by John Ringo
"No reason the mule train is going to want to wait around, especially this close to us," Mike said, leaning back on his own ruck. "It's been a long day. Wake me up if anything interesting happens."
Chapter Five
"Kildar?"
Mike had awakened when he heard stirring and sat up immediately, checking his weapon.
The vehicles were gone from the block and large timber and boulder blocks were in place on the road. All he could see in view were a few of the Keldara, though.
"There are three trucks coming down the road," Dmitri said, quietly. "Gregor's taxi passed through late last night but we expected him. He ran Captain Tyurin into Tbilisi yesterday." Tyurin was the local police chief. Venal to a fault on minor items, he was a strong supporter of the Keldara militia and its fight against the Chechens. With a regal bearing and uniforms far finer than his official salary could afford he appeared to base his actions in life on Inspector Louis "I am Shocked, Shocked" said Renault from Casablanca.
Mike checked his watch and saw it was just before dawn.
"Okay, that looks like show-time," he said, getting to his feet and checking the SPR. "Where is everyone?"
"Most are in defensive positions," Dmitri said. "Oleg left only five in view. All of Sawn's force are in hides or dug in. Sergeant Vanner has sent Lilia up with some technical gear."
"What?" Mike asked, following Dmitri into the woods.
The intel specialist was in an open hole about thirty meters from the road about halfway up the switchbacks. Mike could hear the trucks approaching down the grade as they got to the position.
"Good morning, Kildar," the young woman said, smiling at him in the faint predawn light. She had light red hair that was tied in a bun under her boonie cap and, like all the Keldara women, was almost startlingly beautiful. She looked like an out-of-place fairytale princess dressed in digi-cam.
"What did you bring?" Mike asked curiously.
"Intercept and jamming gear," the girl said, waving at a blinking box at her feet. "And an umbrella mike so we can overhear their conversation."
"Great," Mike said, picking up the directional microphone and waving it towards the waiting Keldara. However, all he could hear from the troops awaiting the trucks was breathing. The Keldara were almost scary. They'd lived together so long that they could communicate at a level that sometimes seemed like telepathy. He saw one of them turn and look at another and make a chin gesture, which was all it took for the other two to redeploy.
The trucks were making too much noise at this range for him to overhear the drivers but he saw them brake as the Keldara in the chicken pit lit off a magnesium flare.
"Five gets you ten they try to run," McKenzie said, peering through a night scope.
"No transmission from the lead truck," Lilia said, looking at her scopes. "No transmissions at all."
"Start jamming on all non-Keldara freqs," Mike said, crouching down and directing the microphone at the trucks, trying to pick up chatter.
"The driver of the lead truck just asked the guy next to him something," McKenzie said.
"Saw that," Mike replied, directing the microphone at them. But there was still too much noise from the truck motor for him to hear anything useful. The passenger in the lead truck took his time answering, though. And when he said something, the truck pulled forward.
"Okay, the passenger in the lead is a leader," the Kildar said. "Get that out to the trooops. I'd like him alive."
"Yes, Kildar," Dmitri said, keying his communications.
* * *
"What is this?" the driver of the lead truck demanded as he pulled up next to the small timber and sandbag bunker placed in the middle of the road.
"Inspection for contaband," Juris Makanee said, easily. "Proceed one vehicle at a time around the barriers. If more than one truck enters the barrier area both will be fired upon. Stop halfway down the barriers for preinspection, then you can proceed to the final block for clearance."
"I'm sure that something can be arranged," the driver said, handing over his license with a folded bill behind it.
Juris looked at the license as he absently handed the fifty ruble note back.
"You're cleared to move to the next check point," Juris said, looking the man in the eye. He wasn't Russian or Georgian, probably a black-ass Chechen bastard. But the orders were to stop and inspect, not shoot them out of hand as he'd prefer. "And if you try to bribe the next guard, he'll put a bullet through your head. Move out."
The driver angrily put the truck in gear and jerked forward as Juris waved for the next truck to stop.
* * *
"Checkpoint," Mikhail Solovi said, looking across the compartment at Vyatkin.
Vyatkin put his head out the flap of the military truck and looked at the setup.
"This isn't Georgian National Guard, whoever it is," Vyatkin said, sitting back down and looking at the Chechen black-asses in the back of the truck. "Who is it?"
"Keldara," one of them said, frowning. "I told Mashadem we couldn't move through here, but they wouldn't listen."
"Are these the new militia in the area?" Solovi asked, shaking his head. "Bribe them."
"They won't take bribes," one of the Chechens said, fingering his AK. "They are led by an American, the Kildar. They are very loyal. We are totally fucked. They don't take prisoners."
"There were only five I saw," Vyatkin said, looking at Solovi.
"There will be more hidden around the checkpoint," Solovi said. "We need to not be caught in this, Eduard."
"Agreed," Vyatkin said, looking at the Chechens. "You never saw us, understand?"
"Have a good walk back to Russia," the Chechen said as the two dropped over the back of the truck. "You Russian bastards," he added when they were out of sight.
* * *
"Interesting," Mike said. The reception at the back of the trucks was clear as gin. "The last vehicle's filled with troops. Two guys just jumped off the back. Let them get in the woods and then tell Sawn I want them both alive. When the first truck has been checked for explosives, let the second one up to the midpoint check point. Check it while the first one is being cleared, then engage. Blow the shit out of the trail truck, but just kill the drivers of the other two and take down the passengers. I want all that done in one hit."
"Understood, Kildar," Dmitri said, keying his communicator.
* * *
"We're clear," Vyatkin said, stopping to pant.
"You are out of shape, Eduard," Solovi said, looking back at the trucks. The lead truck had reached the final checkpoint and he briefly considered whether they should have stayed in the truck. But not even the stupidest guard could miss the armed Chechens in the rear truck. They had supposedly been "guarding" them on the way to the meeting, but they'd spent most of their time being as insulting as they could manage in a hamfisted way.
As Mikhail watched, the militiaman searching the second truck climbed out of the back and walked over to the driver's side. As soon as he reached it, there was a series of pops and the passenger side doors were yanked open by more guards who dragged the occupants out and threw them on the ground. The drivers were clearly dead.
Before the Chechen guards in the trailing truck could react, RPG rounds slammed out from both sides of the road, turning the rear of the trucks into burning shrapnel. The Chechens who made it out of the back were quickly silenced by heavy fire from machine guns, their bodies dancing as the bullets slammed into them from either side.
"Yob tvoyu mat," Eduard whispered, looking at the carnage.
"Set up," Mikhail said, angrily. "They knew we were coming. There must be a platoon hidden in those trees."
"Closer to a company, actually," a voice said from behind them.
"Fuck."
* * *
"This situation brings out the cliché in me," Mike said, gazing in wonder at the two Russians. "But I'll try to leave it at one. I've got a gun, a backhoe and over a thousand hectares to get rid of the bodies. So why don't yo
u just tell me what you're doing here and I'll be up by a couple of bullets and some diesel on the deal."
"You're American," Mikhail said, sneeringly. "You won't kill us. Just call the damned Georgians and turn us over to them."
"You're so sure of that, tovarisch," Mike said, drawing his .45. "Okay, two clichés. I'll try to keep it down. Last chance."
"You're not going to ..." Mikhail said, just as the Kildar, without looking, pointed the weapon and shot Vyatkin through the knee.
As the screaming man fell back on the hold of his two Keldara handlers, Mike pointed the weapon at his head.
"This is the deal," Mike said. "I was listening to you in the truck, so I know you're the leader, 'Mikhail.' So why don't you keep your fat friend from having his head blown off, and various unpleasantries to you, by telling me why a couple of Russian hitters are traveling with Chechens."
"Yob tvoyu mat" Mikhail said, panting.
"Jeeze, you're stupid," Mike said, pointing the pistol at Dmitri and dropping him with a round through the teeth that blew out the back of his head, spattering the Keldara and the surviving Russian with brains.
"You son of a bitch!" Mikhail snarled, struggling in the grip of the two Keldara.
"Your turn, comrade," Mike said, pointing the .45 at the Russian's knee. "You've got four major joints. And even after I shoot them, there are various unpleasant things I can do to you. Huh-one, huh-two ... no? Three."
The Russian screamed as the .45 blew his knee joint to splinters and sagged in the grip of the Keldara, but they held him upright.
"Damn, you're dumb," Mike shook his head. "You're going to die. You've got to know that. And I know you don't have some honor code to stick to. Now, me, I'd take a lot before I'd give up the location of some SEAL buddies. But you? You've got nothing to look to but money. What's the point in suffering for something you're not going to earn, anyway? Tell me what I want to know and I'll put a bullet through your head and put you out of pain. I don't promise more than that, but you can hope."
"Fuck you," the Russian panted.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Mike said, kicking him squarely in his wounded knee.
This time the Russian fell to the ground, writhing, despite the best efforts of the Keldara to hold him upright.
"Plug the hole before he bleeds out," Mike said, stepping away. "Don't let his apparent pain give him an opening. But let's try to keep him alive for a bit."
Three Keldara pinned the writhing Russian to the ground while a fourth worked on the knee, plugging it with coagulating-impregnated cotton and then wrapping it in a pressure bandage. It was still bleeding, but not as copiously, when the Keldara was done.
"Feeling better?" Mike asked, stepping up to the Russian and then kicking him, hard, in the bandaged kneecap.
When the screaming died down Mike sqatted near the Russian's head and shook his own.
"Come on, Mikhail," Mike said, sympathetically. "Why were you with the Chechens? What in the hell is going to make them let a couple of Russians ride with them?"
"Weapons ..." Mikhail grunted.
"Oh, give me a break," Mike said, shaking his head. "Hold out his arm, it's the elbow next ..."
"No!" Mikhail gasped. "Special weapons. That's all I know. There is a trade. Money for special weapons."
"How much money?" Mike asked.
"I don't know," Mikhail said, desperately. "I was just to meet about security arrangements."
"The Russian mob is selling the Chechens weapons?" Mike asked, musingly. "Vladimir is going to love that."
"Not mob," Mikhail said. "Sergei. Sergei Karensky. He is handling security for someone, I don't know who. Eduard was to discuss money. He said only that it was very much. Very much."
"Not enough, Mikhail," Mike said, putting the hot barrel of the .45 to the Russian's elbow. "What kind of weapons? How much money?"
"I don't KNOW!" he screamed. "Much money!"
"Where was the meet going to go down?" Mike asked.
"Somewhere near Arensia," Mikhail gasped.
"That's right in the Pankisi, Mikhail," Mike pointed out. "There is no security in that region. How were they getting in, chopper?"
"Cars," Mikhail gasped. "Land Rovers. From the Russian sector. Sergei set it up. Right at the edge of the Pankisi Gorge."
"And why didn't you go in that way?" Mike asked.
"Too risky," Mikhail said. "He can do it once, but only once. Please, I've answered your questions. I ask only that you not kill me."
"I rarely leave enemies alive, Mikhail," Mike said, sympathetically. "You know how it is. You just can't trust a live enemy. You can trust a dead one."
"Kildar," Oleg pointed out from behind him. "He will remember more things. Perhaps if Vanner questioned him more at base, there would be useful information he could extract."
"Hmmm ..." Mike said, standing up. "Mikhail, here's the deal. Vanner's a very nice guy. Bit of a geek, bit squeamish. If you're very nice to Sergeant Vanner, perhaps I'll let you live and let you retain the use of your dick. Do you think you can be open-minded about that?"
"Yes," Mikhail squeezed out.
"And, who knows, you might even walk without a limp," Mike said, holstering the .45. "They do remarkable reconstructive surgery these days. I had a buddy who was a SEAL instructor who lost his lower leg in Afghanistan and a year later it hardly slowed down his runs. Of course, he lost it to a fucking mine you dip-shit Russians planted. You scattered them all over the fucking country. So you'll understand if I'm less than caring if you do walk with a limp for the rest of your life. Oleg, get this piece of shit out of my sight."
* * *
"McKenzie," Mike said when he found the former SAS sergeant.
"Heard the shots," McKenzie said, scooping up a spoonful of beef stew. "And the screams. Anyone live?"
"One," Mike said. "And this is now a sanitization situation. Not because of the bodies, but the Russkies were setting up a meet with the Chechens involving 'special weapons.' We might have queered that by hitting these two."
"Pity," the NCO said, folding the pouch and putting it away. "What do you want to do?"
"I want everything to disappear," Mike said. "Get the Keldara up here. All the bodies go in the ground, the trucks disappear, the mules disappear. The girls go into the caravanserai with the remaining Russian."
"What about the bearers and the Chechen leader types?"
"Take them back to the caravanserai," Mike said. "There are all those cellars and what-not. We'll see what we can get from them."
* * *
"You're one cold son of a bitch," Adams said, admiringly. "You just tangoed that one bastard and shot up the other?"
"Russians aren't going to work with the Chechens unless they're secret emissaries or there's a hell of a lot of money involved," Mike said, forking up a piece of egg with steak. "If they were from the government they were going to ID themselves right off. We'd protect them like gold and they know it. Ergo, they were with the mob or something along those lines. And that meant big money which meant something special."
"WMDs again?" Adams asked.
"At a guess," Mike replied, shaking his head. "A Russian would sell his own mother for the right money." He looked up as Vanner entered the kitchen, holding sheets of paper. "Get anything good?"
"After they saw what you did to the Russian, all the Chechens opened up. It was a basic supply run with the added mission of getting the Russians to some of the top Chechen guys over in the Pankisi." The former Marine was red-eyed and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Mother Savina as he sat down unceremoniously. "The dead Russian wasn't much help but he did have this," Vanner added, sliding a plastic card across the table.
"And this is?" Mike asked, looking at the unmarked card with a series of numbers on it.
"I'm surprised you've never seen one," Vanner said, amused. "They're issued to keep track of Swiss bank account numbers."
"Not from Zurich Mercantile," Mike said.
"Mercantile does it
sometimes," Vanner said. "Those are from Bank Suisse, though. I don't have the codes to open up the accounts, but those are four different accounts in Bank Suisse containing any number of dollars."
"Or none," Mike said. "If they were selling something, there could only be starter cash in them. You can open one with a hundred euros."
"But that is where the money was going, presumably," Vanner said. "The 'big money' this Mikhail guy keeps babbling about. The Chechens confirm that there were 'special weapons' involved, but they don't know what. The rumors range from MANPADs to nukes."
"Find out from our buddy Mikey who else this Sergei guy might use for a contact," Mike said, finishing off his breakfast. "In the meantime, I'm going to go round up one of the girls and screw myself to sleep."
"No rest for the donkeys, huh?" Vanner asked.
"I didn't say you had to do it right now," Mike pointed out. "Let him sweat a while. Without painkillers."
Chapter Six
"Crap!" Mike suddenly muttered, stopping his stroke.
"Kildar?" Jana said, writhing under him. "Kildar, you've stopped."
"I know," Mike said, propping himself up on his elbows. "I told Genadi that I'd meet with some of the elders this afternoon. In about thirty minutes, in fact. Damnit!"
"Surely after last night, they won't mind if you cancel," Jana said, humping into him. "You have time."
"But I didn't tell them I was canceling," Mike said, sourly. "That means they'll be here, come hell or high water. I was so bent on getting it in I forgot."
Firefights always made him horny. He'd been told that was a natural reaction and as a SEAL he'd learned to suppress it, to an extent. But under the current circumstances there was no particular reason to. Which was why as soon as he'd gotten done with Vanner and breakfast, he'd gone to the harem, literally grabbed Jana and dragged her upstairs.
He'd already come once but he could feel at least one more in there and he'd been heading for it happily, with the intent of following it with about twenty hours of sleep, when he remembered the meeting.
"We're going to have to cut this short," Mike said. "Sorry."
