Unto The Breach-ARC

by John Ringo

  That was probably blown now based on one damned phone-call.

  "This is Commander Bukara," the man on the phone said. "And let me start by saying that High Command ordered me to contact you in this way. We have a situation."

  Sadim was sixty-two and had attained the rank of major in the Red Army before retiring. Despite a membership from an early age in the Communist Party, he had, his whole life, been a believing Muslim. With the fall of the Soviet Union and the rise of the jihad he had left his country home and joined the jihad, one of the first trained officer to do so. Since then he had built his reputation, and unit, into one of the finest the mujaheddin had. Disciplined, experienced and well armed, it was the Chechen's crack force which was why it had been moved to this sector.

  But he was well trained, and personally disciplined, so he controlled his fury.

  "What is the situation?" he asked.

  * * *

  "Oh...damn," Greznya said as the intercept popped up. The satellite call had been open circuit and the voices were distinct even if both of them hadn't identified themselves. And she recognized the name.

  "Colonel Nielson?"

  * * *

  Vanner's BFT started buzzing, frantically, and he paused to draw it out.

  The Keldara were retreating at a trot but he was keeping up just fine. He'd never let himself get out of condition after getting out of the Marines and had worked on it harder since joining the Kildar. The girls were doing fine as well, especially since dropping their rucks.

  In fact, the way things were going they should get to the pass by dawn and be out of here.

  He pulled up the BFT, looked at the data and blanched.

  They'd better clear the pass by dawn.

  "Kildar!" he said, running up the hill. "Kildar! You need to see this."

  * * *

  "Four thousand," Mike said, his jaw working. "Fuck me. Fuck us."

  "It's worse than that, sir," Vanner said, quietly. "Sadim's their varsity. Former Soviet officer, very professional one, school trained at Frunze which was their equivalent of the War College. His unit is considered their best field combat unit. Lots of heavy weapons, tanks, the works. The girls started picking up signals a couple of days ago but up until just now we didn't know who it was. Or the size of the force. They were apparently moving over here to push this sector against the Russians. Maybe against us but the Russians are more likely. But now..."

  "He's going to be on our ass," Mike said. "Well, we just have to run faster. Send a message to the Teams; we're trading stealth for speed. If we get hit by an ambush, counterassault and screen through. Fortunately, except for the bunkers the pass should be clear..."

  * * *

  Of the hundred that had started, barely fifty were behind Haza as he reached the top of the hill.

  The area was high. It reminded him of his beloved Afghanistan, now under the boot of the Allah-Be-Damned Americans. The last few kilometers had been through low brush, covered in snow melting in the rain. And it was high. He could tell by the thin air, the cold clear of the mountains he knew and loved.

  The rain wasn't like Afghanistan, though, still spraying in his face and the wind was rising. It was going to be a cold, wet, night. But they had beaten these pig Keldara to the Pass. And he intended that they not pass.

  "Get up you sons of pigs!" he cursed, kicking the nearest Chechen who had slumped to the ground as soon as he reached the top of the hill. "We have digging to do. Those Keldara you so fear will be here soon and we will give them a hot greeting."

  * * *

  Mike cursed as firing broke out to his front. Initially, most of the fire was from AK type weapons, the familiar "back, back, back" if the relatively slow firing AK. The response, however, was almost immediate as the higher, faster cycling, SAWs and M4s of the Keldara responded to what was clearly an ambush.

  Team Sawn was in the lead with the other five teams following. The area was still woodland but the underbrush, in most areas, was thick. He knew that the Chechens were going to know the trails and easy ways better than the Keldara, making them faster moving, but all they could do was bull their way forward, hoping for the best.

  "I don't know where they came from," Vanner panted behind them. "Nothing on the intercepts."

  "Just because it isn't on the map, doesn't mean it isn't going to be there," Mike pointed out.

  The Keldara hadn't even stopped moving. Their orders were to bull through light opposition and Oleg's team had, apparently, already switched to point without orders. So Mike's command team soon reached the ambush site.

  The majority of Team Sawn were coming back down the hill, most of them carrying weapons which were being tossed on a pile. Others carried bodies. Those, too, were dropped with the weapons.

  "Ten," Sawn said as Mike walked by. "They tried to run when we counter attacked. None got far."

  "I take it none tried to surrender?" Mike asked.

  "I wasn't asking," Sawn replied. The pile of weapons and bodies was apparently complete and he tossed a thermite grenade on it. The white light definitely gave away their position but it also sent a message; this is what happens when you face the Keldara. For once, the smell of burning pork didn't give Mike a sick stomach.

  Other members of the same team were putting bandages on the wounded while there was already one bodybag zipped shut. One of the wounded, Stephan Ferani, one of the MG team assistant gunners, was pretty bad. The rounds had ripped in from the side through the arm-hole of his armor and he was bleeding like a pig. He was still conscious, though.

  Mike stopped and took the Keldara's uninjured hand.

  "Hey, Stephan," he said, grinning. "What are you doing laying out?"

  "Just catching...a quick...rest, Kildar," Stephan replied, the words spotting bright blood on his face; the rounds must have hit the lungs.

  "Well, the good news is somebody else gets to carry you back," Mike said. "Riding along like a king. Kildar Stephan, yes?"

  "Yes, Kildar," Stephan said, grimacing.

  "Hang in there, buddy," Mike said, getting up. "We've got another evac site up ahead. You get to ride in style."

  Mike trotted to get back to his place in line, Vanner tagging along right behind him.

  "Think he'll make it?" Vanner asked when they were past the ambush site.

  "Not a chance in hell," Mike said. "What's the status on the birds?"

  "They're back at base," Vanner said.

  "At least they made it."

  * * *

  When the door slid back, a wave of blood splashed to the graveled heli-pad.

  "Varlam and those three to the other choppers," Gretchen said, detaching the defibrillator. "Then give me a hand with this one," she said, gesturing at Viktor's stretcher.

  All the available men and women of the Keldara were gathered at the landing pad. Which meant that both Mother Makanee and Mother Silva, their mother by birth, were present as Gretchen and three other girls lifted Viktor from the helicopter.

  Father Jusev, the Orthodox priest from Allerso walked over as Gretchen was unloading. She wasn't surprised, Jusev was a good man and...understanding. The Keldara turned up on Sunday for church, tithed of their food and handiworks and he ignored the fact that in the dark of night they performed other ceremonies.

  What she was very surprised to see was Father Kulcyanov in his full vestments. A tiger skin was flung over his shoulders, pinned at the neck with a silver brooch in the form of an axe. In his right hand he carried a large battleaxe and in his left a bunch of dried mistletoe. She had only seen him dressed that way at the "secret" rites of the Keldara. She couldn't believe he was so dressed in front of Father Jusev.

  "He was hit coming back from the mission," Gretchen said as Mother Makanee and Silva walked to the stretcher. Mother Silva was crying, quietly, but Mother Makanee's face was smooth and oddly serene.

  "May the Lord Bless and keep this soul," Father Jusev said, sprinkling the body with holy water. He recited a prayer in Greek then looked at the
body bag. "Who?"

  "Sion," Gretchen replied. "He was hit in the battle."

  As the Blackhawks lifted off, filling the air with dust, Father Kulcyanov bent on arthritic knees and took one of Viktor's flaccid hands, wrapping it around the hilt of the battleaxe.

  "From these Fallen Lands you leave," Father Kulcyanov recited. "Into the Halls of Feasting you go. Raised up on wings of the Valkyr to battle and sing until the day of fire, the final battle, when you ride by the side of the Father of All and Frey. You have faced the fire and been unburnt, you have faced the Reaver and been unafraid. Clean of body, clean of soul, pure of heart. True Keldar. True Son of Battle."

  As he spoke he brushed the boy's body with the golden mistletoe.

  "Let the Mothers bear him up and prepare him," the old man said, using the hilt of the axe to help him to his feet. "Raise him up like the Valkyrie though your son is gone. Know, though, that he lives ever in the Halls and that in the days to come you shall see him again, pure and glorious, a warrior born and eternal."

  Gretchen bowed her head, trying not to shed tears in front of the Priest of the Father of All. She knew her brother was in the Halls of Feasting and was probably looking down at her in pity. But she was going to miss him. Did miss him already, terribly.

  She'd known Father Kulcyanov her whole life but she'd never really seen him as he was now. This was the High Priest in truth, not serving over a rite of spring but sending the souls of warriors to fill the hosts of the Father of All.

  And about that she had one small doubt.

  "Father," she said, touching his arm as he was going to perform the rites for Sion.

  "Yes, my daughter," Father Kulcyanov said.

  "Father, I have been given a rank," Gretchen said, biting her lip. "But... I am afraid. Not of battle, but... Women of the Keldara have never been spoken of as warriors."

  "And you fear the Cold Lands if you fall in battle?" Father Kulcyanov said, nodding. "Fear not, Daughter. You are a warrior as much as any of these fallen. Does not your weapon even now smoke? Do the technicians not rearm it? Are those bullets I see being fed? Did you not engage in battle on this day?"

  "Yes, Father," Gretchen said then shook her head. "But I don't think I hit anything. I wasn't used to the weapon."

  "It is the battle, not the ability, that matters," Father Kulcyanov replied. "But next time, send some enemies to the Halls to be your servants. However, you are missing something. You have never been through the rites. And I think now is too short a time to perform them. But the center of the rites is simply this." He reached into his shirt and pulled an old and tarnished silver cross on a chain from around his neck. The cross was odd in that it had only a very small upward extension and broad arms. It looked, in fact, very much like the axe he still carried in his hand. He undid the clasp one handed and then handed it to the girl. "There. Now you carry the sign of the Father of All. And the Valkyries shall not miss you if you fall."

  * * *

  "Who are you?" D'Allaird asked as a man in a rubber chemical suit climbed off the bird.

  "Dr. Arensky," the man said, muffled by the mask. It was in English, though. "I need somewhere to wait out of the way."

  "Well, why don't you start by taking that shit off?" D'Allaird said with a chuckle.

  "Because I don't know if I'm infected," Arensky said. "And I don't want to be contagious. Is there somewhere I could, perhaps, set up as a quarantine area?"

  "I so don't want to know what you might be 'infected' by," D'Allaird said, backing up. "But I'll figure something out. In the meantime, why don't you just go over by the hangar and as soon as I get this bird out of here I'll figure something out."

  "Thank you," Dr. Arensky said. "Hopefully I'm just being cautious. We'll know in a couple of days."

  "Great," D'Allaird said. "See ya!" He continued to walk to the bird, shaking his head.

  "Oh, it's worse than it looks," Kacey said, climbing out of the cockpit. "I had to redline the engines coming over the pass."

  "The other bird is partially ripped down, being refitted," D'Allaird pointed out. "I hope like hell the damned engines hold. This is our only bird right now."

  "The left supercharger was giving me an overheat light," Kacey said, shrugging. "Check that out if you can. Pull it if possible. But we need to get back."

  "You're already being fueled," Tim replied. He'd briefed some of the Keldara girls on it and they were already dragging over the fuel line, watched by one of the Czech technicians. "Any of those dings do more than kill people?"

  "One went right through my fucking window," Tammie said, pointing.

  "I meant anything important," D'Allaird pointed out with a grin.

  "Fuck you, chief," Tammie said, shaking her head. "And for your information, it bounced, so the answer is 'probably.' I don't know where it ended up."

  "I dunno," Kacey said. "Why don't you figure that out while I go have a case of the shakes. That was one hairy fucking mission. I seriously need a drink."

  "You don't drink," D'Allaird pointed out.

  "That's what I mean."

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  "Boss, we're not moving as fast as the Chechens," Vanner pointed out. "I just got an intercept from barely two klicks back and some of the sensors I dropped show their points are closer."

  "That's what I was afraid of," Mike said, trotting down the hill.

  The Keldara were damned near exhausted. They were carrying a massive load of ammo, stretchers with the wounded and their already heavy load of body armor, weapons and other gear.

  And the Chechens knew the area better. They knew where the trails were while the Keldara were spending half their time breaking brush.

  They'd gotten up into the pine zone, out of the deciduous, but that was, in a way, worse. The slopes were getting steeper and the underbrush was a thick thorn that was really slowing them down. The Chechens were going to catch them well short of the pass.

  "Dafyd," Mike said over the team leader net. Since Padrek was barely making it in that fucking rubber suit, Dafyd had taken over as team leader.

  "Kildar?" the team leader called back.

  "Set some traps on the back trail," Mike said. "We're being trailed and I'd like to slow them down."

  "Yes, Kildar."

  "If we could just get out of this fucking scrub," Mike snarled.

  * * *

  "This damned scrub is slowing us down," Bukara snarled.

  "We are still catching up to the Keldara," Sayeed pointed out.

  They'd been forced to leave their vehicles behind. The local guides had known a path that was vehicle capable for part of the way but about ten kilometers back they had had to dismount and follow on foot.

  However, they were also being followed. Bukara had been using his satellite phone lavishly and every commander in the area was now headed towards Guerrmo Pass to try to stop the Keldara.

  If they could catch them. And then there was Haza. The old mujaheddin was good, but could he cut the triangle fast enough to cut off the Keldara? And if so, could he hold them?

  * * *

  "Fuck," Mike said as firing broke out to the rear. They were, at least, getting out of the damned scrub. But that just meant they were high enough that breathing was becoming difficult. The whole group had slowed and now they were going to have to slow more.