa said, raising an eyebrow and ducking her head coyly.
"Bambi," Mike said. "She was a good friend and so are you."
"Bambi," Inessa said, wrinkling her brow. "I like that." One of the things Mike liked about Inessa was her simple approach to life; as long as she didn't have to think too hard, she was happy. That and the fact she could suck a golf ball through forty feet of cheap garden hose, kinks and all.
"Okay, go get settled in," Mike said. "All of you except . . . Cottontail. I need to talk to her."
When the others had filed out he looked Katya squarely in the eye.
"Katya, you're one hard, cold bitch," Mike said, frowning. "And you've been a pain in the ass to everyone who's tried to keep you. You know it and I know it so don't deny it."
"I won't," she said, raising an eyebrow and looking at him coldly.
"I don't have time for it," Mike said. "I'm going to have enough on my plate as it is. I'd put you in charge of the girls, except you'd make their lives more of a hell than you already have. And I won't have it. I want happy young ladies in this house, or at least a semblance of it. You've got two choices, a binary solution set as they say in math. You can go with the flow for while you're here, or I'll put you down like the rabid bitch you are. I won't beat you, I won't rape you, I won't make you clean the floor with your tongue. I'll put a bullet
in the back of your head and dump you in a grave. Am I clear?"
"Yes," Katya said, with a voice like ice.
"But I'll throw you a bone," Mike said. "What do you want in life?"
"What?" Katya asked.
"What do you want?" Mike asked. "You're smart; you couldn't be as dangerous as you are without being smart. So you've got to have an idea what you'd rather have in life than this. What is it?"
"I never want to spread my legs for another man," Katya said.
"Can't oblige you right now," Mike admitted. "I need you. But how are you going to do anything without spreading your legs, have you thought about that?"
"Yes," Katya said, warily. "I need to go to school. Get a job."
"You'd kill your boss," Mike said. "You're going to have to think bigger than a job. Okay, you need to get educated. Stick with me for a while, until I've got things a bit more settled, and I'll either send you to a school or, more likely, get a tutor. You're not socialized enough for most schools; you'd lose your temper and get kicked out. But you have to work with me or all bets are off and I'll put you in a grave, understand?"
"I won't step out of line," Katya said.
"That includes tormenting the girls to get your kicks," Mike said. "I need them happy and joyfully ready to jump in bed. And I need you to at least play the part. I may not be able to get a tutor until sometime in the summer, maybe even the fall. Just bide your time in the meantime. Can you read?"
"A bit," Katya said.
"There's a library," Mike said, shrugging. "It's not much of a library, but it's got some books in Russian. Knock yourself out. When you're not otherwise busy. Being able to really read is the first step to learning."
* * *
"Good to see you again, Chief," Mike said as Adams came up the steps.
He'd sent some of the less insane Keldara drivers into Tbilisi to pick up the trainers. The group had been staying in Tbilisi taking a Berlitz course in Georgian. They'd have to get used to the Keldara dialect, though.
"Good to see you, Mike," Adams said, shaking his hand. Mike and the chief had gone from BUDS to the same platoon when they started off as SEALs, New Meat as they were called. After Mike left the teams to be an instructor they'd halfway lost touch. On the other hand, the chief had been on the platoon that went into Syria where he'd recognized his old team-bud "Ghost." Since then they'd kept in a little better touch.
"This is Colonel Nielson," Adams said, introducing the short, slightly paunchy man who had followed him. The man had black hair and green eyes that were bright with intelligence and maybe a hint of mischief. "He's got good background for this. Former SF officer, Civil Affairs experience."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jenkins," the colonel said.
"Likewise," Mike said, grinning. "I'm going to be dumping a load of work on you. I hate paperwork,"
"And I'll find someone else to dump it on," Nielson replied, smiling back.
It was only marginally cool today and most of the snow had melted. There was still ice in shadow patches but the air felt balmy after the winter and the trainers looked as if they had caught the spring fever. Or maybe it was the girls lined up behind Mike, holding trays loaded with mugs of beer.
"Welcome to the valley of the Keldara," Mike said, looking the group of trainers over. They looked as if they had seen the elephant, one and all. Given the way the U.S. military, and especially special operations, had been used for the last two decades, finding people with combat experience wasn't hard. None of them were young; the youngest was a former Marine NCO who was twenty-seven. But most of them were still in shape. The exception were a couple of big guys who looked as if they couldn't run but they could carry an M-1 Abrams around on their backs.
"The Keldara know where you're going to be bunking," Mike said. "So dump your gear on them, grab a beer and follow me."
He led them to the dining room, his office being too small, and got them settled around the table.
"Anybody a teetotaler?" Mike asked. "There's water and some different sodas. Also tea or coffee. Ask."
"I'd prefer a cola," one of the females said in Georgian. "Barring that, water."
"Mopsy," Mike said.
"Yes, Kildar," the girl said, nodding and hurrying out.
"Servants," Adams said, grinning. "You're going up in the world, Ass-boy."
"So have you," Mike said, looking around the table. "Okay, first of all, rations and comfort. Meals will usually be served here unless training dictates otherwise. Mother Griffina is the cook. She's going to be getting some Keldara girls to help her out. Eat as much as you'd like but it will probably be Dutch choice; that is, there will be food on the table and that's what's for dinner. Breakfast is the usual eggs to order and all that. Or cereal, although most of those are European; getting American out here is damned near impossible. You're bunked upstairs, mostly one to a room but some of the juniors will have to double up. They're pretty Spartan, but you can fix them up how you like. We can order stuff in from catalogs. In that case, we can get some stuff from the States. I've set up one of the parlors as a dayroom. There's a keg in there for as-preferred serving. If any of you can't handle the sauce, you'll be out on your ass. This is the usual training thing; keep your partying away from the troops except on special occasions.
"On the subject of partying," Mike continued, looking up as Mopsy came back in and set a glass of Coke in front of the female who'd asked for it. "The young ladies here present are on limits. For convenience sake they're named Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and Bambi," he said to chuckles, pointing to each. "They've been hired for the duration to ensure your comfort. There's four of them and about twenty male trainers: handle that. Getting into fights over comfort providers is unprofessional." He nodded at the girls and they discreetly left.
"For the ladies," he continued, looking at the three females and shrugging. "You'll have to make your own arrangements. For a dozen obvious reasons, stay away from the Keldara men. That pretty much means if you have needs find your outlet in the team. Unless, of course, you go the other way. I don't frankly care but if you do, make your arrangements with the girls. Questions?"
"Not from me," said the one who'd asked for a Coke. "I've already made arrangements." She was a slim redhead with a hard face, about forty probably but looking a bit older from time in the sun.
"I dunno," one of the big guys said, shrugging. "That Cottontail is a looker, Sandy."
"We're good," one of the other females said. "We'll make arrangements. And I have to agree, that blonde is a looker."
"Cottontail is one vicious bitch," Mike said. "I tried to avoid bringing her in, but she's here. If she gives anyone trouble, tell me, I'll handle it. But, for general info, she'd just as gladly slide a knife in as anything else. Don't let her fool you. On the other hand, she can fuck like a mink. Have fun. I'll take Bambi any day."
"I take it they're getting paid for this," Sandy said.
"Very well by local standards," Mike said. "And various comfort items to make them happy. Flopsy, Mopsy and Bambi will be happy as clams as long as Cottontail doesn't screw with them too bad. They're all bunked in the extremely convenient harem quarters. You guys are upstairs. They'll handle stuff like bedmaking. If you don't like the job they do cleaning up, explain it to them. I haven't had time."
"What's the training schedule?" Colonel Nielson asked.
"In a week or so the ground will be soft enough for rock picking," Mike said. "That's an all-hands evolution. After that comes planting. That used to be all hands but with the equipment I've brought in there will be spare hands. I want to use that time to get to work on some projects. Notably I want to see if we can build a small hydroelectric dam. We also can start doing some work with specified leadership types and work out the training schedule. After planting there's a period when they usually repair winter damage. I understand there's a bit of a party to celebrate spring. I think the day after the party would be a good time to start training," he finished, grinning evilly.
"Be nice guys until training time," one of the trainers said with a strong British accent. "Then evil bastards?"
"You got it," Mike replied. "I'll just make one comment now on training. Generally in U.S. mil training they use the 'show then tell then do' method. I'd prefer that you use, to the greatest extent possible, 'do then show then tell.' Carefully instruct them as they set the demo charge, then let them blow it, then give them the class."
"Keeps them interested," Colonel Nielson said, nodding. "And experience is the best trainer. Will do."
"There are a hundred and twenty guys and forty females," Mike said. "Training the females is going to be tricky. The Keldara don't, in general, think much of women. The usual back country story. But I've convinced them that the women have to be trained to hold fixed positions. Most of that training will have to be done by the female trainers since they're also really picky about having males around the women. But I've got some push I can use there. Questions, comments, concerns?"
"What's with the feudal lord look?" one of the younger trainers asked. "I'm not trying to be challenging, sir, but it's pretty odd."
"It is that," Mike said, sighing. "This culture is odd. Some ways it's like every third world rat hole you've ever dealt with. Other ways . . . it's not. The Keldara are a small little insular tribe. In a lot of ways they act like the tribes around them and in other ways they don't. They sure as hell don't look like most of the people in the area. Bottom line is that the guy whose held this castle always seems to have been a foreigner, at least foreign to the area. They call the owner the Kildar, which doesn't have any clear etymology I'm aware of. Doesn't mean baron or duke or sheriff, just 'Kildar.' Obviously it's related to Keldara, but how I'm not sure. I think the answer might be somewhere in this fort. The construction is odd, especially on the lower floors. It almost looks Roman or Greek, but I don't think the Romans and Greeks got this far."
"Byzantines might have," the heavier trainer who had been bantering with Sandy said. "They extended up this way for a while if one of my college classes is being recalled right. Have you taken a good look around?"
