by John Ringo
"Ah, Gretchen..." Mike said, clearing his throat. "I don't suppose you know how to drive an Expedition?"
"Yes, Kildar, I do," Gretchen said. She was carrying a baby and looked positively beatific despite the thoroughly pissed expression on her face. "But there is only one adult here for each Family to watch the children."
"I don't think all the girls up at the castle are fully..." Mike stopped and thought about it. "Yes, they are. Damnit. We need more Keldara," he added with a grin.
"Here they are," Gretchen said, gesturing to the children. "Pick the one to drive the car."
"Pass," Mike said. "I'll pick it up when I get back." He paused and frowned. "I hate to be... How you doing?"
"I am fine, Kildar," Gretchen said. "Except for having twenty brats to keep an eye on."
"How come you got stuck with the duty?" Mike asked.
"Some of the teams are training in the same area as the berry picking," Gretchen said.
Mike had to process that for a second then shook his head.
"And if I was going to be doing anything with my little spare time it would be checking on the teams," Mike said. "Not coming down to the houses where I might run into you? And if I'd picked anyone but one of the little kids to go find a driver... They'd have found anyone but you, right?"
"Did I say that?" Gretchen said, relenting. "It is... good to see you."
"Same here," Mike said, flexing his jaw. "Care to let me in on any of the Mysteries surrounding this? I take it there has been...talk."
"Much," Gretchen said. "And, of course, I'm the last to be informed of any of it. Well..."
"Except for me," Mike said. "What have you heard?"
"Let me see..." Gretchen said, tapping her finger on her lips. "The Kildar is honorable and will not violate the contract between myself and Kiril. The Kildar is human and therefore can only be expected to violate it. I should be sent away, so as to prevent the offense. Kiril should be sent away, there is a group called the... Legion Etran..."
"The Foreign Legion," Mike said, translating it into Keldara. "Over my dead body."
"And then I would be Kildaran," Gretchen said, shrugging.
"Anybody ask you what you want?" Mike asked. "I know nobody has asked me."
"It is not the Keldara way," Gretchen said, shaking her head. "The Keldara's fates are chosen by the Elders, not by themselves. Our spouses are chosen, our lots in life. I was picked for neither the intelligence teams nor the mortars. I am one of the few women of my generation who is not contributing, directly, to the teams."
"Why?" Mike asked, frowning. "You're not exactly...dumb."
"Thank you so much for the compliment!" Gretchen snapped.
"That wasn't what I meant and you know it," Mike said. "Why weren't you... You are, in fact, quite bright. You'd make a good contribution to the intel section. What am I missing?"
"I am..." She paused and frowned. "The Mother of a Family is not necessarily married to the Father. There are some in the Keldara who are spotted for... other needs. Stella... Stella and Lydia, yes, I could see them being Mothers. But it is less likely with Shariya, who is promised to Yosif..."
"Shariya is a mortar girl," Mike said, frowning. "One of the ammo bearers... She's..."
"Sweet," Gretchen said. "Also very simple. Yosif, on the other hand, is very smart and capable. He is the man most likely to be the Devlich Father when his time comes but..."
"Shariya wouldn't make a good Mother," Mike said. "So... you're getting married to Kiril who is a Devlich so you transfer to that Family..."
"And I train as a Mother," Gretchen said, shrugging. "Instead of, you know, something fun or exciting. And I get to take care of the babies."
"Except that is so that you wouldn't meet me," Mike said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I appear to have really fucked up your existence."
"And have I had no effect on yours?" Gretchen asked.
"If you hadn't, would any of this be going on?" Mike replied at the sound of rotors in the distance. "Spread the word, quietly. The Kildar is going to be a very good man. He can look you in the face and walk away. He can watch your children grow. He admires Kiril and hopes the best for both of you. Nobody should be sent away. Except these children because there is a helicopter about to land on them."
"Yes, Kildar," Gretchen said, frowning slightly.
"I don't think we talked, did we?" Mike asked as the helo descended.
"I don't think so," Gretchen shouted. "But I wish we could..."
Chapter Fifteen
"General Umarov, good to see you again," Mike said as he was ushered into the general's office by an aide. He hadn't had to wait which he took as a sign. A sign of what, he wasn't too sure.
"And you, Kildar," the general said, walking around his desk to shake Mike's hand. He gestured for Mike to take a seat, ordered coffee and did everything but check to see if Mike needed a blow-job from the secretary.
It was going to be bad.
"How are Galiko and the kids?" Mike asked. Mrs. Umarov had passed away before Mike arrived in-country. Galiko was their sole child. She was married to a major in the Georgian National Guard and they had two children that the general doted upon.
"All are well," Umarov replied, nodding. "I will send them your regards."
"Please do," Mike said, taking a sip of coffee. He'd actually become a pretty big tea drinker but since he was American it was assumed he'd prefer coffee. It wasn't bad, by Georgian standards. "General, we need helicopters to get this plan to work."
"In that you and I agree," Umarov replied with a sigh. "But there are...problems."
"Politics," Mike said. "Is it that they are Russian? I don't, off the top of my head, know of a group besides Birusk Flying Services that can, and will, pick up a company of infantry and take them anywhere close to where they might be shot at. And Birusk is not Russian government, any more than I am US government."
"And again, you and I agree," Umarov said, shaking his head. "Others do not."
"What others?" Mike asked, blanching. "General, this is no insult to your armed forces but we have to keep this information very confidential!"
"That is not a problem," the general said, making a placating gesture. "It is, as you would say 'very tightly held'. But the president and the defense minister had to be told of what was going on, you know that, yes?"
"Of course," Mike said, nodding. "I cannot disagree at... Oh, crap. The defense minister?"
Vakhtang Gelovani was a strong Georgian nationalist who had risen to the rank of major in the Red Army before the fall of the Soviet Union. Of course, that had been over a twenty-five year period. Ethnic Russians had controlled the upper ranks of the Red Army even under Stalin, who was a Georgian. Anyone non-Rusk rising above colonel was exceedingly rare. He clearly felt that he should have been a general and it was rumored that for that reason he hated and despised all things Russian.
From Mike's perspective, the reason he'd never made general was that Gelovani would barely tie his own shoes. The man was a classic case of "active/stupid" if Mike had ever seen one, a micro-manager who had a strong tendency to choose exactly the wrong course of action and enforce it on subordinates. And then, as often as not, blame them for the failure.
The fact that he was frequently bruted as a possible successor to the current president, who while not great was head and shoulders over Gelovani, was good reason to contemplate the stupidity of settling down in Georgia. And Mike had heard quite a few rumors about clashes between Gelovani and Umarov. Given that Umarov wasn't an idiot, Mike didn't find that surprising.
"I will neither confirm nor deny that the defense minister has raised objections," Umarov said, grimacing. "I will however say that the president has also stated his objections."
Which meant that the president did not want to give Gelovani an excuse to paint him as in the pocket of the Russians. Even over a black op. Of course, Gelovani would not care that it was a black op if he went babbling about it to some group of faithful or supporter
s.
Taking Gelovani out was looking better and better.
Mike lowered his face and rubbed his forehead for a moment then looked up.
"Okay, then can I have Georgian helicopter support? You've got a couple of Hips and those Blackhawks from the US. I don't know if we can make it in one lift, but..."
"No," Umarov said with a shake of the head. "And that is my objection, solely. We have very few helicopters. Not only are most of them busy, most of the time, but the loss of even one, and there is a good chance of losing one on this operation, would be... very bad. Unlike the US military, we could not hide the fact that we'd lost one or where we'd lost one. Given that, it would be apparent that we'd lost it to the Chechens or at least in operations against them. Call it 'face' if you will, but with everything that is going on in this country, making it truly apparent that we cannot control actions in that area would be very bad, politically. Let me ask: Would you prefer that Gelovani replace me with one of his hand-picked cronies?"
"No," Mike said, grimacing.
"If we lost a helicopter in this operation, I would grade that as 'likely,'" Umarov said, placidly. "Also, the loss would be a capital loss to my military, both in the loss of the helicopter and the pilots. We would have to send our very best pilots, yes? And we have very few who are of the caliber you would need. I would be, in your American phrase, eating my seed corn if I lost them. We guard them very preciously, the helicopters and the pilots. I cannot justify using them in an operation with this great a risk factor."
"So that gets me back to square one," Mike argued. "I have to have helicopter support. If I don't use it, I'd have to have already left to do the whole thing on foot. I need birds to get me in striking distance. And I really need dust-off. We're going to take casualties. I'll walk out if I absolutely have to, carrying the damned items if I must, but I'm not going to do this mission if I have to pack my wounded out on litters. Not."
"I have argued the same," Umarov said, holding up a hand to forestall an angry rebuttal. "I have also managed a small, not large enough, compromise. You may use the Russian company to fly to your drop-off point. I got that concession because I pointed out, as you did, that you could not do the mission in time without having already started your 'hump', yes? But they cannot enter the Pansiki military controlled zone, absolutely not. That is from the president. And they must enter on a controlled route, pick up your forces, drop them off and then leave."
"So no pick up and no dust off," Mike said, angrily. He took a deep breath and then thought, hard. "What if... Look, I need dust-off and I need some helo support in the background. Among other things, both the US and the Russians are very interested in retrieving Dr. Arensky, alive."
"So I was informed," Umarov said, nodding. "But, frankly, I had not put together that he, and his daughter, would have to walk out. Not a very pleasant trip."
"We're planning on something on the order of Hannibal's March across the Alps," Mike pointed out, sourly. "No, not a pleasant trip. High elevation, low temperatures, nasty terrain. It's going to be hard enough on the Keldara. I can't imagine getting an out-of-shape scientist and his daughter through it. But I'm really worried about getting casualties out of there. I need a helo. And I have an idea."
"Go ahead," Umarov said, nodding.
"What if they weren't Russian and they weren't temporary hires?" Mike asked, putting a plan together just ahead of his words. "I've been saying that I need a helicopter, and some pilots, for quite some time now. So... I get a helicopter and some pilots. Possibly two helicopters and some pilots. And they are my support."
"I presume you're talking about American or European," Umarov said, carefully. "Can you get them? On short notice? And that will be willing to do this mission? I could see a pilot that was willing to fly back and forth to Tbilisi, yes? But to fly on this mission?"
"I don't know," Mike replied, honestly. "But I can try. If I can get them, can I use them?"
"I am not sure what you mean," Umarov said, lightly. "You wish to get a helicopter for transportation, yes? They will not be armed, this is a simple business transaction, a bit of paperwork. I'm sure it would entirely escape my notice, I'm not sure why you even bring it up."
"Gotcha," Mike said, nodding. "Well, then, I think that's settled. And I need to make some very fast phone calls."
"Don't let me slow you down," Umarov said, nodding. "But since you mentioned this simple business transaction, I'll make a few phone-calls, for a friend, and make sure that all the paperwork is... smoothed out."
"I appreciate it," Mike said, knowing that the Georgians could be Byzantine, and greedy, in processing such paperwork. He'd smooth palms if he had to, it was a standard part of doing business in the region, but the fewer he had to, and the faster they worked, the better. The chief of staff knew just what butts to prod to get them in gear. "I'll be going, then. Give my regards to Galiko and Captain Kahbolov."
"I shall," the general said. "I'll also note that if I was to send a group of highly qualified pilots, one of them would have to be my son-in-law. But, no, that is not why I declined."
* * *
"Pierson."
"Bob, it's Mike," Mike said, sighing over the secure sat-phone. He could barely hear the colonel over the sound of the rotors from the helicopter but, on the other hand, short of a very capable and sophisticated intercept that could crack US satellite transmissions, he wasn't going to be overheard. "We have a situation. No, we have an issue. No, we have a mission killer."
"Helicopters," Pierson said. "I was going to call you. We already got the word."
"The Georgians are not going to let me use my Russki friends for anything more than lift into the nearby area. I'm not going to have dust-off, I'm not going to have support and I can't exactly evac Arensky and his kid through those fucking mountains."
"They're also not going to let us do it," the colonel replied. "That has been discussed. Not at 'the highest levels' but at a level high enough that it's damned firm."
"I'm not going to stick the fucking Keldara out on a limb over some jackass' bigotry about Russians," Mike said, bitterly. "But there's one slender loophole. I can buy my own god damned bird and hire my own goddamned pilots out of my own goddamned pocket and as long as they're not Russian I can use them. Including into the Pansiki zone."
"So you need pilots," Pierson said. "And birds."
"I'll get my own birds," Mike replied. "The Czechs make a very nice Hind variant that is available off the shelf with a high altitude package. And not only does it cost way less than a Blackhawk, most of the parts are compatible with other Hind variants. But I need pilots. ASAP."
"We're not an employment agency, Mike," Pierson replied with a humorous tone.
"You are if you want me to do this mission," Mike responded with absolutely no humor in his voice. "I need pilots. I'm up to my ass in alligators and so are all my people. None of us have time to go looking through the want ads. I haven't slept in three days. I don't have time to be having this conversation. I need two highly qualified and technically excellent pilots in recent training who can cross-train to a Hind on short notice and are willing to go in harm's way for a sizeable cash bonus and love of the thrill. I'd prefer no dependents. As Umarov pointed out, the risk of this mission, to everyone including me, is high. That includes the pilots. I need them on a plane within the next two days. Call Anastasia to make the travel arrangements. And I don't care who you have to know, blow or glow, I need them now or this mission is a scrub. I am totally fucking serious. I will scrub this mission and the president can then consider... other options."
"Oh," Pierson said, thoughtfully. "In that case, I'd better start making some calls."
* * *
