Choosers of the Slain pos-3

by John Ringo

  The problem was, what Mike knew about either could be written on the inside of a matchbook in crayon. And the Keldara women who brewed the beer did it in small batches.

  His answer, as usual, was to delegate. As part of the Keldara spring festival, which was so old it matched pre-Christian festivals found only in ethnology textbooks, a “king” was chosen as well as a “goat,” the latter called the “caillean.” One of the Keldara militia members, Gurum, an otherwise intelligent and capable fellow, had been chosen as the bannock caillean when he found a bean in his bannock.

  The caillean was regarded as an omen of bad luck by the more conservative Keldara and the team Gurum had been assigned to had pinned every problem they encountered on him. So he’d been almost impossible to integrate into the teams.

  However, the women were much less attuned to the problem of having a caillean around. So Mike had given him a quick class in internet research, a reasonable budget and put him to work on the brewery problem. Gurum had asked a couple of questions in the beginning but since the battle with the Chechens Mike hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. And while he’d seen some construction on the brewery site — a bench near the road to town that had once been a toll station — he didn’t think it was complete.

  When he pulled onto the bench, he was surprised by the almost abandoned air of the place. There was a partial building completed, two storeys, more or less, with stone walls and a roof at least, but the doors at the front weren’t installed nor were the windows. There were some construction sounds coming from the interior, however, so Mike parked and walked in the front door.

  “ ’Ware, Kildar!” a voice called from above, just as a balk of timber crashed to the floor a few feet from him.

  “Thanks for the heads up,” Mike said, looking up. One of the older Keldara males was looking through a large hole in the second floor with an abashed expression on his face.

  “Vassily, you were nearly out one Kildar,” Mike said. “Watch where you’re thowing logs next time!”

  There was far more work completed than Mike had thought. The upper floors were mostly in and were heavily reinforced with thick crossbeams that were not much more than adzed down tree trunks. The supporting pillars, which were rather close together towards the front, were much the same. Some of the bark was still evident in spots. The right-hand side of the building was open to the ceiling in a loft configuration. Mike wasn’t sure what that was for, but he was willing to assume someone did.

  “Kildar,” a voice called from the back. “We were wondering when you would drop by.”

  “Hello, Vatrya,” Mike said as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Vatrya was one of the older unmarried Keldara females. He wondered if she was in the same boat as Lydia and hoped that, if so, the brewery would be making enough money soon so the same compromise wouldn’t be necessary. On the other hand, he had to admit that the honey-blonde was a fine figure of a young woman. Long legs under that skirt and nice high ones. Not to mention a heart-shaped face and just lovely dark blue eyes.

  He realized he was slipping over to his dark side rather quickly. The idea of breaking in several of the Keldara women was more than attractive. But that was the problem; it could quickly become addictive. It would be easy enough to use the excuse to abuse the privilege and he had worked too hard to cultivate the Keldara’s respect to lose it that way.

  Vatrya was accompanied by a tall, spare, man Mike didn’t recognize. From his clothing, a casual polo shirt and tan slacks, he probably wasn’t a Keldara.

  “You haven’t even met Mr. Brock,” Vatrya said, gesturing the man forward. “Kildar, this is Herr Gerhard Brock of the Alten Brewery Company.”

  “Herr Brock,” Mike said, offering his hand.

  Brock shook it deliberately in the manner of a European and nodded.

  “You are the Kildar,” the man said in English with a strong German accent. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you Herr Brock,” Mike replied, trying to keep the confusion off his face.

  “The brewery apparatus is in transit at the moment,” Mr. Brock said, waving to the rear. “As stated in the contracts, we had the vats and piping in stock. I am assured that locally manufactured materials are available for the barley bins. And, of course, the ovens are being constructed by the Keldara.”

  “The Keldara are very good at general construction,” Mike said, nodding.

  “I strongly suggest that you take Gurum’s suggestion in regards to the annual convention,” Herr Brock continued, stone faced. “It would be the perfect venue for your aims in regards to marketing. Time is, of course, short, but I am being assured that you are capable of managing the requirements.”

  “We’re very adaptable,” Mike said, nodding. “And we are used to short decision cycles.”

  “I am to look on the oven construction,” Brokc said, nodding in farewell. “I look forward to further conversation with you, Mr. Kildar.”

  “It’s just Kildar,” Mike said as the man strode towards the back of the building again. “Vatrya?”

  “Yes, Kildar?” the girl asked, her eyes wide and smiling.

  “What did I just talk about?”

  Chapter Seven

  “You want to what?” Mike asked.

  Gurum looked uncomfortable sitting in the chair across from the Kildar. But he held his ground.

  “The convention for the International Association of Brewers and Brewery Distributors is this year in the city called Las Vegas in the United States. You know of this city, Kildar?”

  “Yeah, I know Las Vegas,” Mike said, sighing. “Sin City.”

  “I do not understand, Kildar?” Gurum said. “Sin City?”

  “Las Vegas is in a state, like a province, that permits gambling and prostitution,” Mike said, sighing again. “Its nickname is Sin City. It alliterates in English. So you want to, what? Have a booth for Keldara Beer at this convention? Do you have any idea what the logistics are for something like that? And where in the hell did this Brock guy come from?”

  “Kildar, when you assigned me this task I was challenged by several problems,” Gurum said, frowning. “The first being that I knew nothing about brewing. This is a woman’s task in the Keldara and they guard their secrets closely. Mother Lenka was, of course, the person to work with on that. She has agreed to be the… the brewmistress for the brewery and has been working with Herr Brock on the design for the initial brews. Herr Brock is with the Alten Brewery in Koblenz, Germany. Alten has its own small brewery going back to the 1800s, but it is also an international supplier of brewery equipment and materials. In addition, they have been most helpful in regards to marketing and shipment methods. At their suggestion, I inquired as to a… booth it is called at this convention. The convention had a cancellation, so I was able to secure a small booth. It is in an outlying area, but quite functional for our needs. All of this I have managed to do within the budget you assigned to me, but to actually set up the booth and create marketing materials for it will require a higher budget.”

  Mike was stone faced through this recital but his lack of experssion was hiding deep surprise and respect. Gurum had taken his suggestions and run with them in a way that Mike, even with his experience of the Keldara, found amazing.

  “Where’d you scrounge up Alten?” Mike asked, ignoring the question of the convention for the moment. He knew diddly about setting up a booth but he’d been to a couple of conventions where people sold gear that SpecOps groups used. All he really remembered about them was booth babes… Now there was a thought.

  “Alten was one of the three companies I contacted after an internet search,” Gurum replied. “They were both the most helpful and, when I contacted previous customers, the one that seemed the most well liked and respected. Their prices were slightly higher, but Command Master Chief Adams pointed out that quality is often worth the extra money.”

  “And they’re supplying…?” Mike asked curiously.

  “Almost all of our equipment,” Gurum answe
red. “As well as marketing and distribution advice. They’ve built breweries in Europe and the United States but this is the first time they’ve done one in Georgia or the other Caucasus areas and they seem very enthusiastic.”

  “You’ve really taken this bull by the horns, haven’t you?” Mike asked, finally smiling.

  “I had some questions about it when I started,” Gurum replied carefully. “You were… busy with many things. I spoke to Chief Adams and he said that SEALs consider intiative to be a good thing. He told me to take as much initiative as I could. I have been careful with my budget, but it will take more to complete the plans and get distribution going.”

  “I’d figured that the budget really only covered research,” Mike said. “Okay, tell me about the convention.”

  “I have never attended such an event,” Gurum admitted. “I have, however, contacted a company that is in the business of setting up for such events. They have supplied suggestions about what we would need. Some of them they can provide; others we need to provide ourselves. They assure me that they can set up a… ‘turn-key’ booth, but we must have certain marketing items prepared in advance.”

  “Lots of marketing items,” Mike said musingly. “Folders, brochures, posters, freebies. I’m not even sure how many of each we’ll need.”

  “In addition, we will need beer,” Gurum said, seriously. “Genadi has a lawyer who is handling the farm’s legal issues. I have contacted him and gotten permissions to export a batch for marketing purposes and more permissions to import it to the United States. He also obtained permissions for us to import the brewing equipment and a grant from USAID in the amount of $50,000 for the brewing equipment.”

  “That’s a damned big grant,” Mike said.

  “It was a matching grant,” Gurum said uncomfortably. “We agreed to provide $25,000 and they doubled the money.”

  “And what is seventy-five grand going to buy us?” Mike asked curiously.

  “All of the brewing equipment to set up a one hundred hectoliter plant,” Gurum replied. “In fact, we’re going to have to do some charging internal to the Keldara to expend it all.”

  “Run that one by me again?” Mike said, confused.

  “There is more money in the grant than we actually need for equipment and materials,” Gurum said, carefully. “Therefore, we are also using the grant money to pay the Keldara for their work and some is set aside for initial capital before we get a cash flow going.”

  “You’ve been talking with Nielson, too, haven’t you?” Mike added, grinning.

  “Yes, Kildar,” Gurum replied with a nod.

  “Okay, approved,” Mike said. “Top to bottom. And I’ve got a few ideas about the booth I’d like to bring up…”

  * * *

  “Hey, Vanner, didn’t you buy some whiz-bang photograhy gear as part of your ‘I wanna be a super-spy’ package?” Mike asked as he strolled into the intel shop.

  “If we have to do HUMINT work, we’re going to have to have cameras, Kildar.” Vanner sighed. “I bought a pretty good Nikon setup and a few lenses, yes. Your point?”

  “I need to borrow it…”

  * * *

  Mike wasn’t, by any stretch, a professional photographer. But he’d taken a couple of courses his first time through college and enjoyed them. And there were some subjects that were just purely photogenic.

  He’d taken the Expedition down to the valley where the troops that weren’t training were hard at work in the fields. The Keldara males, still picking rocks in areas and checking on the progress of the barley, were good for a few dozen shots. But it was when the girls came out with lunch that he really got started.

  About a third of the girls from the compound carried baskets with loaves of bread and rounds of cheese poking out from under colorful cloths. The rest, however, were carrying buckets brimming with ice and ceramic beer bottles.

  “Lydia,” Mike said, walking over to the group, “I need to get some photographs of the girls so we can make up some advertising stuff for the brewery.”

  “I understood all of that except the last part,” Lydia said, smiling.

  Mike thought about that for a second and then shrugged helplessly. He hadn’t considered that the Keldara had so little access to modern technology and culture that the concept of “modeling” was outside their worldview.

  “You know that Gurum is planning on trying to sell the beer at a convention in the United States?” Mike asked.

  “Yes,” Lydia answered as the girls, and most of the guys, started to gather around.

  “Well, we won’t be selling it by the glass or bottle,” Mike said, frowning in thought. “What we will be looking for is someone who will buy it from us in large quantity and then sell it in the United States. That’s called a distributor. What we will be doing is looking for a distributor, a good one that will give us the most money for our beer we can get. With me so far?”

  “I can handle even larger words, Kildar,” Lydia replied, batting her eyes at him. “Two, even three syllable.”

  “Very funny,” Mike replied. “You asked. Okay, so to find the best distributor, we have to have people notice us. There will be hundreds of small brewers like us at the convention, all trying to get the big distributors to notice them. So, how do we get the distributors to notice us, rather than the other brewers?”

  “We have the best beer?” Greznya asked, smiling. Greznya was one of the older unmarried females, a tall redhead with bright blue eyes and pert if small breasts, who normally worked in the intel section. Recently, Vanner had started breaking the intel girls down and assigning them to work with specific teams. Apparently Sawn’s team was on field duty. So the girl had gone from running an intercept and analysis section to hauling bread and cheese to the field. On the other hand, she didn’t seem to mind.

  Mike considered the answer and then caught Katrina’s eye. The little minx would have the answer he was looking for he was sure.

  “Katrina, how do you get the boys to notice you?” Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sway your hips?” Katrina replied, grinning. “Look them in the eye? Pout your lips? Drop one shoulder? Put your hand on their arm? Then they’ll carry your water and you don’t have to.”

  “Minx,” Greznya said with a smile.

  “Katrina, however, is right,” Mike said, seriously. “We want the distributors to notice us. We will build some displays for the booth that have the ‘look’ of the valley of the Keldara, we will have bright signs and we will have pictures of pretty girls. Oh, and we will have pretty girls giving out free tastes of our beer. Some of you will go to the convention and serve beer, smiling all the time. But before that we have to make things to give out that have pictures and information about our beer. And for that we’ll need pictures,” Mike finished, holding up the camera.

  “Of pretty girls?” Katrina asked. “Then just take them of me.”

  “Quiet, you,” Mike growled. “I will. But first I want pictures of all the girls. Girls with beer is a good thing for sales. So line up and smile.”

  It took more than that. The Keldara women were trained almost from birth that they shouldn’t use their looks as a weapon. And they were very camera shy at first. But after Mike got a couple of good photos, and was able to show them to the girls using his laptop, they got into the spirit of the shoot.

  The best image was towards the end of the shoot, when he had all the girls line up with their buckets in one hand and the other wrapped around the shoulder of the girl next to them. Most of them were holding a bottle in their off-hand and he’d managed to get a decent expression on every face. The boys, thankfully, were more interested in the shoot than they were in food for the time being and didn’t so much as grumble about their lunch being held up.

  When the food and beer had finally been served Mike discreetly grabbed Katrina and pulled her aside.

  “When you get back to the house, have them call me,” Mike said. “I’d like to get some shots of you later today. B
ut have your mother call me and set it up.”

  “Very well, Kildar,” Katrina said, batting her eyelashes at him. “But I can go now. There is less to carry back than we carry to the field.”

  “Okay, but we’re going to go by the brewery and pick up a chaperone,” Mike said. “I know just the one to use.”

  * * *

  “Hello, Mother Lenka,” Mike said as he ducked his head in the still-under-construction brewery. “Could I have a moment of your time?”

  “There is something you need to know about sex, Kildar?” Mother Lenka cackled. “Or is it brewing?”

  “I need a chaperone, actually,” Mike said, leading her out into the sunshine. “I’m going to take some photos of Katrina for the brochures for the brewery. But I’m sure as hell not going to go off alone with her.”

  “And you think that I’m a chaperone?” Mother Lenka said then started laughing so hard she choked. “Oh, Kildar, you tell such good ones!”

  “You’re just the chaperone I need, old crone,” Mike said, grinning and leading her over to the Expedition. “You’re an older, married female. Wholly respectable… sort of.”

  “Not even close,” Mother Lenka said, still gasping for breath. “They will assume that you just needed coaching with the young one!”

  “No, they won’t and you know it,” Mike said. “But when I ask her to do some of the things I’ll need her to do for the shots, you won’t so much as bat an eye. Could you imagine if I asked her to suck the foam off the top of an open beer bottle in front of, say, Mother Kulcyanov?”

  “She wouldn’t even know what you were trying to suggest,” Mother Lenka said, giving him a toothless grin. “But I understand. Assuredly I will chaperone you, young man. And if you need any suggestions…”