Kildar pos-2

by John Ringo

  “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?”

  “Not in the cellars,” Mike admitted. “The first two levels are okay. The lower one isn’t lit and looks a little shaky in places. If you go exploring out of boredom, take a buddy and tell somebody.”

  “Will do,” the guy said. “Doubt I’ll be bored, t
hough, I’m your engineer and general electronics mate. Don Meller.”

  “In that case, you’re going to be busy as all get out,” Mike said. “We have to build everything, ranges, barracks, warehouses, storerooms, ammo bunkers.”

  “Don’s the electric expert,” the other heavyset trainer said. “I’m the rest of it guy. Charles Prael.”

  “Roads, bridges,” Mike said, smiling. “You’re going to be busy. And the rest of you guys are mostly shooters, I’d guess.’

  “Shooters, MPs, a couple of shooters with mortar experience,” Adams said. “One intel and commo specialist.”

  “Here,” one of the trainers said, his hand shooting up. He was a short, stocky guy with blond hair from a bad dye job. His natural shade looked to be brown. “Sergeant Vanner reporting for duty, Kildar!”

  “You’re going to be spending some time with the women,” Mike said, smiling faintly. “I’m figuring they’re going to be doing the fixed commo. Teaching them will be… interesting. Don’t ever spend significant time alone with one of them. Not unless you want a shotgun wedding.”

  “Got it,” the guy said, nodding.

  “I don’t suppose you speak and read Russian?” Mike asked.

  “You’d suppose wrong,” the guy answered in Russian. “And Arabic and Farsi and French and German. Oh, and Spanish. And Latin. And a little Greek. Archaic. Smattering of ancient Egyptian, some Chinese… two dialects Fusian and Mandarin… enough Thai to get laid…”

  “Most of the team is polylingual,” Colonel Nielson said in Russian. “It indicates that they can learn other languages easily. It was one of the criteria I used. Most of them are single other languages, however,” he added, smiling.

  “It might help with Keldara,” Mike said. “It’s not exactly Georgian although you can get along in it.”

  “I noticed that the drivers were using a very strong dialect,” the intel guy said. “Very odd one, too. Lots of loan words from Russian with some words that sounded suspiciously like Greek. I’m going to have fun sorting it out.”

  “Vanner started as a translator,” Adams said, shrugging. “Then intercept. Spent some time with No Such Agency. Marine. Go figure.”

  “Well, until the militia training starts in earnest, I’m going to expect everybody to pitch in,” Mike said. “With setting up ranges, if nothing else. Who’s a real shooter expert?”

  “Here.” The trainer was medium height and build with brown hair and a very sharp face.

  “Praz Ebowsky,” Adams said. “Sniper instructor, Army rifle team, President’s One Hundred rifle, took second… how many years? At Perry.”

  “Three,” Praz said, frowning. “Damned Marine I swear could will his rounds to the target beat me out each time.”

  “Got a guy named Lasko you’re going to love to meet,” Mike said. “But your first job is to walk over the area I’ve figured will be the main firing range and stake it out. Can do?”

  “Can do,” Praz said, nodding. “Been there, done that. KD, pop-ups, what?” KD referred to Known Distance whereas pop-ups were automatic targets that “popped up” when the shooter was ready to fire then fell down if hit.

  “Both,” Mike said. “I want them to be able to shoot for target and engage for combat. Can do?”

  “Can do,” Praz agreed. “I’m not sure about pits for the KD, but I can do work-arounds. And I can do pop-ups as long as we’ve got the targets.”

  “We’ll probably have to go with manual initially,” Mike said. “We don’t have the juice for electric until… Don works his magic.”

  “I dunno about magic,” Meller said. “But it’s amazing what you can do with a bulldozer…”

  “Pain in the butt,” Praz said. “But I can do it.”

  “Tonight we party,” Mike said, lifting his beer. “Tomorrow, bright and early, we PT. The rest of the day you guys get a look around while Adams, Nielson and I figure out what you’re going to be doing. Now, let us drink!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m a fucking engineer,” Meller said, bending over and ralphing by the side of the road. “I ride bulldozers. I run AutoCAD programs. I quit running when I got out of SF!”

  “Easy run,” Vanner said, trotting by. “Easy.”

  “Fuck I hate this shit,” Prael said, pulling up to bend over by Meller, breathing hard. “Fucking SEALs.”

  “Don’t mind us,” Sandy said as the three females trotted by. “Just headed home to wash up and put on our makeup. Told you you shouldn’t have had all that beer!” she added as they headed up the path to the caravanserai.

  “Fuck,” Meller said, walking painfully up the path.

  He had to admit, though, that he’d only been the first to fall out. Half the trainers were straggled along the side as he climbed up the switchbacks. Most of them, including Prael and, to his disgust, the three women, made it in before him.

  “Very nice,” Mike said as the group straggled in. He was hardly sweating. “I think we’re going to have to break this down into groups. Vanner, you weren’t supposed to hang with the big dogs. You’re an intel puke.”

  “Love to run, sir!” Vanner shouted enthusiastically to groans from the fallouts.

  “Praz, Praz, Praz,” Mike said, sadly, shaking his head at the marksman. “You did so well up until the hill!”

  “I sit in my hole and shoot people,” Praz said, gasping. “I move very slowly. Running only makes you die tired.”

  Mike glanced at the back of the sweatshirt of one of the shooters who had fallen out on the hill.

  “Killjoy?” he asked.

  “Sorry, sir,” the trainer said, gasping. “No excuse, sir. Quit running when I got out of Recon. I’ll get in shape.”

  “You don’t look very tired,” Mike said to the Brit. His sweatshirt said “Scotty.”

  “Girlie run,” the man said, shrugging. “Bit of a warm-up but when are we going to do some real running?”

  “We’d been running in Tbilisi,” Adams said. “But nothing like this.” He’d broken a solid sweat but wasn’t dead on his feet like most of them. Given that he had most of them by a decade, he’d done well.

  “Ah, weeell,” Mike intoned. “We will get the shooters into shape. And even Vanner. Tomorrow, engineers and Praz run with the ladies. That’s not a dig, you’ve got a point. You guys don’t run that much in your jobs and won’t have to with the troops. I expect Praz to do some ruckmarching, though.”

  “On it,” Praz said, nodding. “Where are the rucks?”

  “Currently in the cellar,” Mike said. “We’ll do issue tomorrow. Fall out for shit, shower and shave. See you later.”

  * * *

  “Okay, Colonel,” Mike said when he, Adams and the colonel met at nine. They were in his office drinking coffee as he slid a file folder over to the officer. “This is lists of all the potential recruits, what I’ve ordered for TOE, general sketches of where I think ranges and barracks can go in and what Genadi, my farm manager, thinks are times people will be the most free to train and build. At that point, I’m stuck. I can write a SEAL training schedule. I can do SEAL training in my sleep. I don’t know how to set up a base for nothing or how to set up the force structure. I’m not even sure what I don’t know.”

  “Lots,” the colonel said. “But you’ll be learning, too. I take it you’re going to be operational with this group?”

  “Probably,” Mike said. “But I want the leadership types to be trained up to full tactical ability to lead their teams. When we do multiteam exercises is when I’ll come in. I’ve mentally broken the teams down by the Families. The good part to that is there’s automatic cohesion, the bad part is if a team takes heavy casualties, it will hit the Family hard. It might make more sense to split them up.”

  “Split them,” the colonel said, automatically. “The other problem is that if a team is operational when there’s something to be done around the farm, that Family will be hardest hit for workers. Okay, let’s look at this.” He picked up the paper and then extracted
a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket. “You’re sure about the hundred and twenty?”

  “Close enough,” Mike said. “They haven’t been physicalled.”

  “We’ve two SF medics,” Adams said. “We’ll get ’em all checked.”

  “Assume the hundred and twenty,” Nielson said, looking at the paper. “Six teams, one team leader from each team. Twenty people including the team leader. Team leader and an RTO. The RTO is going to need something that carries in this mountains, maybe satellite if you can afford it…”

  “Can,” Mike said.

  “Two medium machine-gun teams,” the colonel continued. “Gunner, AG and ammo bearer. Two snipers, two five-man teams. It works out.”

  “Okay,” Mike said, looking at the TOE list. “If we put twelve medium machine guns in the teams, we’re short at the houses. I’ll either need to order more or get heavies. What about the mortars?”

  “They’ll stay at the houses,” Nielson said. “The women will run them.”

  “That’s going to go over great,” Mike said, grimacing. “How about women and older men?”

  “Works,” Nielson said, shrugging. “You got one-twenties. The women are going to have to be strong to service them.”

  “They’re farm girls,” Mike said, shrugging. “They’re lookers, but I’ve seen them toss around some pretty heavy loads. I think they can hang.”

  “This will be fun,” Nielson said, looking at the sketchy map of the area. “No better maps?”

  “Not currently, sorry,” Mike said.

  “I’ll get Meller and Prael to do a survey map of the area,” the colonel said, humming. “That will keep them out of mischief. Don’t know what to do with the rest for the time being, but we’ll find something, we will. Idle hands are the devil’s doing and I do so love training…”

  * * *