Unto The Breach-ARC

by John Ringo

  "Major, that was a JCS level tasker," Pierson said, confused.

  "Sir, you can look at my board if you'd like," the major said. "We shot this around for quite a while because it was such a high tasker. But you're talking about six day's time and most of our -17s are deployed over in the AOR. And if we turn two birds we're going to fail on equally high-level taskers. Sir, we're scheduled out two months not two weeks. Bitch about not having enough lift or whatever you'd like, sir, I fully agree. But we're out-tasked at the moment. The only birds we could recall would be on the Azerbaijan relief missions and I note that you've already taskered one of our birds from that."

  "Time to pound your nuts flat and find me two birds," the colonel said.

  "Sir, I already got out the brick," the major said with a sigh. "You're not the first person I've had this conversation with today, just the highest tasker. We did come up with an OTB idea, though."

  Pierson, who thought of himself as a master, even if he hated to admit it, of Pentagonspeak locked up on "OTB" then managed to parse it. "How 'Out-of-the-Box?'"

  "Sir, we can fly them commercial to Ukraine. The Ukrainians finally have those new AN-70s which are essentially identical to C-130s from a jumper's perspective. They fly and drop about the same, they just carry a bunch more troops."

  Pierson rolled that one around in his head for a moment. It had a certain allure but a dozen problems jumped up immediately in his mind.

  "Ukraine is registered as a friendly country, not allied," Pierson said, musingly. "They're going to want to get paid for the bird time."

  "There's a coding for payments for air-time to friendly nations," Major Fowler replied. "We already checked. The problem from our perspective is that their aircraft aren't mission certified. The AF mil attaché in Ukraine is a former cargo pilot. I contacted him off-record and he says that he's seen enough of their ops to be able to do a prelim cert but he's not sure he could full cert them for airborne ops. He doesn't have a problem with them being able to do airborne ops, the cert paperwork is pretty complex, though. There's a way around that, though."

  "Don't keep me waiting, major," Pierson said, dryly.

  "For TS ops, and I note that this op has a codeword class over the confidential attached to the op, there's a point at which we can skip the cert requirement due to mission confidentiality."

  "That sounds like following the letter while violating the spirit," Pierson said. "I like it."

  "Yes, sir, I thought you might," the major replied with a chuckle. "But here's a stranger one, sir. Brace yourself."

  "Go."

  "How about a press release? 'Elite US military force uses Ukrainian Air Force for training operation.'"

  "Major, you just noted that this operation is TS codeword," Pierson pointed out.

  "The drop, though, is Confidential. We can get low-level permission to open it to the PIO with certain mission data left out. We think it would be good press and the Ukrainian government would probably appreciate it. They've got problems with Russia and showing that their planes can carry American special-ops..."

  Pierson really had to pause at that one. The major in tasking didn't realize, because that side of the mission was totally black at a very high level, to just what extent it might tweak the Russians.

  "Major, begin the tasking but final authority is probably going to have to come after consultation with higher," Pierson said after a moment's thought. "Certainly the press release will have to hold. I'll get back to you. But get working on the tasking and I'll get back on the rest."

  "Yes, sir," the major said, deflated. He clearly was enjoying playing at that level.

  "Major, I'm not just being an asshole," Pierson said. "There are parameters to this mission, the reasons that it is codeworded at such a high level, that may be risked at a higher level by some of these actions. The truth is, I'm not qualified or knowledgeable enough to decide. But I can contact those that can better eval the risks and rewards."

  * * *

  "They want to do what?" the Secretary of State said.

  "Mike needs the Rangers to ensure security and for a maskirova," Pierson said, sighing. "Rangers or somebody like them. I'd actually considered Polish PROM commandoes, but that was just too complicated to set up. So the Rangers are going. But then SOCOM noted that the entire company is just about out of jump pay status due to deployments, one of the reasons they're back in the States besides to get some down-time. So we were going to throw a jump in as a sweetener and to keep them on status. But we are tasked out for birds. I double checked that one and we really are flat tasked out. There are actually a couple of ARNG units we could call up for it, but they're out of cert on airborne ops and damned near undeployable or they'd be tasked. So that left looking outside the box. Which means the Ukrainians. They have indicated a willingness, hell an eagerness, to do a drop with our Rangers. But then I got to thinking about how the Russians would react, given what the op is all about..."

  "Vladimir Putin is going to be livid," the Secretary of State said. "We've been treading very carefully on military contact with the Ukrainians because the situation is so delicate. And this jumps right past half a dozen normal steps. The press release... Brilliant. Just brilliant."

  "Yes, ma'am," Pierson sighed. "We'll just fly them commercial to Tbilisi, then. Mike has ammo; they can draw on him. The mission won't be all that long and by the time they're on their way back we'll probably have taskable birds so they can get their jump in..."

  "Colonel, at what point did I indicate that I don't want Vladimir Putin livid?" the SecState asked. "You were right to bring this to my attention. Here's what we'll do..."

  Chapter Eighteen

  As soon as the door closed to the office, Kacey shook her head.

  "That man is insane," she muttered. "Totally, completely and utterly insane."

  "Yep," Tammie said, still in that strange voice. "So insane that he'd swim ashore on an island overrun by terrorists, kill them all and still come rescue us and the Marines with a boat. Even though he looked like a colander at the time."

  "Sure, but that doesn't mean I want to attach myself to his coat-strings," Kacey said, biting her lip. "I mean, he survives but what about the body count around him. Doing this sort of shit for SAR, with FAST, that's one thing. God and country and all that. But we're doing it for money, Tams. Is that worth getting our ass shot off?"

  "Okay, great," Tammie said. "We say 'No thanks' take our showing up bonus and head back to the States. Wait on one of our many solicitous phone calls. Eat high until the money runs out and then get a job at the 7/11. What are we waiting for? Sounds great. Get a cat."

  "Very funny." Kacey was allergic. "I'm serious, Tammie. This is serious. I mean, so we don't get a flying job. We're both Naval Academy graduates. We don't have to work at the 7/11."

  "Sure," Tammie said, her eyes wide. "You've got a creative writing degree, I've got one in English lit. You write them and I'll critique them and we'll make a mint."

  "Oh, God," Kacey groaned. "The guy's obviously American military of some sort, although you notice he didn't mention what sort. But if he's got a harem, he's bound to have a bar. We'll find it. You get drunk. I'll watch."

  "I'd rather check this place out," Tammie said. "It's really cool."

  "You're in love," Kacey said. "Mystery and romance and castles in the sky. As always, I've got to keep you grounded."

  "Which is just what we're both going to be if we don't take the gig," Tammie pointed out, walking down the corridor. "First we find the harem girls. They'll lead us to somebody who speaks English. I mean, they've been taking classes."

  "Pillow classes," Kacey snorted but she followed.

  When they got to the front room, though, the cluster of girls had disappeared. Tammie was standing with her hands on her hips when the front door opened and a big bald guy in digicam, clearly directly off the range from the smell, stepped into the area and paused, looking them over.

  "Oh, Christ, not more harem girls," the man
muttered in an annoyed tone. "That boy's got a serious problem."

  "Fuck you, asshole," Kacey snapped back.

  "We're not harem girls," Tammie replied at the same time. "We're pilots."

  "Pilots?" the man said, his eyes flying wide in joy. "We've got pilots? Halle-fucking-leuia! We've got PILOTS!"

  "Not yet," Kacey said, angrily. She was still pissed about the Harem Girl crack. She also wanted to know more about the "harem." She was hoping, at a certain level, that it was a joke but she suspected it wasn't. "We're still considering it. Carefully."

  "Oh, well, in that case you definitely want the job," the guy said, fulsomely. "The living conditions are great, the food's excellent, the beer's outstanding and the pay is awesome. What more could you ask?"

  "I don't drink," Kacey said. "And a guarantee that we'll survive would be nice."

  "Nope, can't do that one," the guy admitted. "Can't guarantee I'll survive. But the missions are worth it and the people are top-notch. If you end up taking the Valkyrie ride you'll be in plenty of bad company. We will guarantee that."

  As he said that a side door opened and an absolutely beautiful woman walked into the foyer. Kacey wasn't kinked that way but she knew fucking beautiful when she saw it. Neither she nor Tammie were slouches in the looks department, but this lady put them both to shame. She looked like a supermodel. Blonde, blue eyes, low to mid-twenties, stacked and an absolutely gorgeous face. She was wearing a lot of make-up but so artfully applied it looked almost as if she wasn't wearing any. Blue, probably silk again, pant-suit that looked as if it was a Paris original. And graceful as hell. Probably Russian at a guess, definitely not American. She reminded Kacey of a young duchess character in an old movie. The lady had that look about her, like Zha Zha Gabor when she was young.

  "Master Chief," the woman said, nodding. "I see you have met our visitors." Her English was impeccable but there was a definite Slavic accent. "I zee you haff met our vizeetors."

  "Christ, I hope they're not just visitors," the "master chief" grunted. "We are screwed without pilots."

  "We're still considering," Tammie said, much more gently than Kacey. "And we haven't been introduced."

  "Ah, this is my fault," the woman replied. "I was supposed to be your tour guide but I expected your meeting to be longer. I am Anastasia Rakovich, the Kildar's administrative manager. This is Master Chief Adams, late of the United States Navy Sea Air and Land commandoes, the Kildar's field tactical manager. Master Chief Adams, Captains Bathlick and Wilson, late of the United States Marine Corps."

  "Who's the Kildar?" Tammie said at the same time as Kacey said: "SEALs?" and Adams said: "You're Marines?"

  "I am given to understand that they have combat experience with the United States Marine Corps," Anastasia said, answering the Master Chief first. "The Kildar is Mr. Jenkins. It is his title. I will explain. And, yes, Master Chief Adams is a former SEAL as they say. I understand that 'ex' is looked upon poorly."

  "Yeah, we've got experience," Tammie said with a snort. "We pulled your boss out of the drink one time. Or... Well, he sort of pulled us... It's complicated."

  "You're the two that crashed that helo in the Carib," Adams said with a snort. "Oh. Great. I take it all back."

  "We took a short range EMP blast you moron," Kacey snapped. "What the fuck were we supposed to do without God damned engines? We were lucky to set it down light enough most of the FAST made it off!"

  "I was yanking your chain," Adams said evenly. "Anybody that's willing to fly towards an LZ that has an active nuke on it gets my vote. You guys want a beer?"

  "I'd prefer tequila," Tammie said, happily. "But I'll settle for beer."

  "This isn't beer you settle for," Adams said. "This is beer you kill for."

  "I was going to show them around, first," Anastasia pointed out.

  "I'd say take the cook's tour," Adams admitted. "This is a pretty interesting place. And I really need a shower. To answer your unspoken question, Anastasia, no, it is not going well. I think that Shota's mother dropped him on his head as a baby. I asked her, point blank, if she had and she said she had not. But apparently he had a hard time finding his way out when he was birthed, so maybe it's pre-natal."

  "You asked a woman if she'd dropped her son on his head?" Tammie asked, amazed.

  "Yeah, but you'd have to understand the set-up here," Adams said. "It wasn't even a particularly unexpected question. Shota's well known among the Keldara. Big as an ox and just about as dumb. Really good shot with a Carl Gustav, though. I think I need to just switch him out but if I can get him to learn to count as high as five he'll be awesome for door-kicking. I mean, he'd kick down a bank vault. But, God, he's dumb."

  "Well, we'll go take the cook's tour," Tammie said, "while you're having a shower. Then I'll get you drunk and pry all your secrets out of you."

  "The day a woman can out-drink me I'll turn in my trident," Adams said, chuckling but then his face cleared. "Except this one bartender at Danny's. But that girl was a fucking pro. I saw her drink a whole platoon under the table one time. That's a professional. Admittedly, one without a functioning liver, but a pro nonetheless. You guys go take the cook's tour, I'm gonna go grab a shower and try to figure out a way to teach Shota to count as high as five. I mean, if they can teach monkeys sign language, I should be able to teach him to count to five for fuck's sake. Maybe a little rhyme or an advertising jingle..."

  The former SEAL wandered off, muttering.

  "Where would you like to start?" Anastasia asked, lightly. "Or are you fatigued from your trip? You could rest. Jet lag is very debilitating."

  "I don't, honestly, know what time my body thinks it is," Tammie replied. "This is an interesting place. Ottoman?"

  "The caravanserai was extensively renovated by the Ottomans, yes," Anastasia said, walking over to one of the carved buttresses that held up the ceiling of the room. "But the original work is believed to be from the period of the Byzantine Empire. These buttresses have faint markings that are indicative of Byzantine construction. You see here the faint indications of lacework patterning which is a Byzantine motif and the gouged out portions were probably crosses which the Ottomans, or other Islamics, removed. And much of the lower stone-work shows similar signs in that it is very similar to Roman construction, which the Byzantines used extensively for their castellation. The serai was probably rebuilt at least once under the Byzantines. The next clear work is Ottoman but the period between those two holders, probably close to a thousand years, is unclear."

  "Oh," Kacey said, looking at the patterns. Lace did seem to fit the bill. She'd have to take the manager's word on that being "indicative of Byzantine construction." She knew about zero about architecture and not much more about the Byzantine empire. "I've got one question. No, I've got a billion questions. Could you start at the beginning?"

  "In the beginning was the Word," Anastasia said, lightly. "But I think you mean something closer in time. Let us sit, this will be somewhat long."

  "Good," Tammie said. "I could do with some ground-work here. I'm pretty confused."

  "A moment," Anastasia said and disappeared through the door she'd entered by. After a moment she came back out with another young lady who walked off in the opposite direction. This one was really young, 14 if she was a day and wearing the same "school-girl" outfit as the harem girls. Which raised other questions. The earlier girls had been... okay, "old enough." Not old enough in the States to be fucking a guy in his thirties, but "old enough" for a developing country, whatever the liberals at home would wish. That one looked as if she should be playing with dolls. "Martya will bring some drinks. I wasn't sure what you'd like so we'll have tea and if that doesn't suit your tastes there are others."

  "We can get it ourselves," Tammie protested.

  "You could and in some conditions you will," Anastasia said, nodding. "But there are servants in the house for a reason. I will try to inform you, brief you, sufficiently that you can have a firm overview of what you are potentially join
ing. That will take time. If you are fetching drinks that interferes. When you are entirely free with your time you can choose to fetch or be fetched. But the servants are there for a reason. The Kildar does not have time to get drinks for himself, cook for himself, do his laundry. His time is much better spent managing the resources of the Valley or, as he puts it, 'killing people and breaking things.' This is, among other things, what pays for our surroundings. The girls are in free-study at the moment and, thus, not particularly busy. I asked which of them was least busy and Martya said she was. Given that she is intelligent and quick at her studies, she could be bored trying to act like she was studying or fetch us a drink. Which is the better use of her time?"