by John Ringo
“You were supposed to be paying attention to everyone else’s actions,” Nielson said, shaking his head. “Chief Adams is, trust me, much more accurate than you are in a fight like that. But he expended no rounds because he knew he wasn’t there to fight. He was there to observe and control. You are given a weapon for one purpose only; self-defense or something that you have to shoot at because you can’t get one of the shooters to do it in time. That is it. Period. I can’t imagine a reason for you to have expended even one round in this engagement. Did any of the enemy get close to your bunker?”
“No, sir,” Oleg admitted, dropping his head.
“Keep your head next time,” Nielson said. “You’re there to control the flow of the battle. If you have to, lead from the front if you’re directly attacked; if you have to engage due to time constraints, you can engage. Otherwise, keep your finger off the trigger! Beso!”
“Sir!” the Keldara said, sitting bolt upright. He’d been bent over talking to the Keldara next to him.
“Three hundred and eighty-six rounds?” Nielson said, clearly amazed. “How in the hell did you expend three hundred and eight-six rounds?”
* * *
The day after the hot-wash they took all six teams out and walked the ground, looking over what they could have done better. Mike determined that Nielson was just better at picking out details on stuff like this than he was. Everything from the timing on when he’d pulled in Vil to when he’d sent Killjoy and Vanim down the hill was reviewed and critiqued.
The third day was a final review held in the main dining room of the serai. Mike had had more tables and chairs brought in and there was just barely room for all the militia and the trainers. They’d even brought in the females from the mortar section who were sitting at a separate table with their trainers. The girls were looking smug as cats at being included in “guy talk.”
“Kildar,” Nielson said. “Could you stand up?”
“Here it comes,” Mike noted to Adams, standing up at the head of the table.
“The recon movement to the observation point was good,” Nielson said. “No major flaws there except a lack of putting your point out far enough during the movement. No trash found at your bivouac of the first night although there was debris at the main OP on the hilltop. I won’t get into your choice of targets for the sniper operations; that is idiosyncratic and depends upon human factors I won’t argue. However, your timing on withdrawal was quite bad. You very nearly got flanked by the pursuit party; you’re aware of that?”
“Yes, I am,” Mike said, nodding. “I took a few more shots than I should have.”
“Arguably, you should not have been shooting,” Nielson pointed out. “You should have been spotting and controlling and let Lasko shoot.”
“I wasn’t sure that would work,” Mike said. “The ranges were longer than he’d trained on. I wanted to make sure the sniper fire was good enough to really sting them. But I did pull out too late.”
“Your movement, given the closeness of the pursuit, was about par,” Nielson said, pointing to the map. “Why did you choose to be the bait and send Praz and Lasko directly up the mountain?”
“I was in better shape to run,” Mike said, shrugging. “Praz and Lasko weren’t up to my level of condition. As it turned out, they probably could have made it just as well, but it was a tough hump. In the situation, I took the danger point.”
“On reaching the ambush point you took one of the security bunkers for your position,” Nielson said. “Why? You couldn’t maintain view of the battle from there.”
“I was following Chief Adams’ direction,” Mike said. “I assume that the pursuit party was close enough that Adams just wanted me to get to ground and that was the nearest bunker.”
“In the planning stage you failed to consider the mortars for support,” Nielson said, checking off an item on the list.
“Agreed,” Mike said. “I’d thought of them solely in terms of fixed position use. I’m glad you remembered them,” he added to chuckles through the room.
“Which brings us to the most critical danger point in this action: command and control,” Nielson said. “The true commander of the mission was the Kildar. But he was forward deployed and in action for the majority of the mission. I was managing the battle, but I wasn’t in command. The Kildar should have either relinquished command of the battle or moved to a position that he could manage all the pieces. It worked, because the Kildar and I could work together very well. But one or the other of us should have been designated for command and that person should have been in a position to control the flow of the battle.”
“I’ll comment on that,” Mike said, stepping to the front. “I intend to always command from near the front if at all possible. My intention is to make that possible through better technology. But, yes, in this instance I was without effective maps and didn’t really know where the pieces were. Colonel Nielson ran this battle and did so quite well.”
“Damned straight,” Chief Adams said, loudly, starting the applause.
Mike waited for the applause of the grinning Keldara to die and then waved at the group.
“You’ve completed your first action and your first after action review,” Mike said, grinning. “And I’m sure you’d rather be back in combat than having it nitpicked.” He waited again for the chuckles to die down, then nodded. “Again, you did well. And if we keep this up, each time you’ll do better. But, for tonight, you have met the enemy and survived. There is a custom among the military that from time to time they have a dinner for only their unit, called a dining-in. There are various customs, which we’ll work on as time passes. But for tonight, you are the guests of the Kildar. Tomorrow, of course, you’re back in training. So… watch the beer.”
“Kildar,” one of the men said, glancing over at the two tables of women. “What about the women? Are they to be serving?”
“Not if you want fire support next time, Viktor Shaynav!” one of the women yelled back. Which elicited a room full of belly laughs at Viktor’s expense.
“No,” Mike said, as the doors opened and his various “girls” came in bearing trays. “Tonight you will be served by the women of the Kildar in thanks for being loyal retainers and some of the finest soldiers it has been my pleasure to serve with.”
* * *
“Christ, I can’t believe you got it finished so fast,” Mike said, standing on the top of the dam. The outer slope and top had even been seeded and covered in straw to prevent erosion while the inner slope was covered in clay. The weir hadn’t been closed, yet, so the stream at the base still flowed freely. But all that took was turning the wheel. It was barely four weeks after the battle and the whole thing was in place.
“I’ve even got most of the houses wired with some fumble-fingered help from the Keldara,” Meller said, proudly. “The big difference was getting the additional equipment.”
“What about the channel to bring the other stream over?” Mike said. It was clear the streams hadn’t been joined up, yet.
“I used the spare Keldara to put a temporary dam in up there,” Meller said. “Then I blasted the channel. It created an embayment so the hydrostatic force wouldn’t be so bad. We’ll partially fill this with the current stream, then open that up, slowly, to add that stream in. That dam will probably wash away in the spring, but by then you won’t need it. You want to do the honors?” the engineer concluded, waving at the wheel that controlled the weir. The controls were propped out over the water on a pier and had an automatic lifting device for when the water rose too high.
“No,” Mike said, shaking his head. “You built it. You close it.”
“Okay,” Meller said happily. He stepped out onto the pier and calmly spun the wheel, dropping the metal plate into its slot and stopping the water from the stream, which immediately started to back up. “We’ll open up the other one in a few days when this gets about six feet deep.”
“How long to fill it?” Mike asked.
“Abou
t two weeks,” Meller said. “At which point you and the Keldara will have your power. And we can start running water lines to the houses as soon as we get material.”
“Start on that next,” Mike said, nodding. “We’ll have to figure out something for treatment; this stuff isn’t drinkable as is.”
“Chlorine’s cheap,” Meller said, shrugging. “I’ll look into it.”
Chapter Two
“It’s nice to mostly have the house back,” Mike said, walking into the dining room. Nielson was drinking tea and looking over some papers while Adams was finishing off a plate of ham and eggs.
“Fewer fights over the girls,” Adams said.
The Keldara were well into their patrolling phase of training and that required fewer instructors. With “basic” over, most of the trainers had left. A few were still around for patrolling and advanced training and some, like Adams, Nielson and Vanner, looked to be permanent additions. But the house was definitely less full than it had been. Especially with most of the remaining trainers out running the Keldara around the mountains.
“The girls” were local hookers that Mike had hired for the aid and comfort of poor trainers far from the joys of home. The owner of the local brothel had given Mike a good deal on long-term rental eventually giving up the business entirely, and sending his one remaining girl to join the others.
Four of the five girls were completely standard Third World working girls. Three of them were from the local area farms, girls with no better prospect than being working girls for the rest of their lives, while the other two were Russians. One of those, Katya, was somewhat different. Poisonously mean when she could get away with it, the girl had never adjusted to being “owned” in the way that was common in the area.
Mike, who had nicknamed her “Cottontail,” was slowly shifting her out of being a working girl and into pursuits more suited for her high level intelligence and utter sociopathy. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with her long-term — the option of putting her in an unmarked grave was still out there — but he saw lots of potential in the girl if he could just trust her even a bit.
That, however, would not be a smart thing to do.
“Speaking of the girls,” Mike said. “I’m going to move Cottontail fully into intel. I wish we had a good Humint trainer around; I think Katya would probably be a good agent.”
“If you could trust anything she gave you,” Nielson pointed out, looking up from his papers. “Could you?”
“Depends on what was in it for her,” Mike said, shrugging. “She really hates Chechens, probably more than she hates the rest of the world. If we use her to develop Humint in the Chechen region it might work.”
“She’ll need to learn Arabic,” Adams said, wiping his plate with a biscuit.
“Berlitz has a course available,” Mike said. “Of course, that means letting her out of the house. Hell, I’ll give her a handful of cash and tell her she can go if she wants. Win/win proposition.”
“What about ‘your’ girls?” Nielson asked.
In addition to the hookers, Mike had more or less inherited a harem. Sexual slavery was rife in the region and most of it was controlled by the Chechens who used it, along with drugs, as funding for their ongoing war with the Russians. Most of the girls were bought from orphanages or their parent,s since the farmers in the region could get nearly a year’s income for otherwise “useless” women. But the Chechens weren’t above snatching a girl off the street.
One such group had snatched one of the Keldara girls from the local town where she had gone to market. When they took off in their van they passed right by Mike’s caravanserai.
He had taken five shots from a Barrett .50 caliber to stop the van, fortunately missing the girls all in the back. Then he and the reaction team of trainers had taken down the two Chechens in the van.
This left Mike with seven girls ranging in age from twelve to seventeen on his hands. Inquiries had indicated that they were no deposit, no return; the various farms that had sold them had no interest in getting them back. After discussing the situation with his local advisers, Mike had accepted that the best course of action was to take them in as concubines. He’d considered various alternatives, but none of them would really work. He’d drawn the line at breaking in the really young ones, but the rest now were his bed warmers.
However, he’d immediately seen the problem with having a house full of teenaged girls to manage. So he’d gone to Uzbekistan, where harems were traditional, and hired a professional harem manager. Anastasia had turned out to have far more skills than just harem management. Not only was she great in the sack, she spoke multiple languages and was at home in almost any social environment.
Mike had also hired a female tutor for the girls. His long term plan was to get them trained to a level that they could get into college and get a “real” life. But in the meantime, he couldn’t exactly bitch about having five very good looking teenage screw-bunnies at his beck and call.
“None of them are the right mindset to set on something like this,” Mike replied. “But Anastasia is fluent in Arabic. Maybe I’ll have her teach Cottontail.”
“Be careful what she teaches her,” Adams said, without looking up. “You might get a very nasty surprise.”
“Are you talking about Anastasia teaching Katya or the other way around?” Nielson asked, grinning.
“Yes.”
* * *
“Genadi,” Mike said, as he pulled up in his Expedition next to the farm manager. “I haven’t spoken to you in weeks. How goes the farm?”
When Mike had bought the Keldara farm, which essentially meant the entire multithousand acre valley, he had been less than satisfied with the overseer that came with it. In short, Otar Tarasova was a blow-hard and a bully that didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. The local police chief had turned up Genadi Mahona, who was not only school trained in agronomy but a member of the Keldara. Otar and Genadi had earlier had a run-in and the former manager had forced him off the farm, to the level of having him thrown out of the Keldara.
Mike was impressed by the young man. Genadi knew the problems of farming in the valley with its very short growing season, but he was also more than willing to bring in modern techniques and equipment to improve conditions. He was also willing to face down the Keldara elders over his changes. The Keldara were open to many new ideas and ways of doing things even while being dead stubborn on others, and many of the elders thought that Genadi was going to starve them all with his new seeds, planting methods, fertilizers and “herbicides.” After all, anything that killed the weeds would certainly kill the crops. This year was going to be a test of how well he knew his stuff. Mike was betting that things would go well.
“I could use some hands,” Genadi admitted. “When are the younger men going to be free for work again?”
“Not for a few weeks,” Mike said, frowning. “What do you need?”
“Small things, but numerous,” the farm manager answered. “Some trenching that I can’t get a backhoe into, some repairs on the barns that requires strong backs. The old men are doing well, as are the women, but there is only so much they can do.”
“We’ve got a break in the training schedule coming up the end of the week,” Mike said, frowning. “I’ll see about gettting that break extended from a few days to maybe two weeks. I want them to have a break before we go to patrol phase two. That’s going to be a ball buster.”
“I’ll put it off until then,” Genadi said, nodding. “And I’ll make sure they have a break towards the end.”
“Great,” Mike said, grinning. “How’s the crop?”
“Even Father Mahona admits that the grains are coming in well,” Genadi replied, smiling broadly. “And the peas are nearly ready to harvest. We’ll do that with the combine so I won’t need the young men. Before it would have taken everyone stripping the plants, but the combine has an attachment that does it for us. Then we’ll replant in beets for the fall crop.”
“Whatever,” Mike said, admitting that he knew nothing about farming.
“It goes well,” Genadi said, smiling back. “Very well.”
“Good,” Mike replied. “That’s all I needed to hear anyway.”
“The farm goes well,” the farm manager said, frowning slightly, “but there is another problem.”
“What now?” Mike asked, sighing.
“Father Nona and Father Kulcyanov would like to meet with you, privately,” Genadi said. “It is a very private reason, for the Kildar only. Not involving the militia.”
“Today?” Mike asked, puzzled.
“Soon,” Genadi said, shrugging. “Not right away. Any time this week or next week would do.”
“Going to hint about what?” Mike asked, smiling.
“I think they need to discuss it with you,” Genadi said, shrugging. “It is for them to say.”
“Tomorrow do?” Mike asked. “Afternoon?”
“That is fine,” Genadi replied.
* * *
Mike entered the caravanserai and looked around the foyer. Two of the harem, Tinata and Azhela, were sitting in the foyer area playing a game involving small colored pebbles. Tinata was a sixteen-year-old with flamboyantly large breasts and flaming red hair that was quite natural. Mike knew for sure and certain that the curtains matched the rug. Azhela was smaller with fine, light brown hair and a smaller chest that, nonetheless, was quite noticeable on her smaller frame.
In a move that made sense to him at the time, he’d had Anastasia obtain uniforms for the girls. They were essentially “school-girl” uniforms, white shirt, blue and green plaid skirts and low-quarter shoes, which had advantages and disadvantages. It cut down on the petty bickering about who got to wear what on what day, and who was prettiest, which was a major point of contention among the girls. However, as with many males, he found the “school-girl” look was a major turn-on. It didn’t help that they were, essentially, real school girls. As usual when the girls popped to their feet, skirts swirling, their shirts straining their buttons, smiling, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and obviously quite willing to satisfy his every desire, whatever important problem had been on his mind went right out the window. The braces that many of them now sported didn’t help matters.