The Kildaran - Sixth Interlude

[Welcome to the (currently) final interlude!  There may yet be one more interlude written; however, at this point it's a concept rather any any coherent strings of words, so, for now, this is it.  After this, nothing but pure Kildaran to the end!

For the newer readers, who may be wondering what the devil an interlude is - well, we have more books in mind in the same universe.  These interludes are focusing on primary characters from the novel that would (will) parallel this, Paint It Black, giving you a feel for their foibles and abilities.  You've met Prissy - lucky readers! - and the Mice; you've gotten to know Lasko better; and you've seen what happened to Shota at last year's Festival of Balar.  Now, you get to see what Shota's like AFTER the surgery!

Thanks for reading, and we'll return to our regularly scheduled story in a few days!

Adam]

SHOTA: SECOND INTERLUDE
2 MONTHS AGO

    The old Cargo Plane looked as if it had been blasted by the sun, oiled down, then coated in dust and pollution.  Repeatedly.  Over many years.
    One engine sputtered to a stop with a gagging cough of a stop much quicker than the other three.  It spewed dark smoke and a hint of flame from its exhaust, nothing that excited the men of the Air Cargo section of the Tbilisi Airport.  There was a bit more flame than usual, true, but that too passed.  So did any worries the men might have had, if they hadn’t already been so tired as to not really care.  They were just running on automatic, mostly.
    All sorts of aircraft came through here.  During the Russian-Georgian War they'd seen their share of smokers coming in - their own military craft, in fact - but this was an older beast.  By the looks of things, it had likely been on its last legs for at least ten years,  kept in the air with spit and a prayer more than airframe worthiness.  Maybe, just maybe, it was the skill of the aircrew.  They approached and got a better look at the aircraft.
     Its tail bore the flag of Uzbekistan, a fairly common flag of convenience.  But  that was peeling faster than the remaining paint, and a much smaller American flag looked to have been recently applied.  It's other lettering and numbering was peeling, but seemed older and likely was original - at least, more so than the flags it flew under.  At least all its lights worked.
    Fuck!  Especially the belly floods, which flared, cutting through the cold, flurries and settling dust and smoke.  This let the ground crew do their job much quicker. as they could see the props.
    There were already bets on how much it'd take in bribes to get the tower to grant permission take off again, and more bets if it'd be able to do so at all.  With the wheels were secured, the cargo hauler and inspection team arrived, there was nothing else to do.
      As the other engines died one by one, the airframe screeched in sympathetic pain.  Suddenly, they all started to reassess the safety of their chosen positions under the aircraft.  They all decided to move to the rear where the cargo hatch was.  Maybe they'd get a chance for a few more rubles as a ‘reward’ for helping unload the craft and to ‘not’ see anything.
    A cargo craft coming in at this time of night; no one in the tower complaining; no police lights racing across the tarmac; no response helo launched from the ready base near the main terminal; that could only mean one thing:
    Smugglers.
    Smugglers who already had an ‘in’ with the men on this shift.  Well, there was always room in their pockets for a few more rubles, and hard work wasn't anything new to them.  And, if it proved to be something bad, like, oh, Islamic mujahideen, well, there was a procedure for that.  A quick call to a contact in town, they call the Mountain Tigers, and that problem would go away.  So, too, would the staff who'd arranged for the safe arrival, ‘under the radar’ so to speak, of the hated enemies.
    “How the hell did this thing make it over the mountains down south?” muttered the oldest, and wisest, of the ground crew, seeking shelter from the wind.  “You all saw the weather reports?  Even with a tail wind it had to be one hell of a ride.  I'm not going to volunteer to clean it up on the inside no matter how much they offer.”
      That’s when the aircrew jumped out of the front belly door, kissed the ground, and cried thanks - one to Allah, the other to God Almighty.  One was what sounded to be a Russian dialect; the other in what they all recognized as a Southern drawl - cowboy movies had been circulating in the local black-market recently.  Uncut and unedited, with subtitles in Georgian.  The latest action movies from America too.  All rumored to be coming from the Keldara.

    “Ah swear ahm gonna shoot this beast if'n it donna blow up first!”
    “Ah, no!  How will we get back?”
    “We go commercial, Alexi.”
    “That is simply bizarre, Sam.  But you think we might let our passengers out before they make our wishes come true and blow a hole in our plane so they can, as you say, 'Unass‘?'”
    “Guess so, them were some mighty ugly storms on the way here,” Sam said, giving his old bird one final look-over as he walked aft.  He waved at the ground crew, then noticed the fuel truck.
    “GAWD NO!  Keep that truck far away until she cools off!  Otherwise, y’all are gonna blow sky high!  Them smoke and fire farts from the engines, they ain’t from clogged exhausts.  We got hot ports and a fuel leak somewhere.  The rigger tape patch job must’ve melted agin!“
    He continued in perfect Russian, “Hildegard's one touchy bitch.  Give her a chance and she'll start a fire in a puddle of oil or hydraulic fluid!  So you damn fools get the fuel away and dig out a fire-engine instead - and BACK OFF!  We gotta get our... cargo out.”
    “What might your cargo be, Sir?”  Smugglers for sure, grinned the old ground chief.
    “A few local Tigers, a pretty girl, and some old grandpa in a wheel chair.  Odd bunch.  But you know, the Kildar, he paid us just fine to bring then back along with their toys.  I'm guessing the toys belong to the Tigers.”
    “Tigers? You mean the Mountain Tigers?”
    “Yeah that's them.  Bunch of ugly fucks I got here, though they've been drunk off their asses for the last nine hours, singing loudly and off key.  That was, until we hit that spring squall just south of here. Y’all better get ready for that weather.  We got snow coming for sure.”
    “Tower hasn't said anything about it yet,” argued the crewman.  One sniff, though, and he could smell the change in weather coming despite the fuel fumes, dust of the field ,and smell of abused and tortured metal.
    Sam put his arm around his shoulders and steered him around the aft end of the plane and pointed him and his head south. “Now y’all jest look up above the horizon.”
    “I don't see a horizon...”
    “Exactly.  At this time of the morning, this time of year, you'd expect the sun to be shining right through, not a big ol’ mass of black stuff headin’ north.  We only beat it here by riding out the gust front, and didn't that shake things up!  Like to breaking in a Wild Pinto mare in heat, I tell yah.  Bet it's gonna be messy inside.”
    His partner pulled out a hand crank from a locker near the aft wheel well and, with a promise of bribes, got some help cranking the cargo hatch down.  Before it even touched the ground, gear bags started flying out, knocking a few men down.  Then five large men passed a old geezer in an even older wheelchair out the back and pushed him towards the ground chief.
    “You, move him to safety!,” called one. “There's a smell of burning wires inside - I think we got hit by lightning on the way in, the intercom blew out so we couldn't tell the pilots.”
    With that, the pilots and ground chief - pushing the old man on what had to be the second fastest ride of his life - took off like bats out of hell.  The rest of the ground crew, seeing their boss running for his life, followed, leaving their ride and gear behind.  The fuel truck passed them all, smashing every posted speed limit.  It wouldn't stop for anyone until much later, when it was stopped by a very large pothole on the far side of the field.
    Shota smiled.
    “Okay, you ugly Mules.  Now we do what J told us to do.  Unload the Sheik's presents we didn't use and commo.  Take over that flat bus to move our stuff.  Glad they ran first.  Didn't want to have to make it burn too early.  Too many new toys I want to try out later that we didn't get to use in  Tirana, and I really want to kill this plane in two minutes like J said.  No sooner.  Orders are orders.”
    “It worked for us in Tirana.  So if your stuff isn't off by then...”  He shrugged and lifted a giant tube, marked with Chinese and Arabic writing, to his shoulder, smiling very widely.
    “You know how I was with numbers.”
    He grinned even wider.
    “So one, two, ten... what ever... MOVE IT MULES!”
    Shota had taken to being a leader of men of equal brawn with great vigor. He liked being able to swat a man into line to make a point without worrying about that man breaking or getting angry.
    It just was the way his team worked.  Chief Adams had shown him some very nasty ways to make sure that the knew that messing with him just meant PAIN.  It'd only had taken three examples - one of the guys, Tubri, known as ‘Two Brows’ for the deep furrows in his forehead,  twice - to make his point.
     Shota had helped both men up with smiles and patted them on the back, which likely would have just folded lesser men in half at the point of impact.
    “Welcome to the Mules.  I'm Boss.  Sergeant.  Kildar says so. Oleg says so.  So you follow my orders.  Period.  Or you’re out of the ‘Experimental Heavy Operations Support Squad‘.”  Smile.  “Everyone else calls us the 'Mules’, so you don't have to remember the special name, but write it down.  Keep in your pocket, you’ve got to check the schedule for rotation on patrol, or who has 'watch Kildar duty and Ready Action' status.”
    Even though his new troops had obvious questions, they knew better than to ask their new leader right now in front of others.  Like Shota, they had learned that there was no embarrassment in asking others for help - as long as you didn't do it in front of the troops.
    Anyone who made Shota's new promotion and job harder would pay.  So it was toe the line and watch everyone else, both to learn and ask them questions before it was too late.  Every one of his men had a child's version of an off the shelf tablet with Wi-Fi capabilities.  They were made for fingers not quite sure or a little bit clumsy due to strength and thickness.  No finesse in these men, unless it was in blowing things up.
    The Four Blind Mice had upgraded the devices and made them as hard to crack as they were durable.  The applications and tools embedded in the devices were up to date and meshed perfectly with the rest of the Mountain Tigers' devices and the Cave's encrypted comms.  It was as idiot-proof as they could make them.  They had even been tested out by an entire classroom of rowdy kindergarten-aged children.
    Vanner had been impressed by the alterations and durability of the devices.  He’d added a little fillip of his own: detcord placed inside the rubber edging.  Not only did it act as a self destruct, or a weapon of last resort, but aided the device in remaining sand- and water-proof.  He'd sent them back to God-Boy and Mouse to get modernized in looks and made less child-appealing - those colors would be death on the battlefield.
    Twelve of the hardened and altered tablets had been issued to the Mules.  Another fifteen were made as cool as the Four Blind Mice could make them, packing solar cells on the back and a shaker-generator-capacitor charging system.  Mouse had added her own special touch, with the latest Mouse-customized apps ripped from every operational military, and even some that were as black as their own operation.
    Six went to OSOL.
    Six went to the Teams via Chief Adams's contacts - with a note: “Enjoy the new toy, love, Ass-Boy.”
    The last three went to JSOC for field testing.  When field test data and alterations had come back, a final version had been offered up to several manufacturers cleared and capable of making the devices as designed, without cutting corners.
    This had netted another bonus for the Intel section and their think-tank (and in-house troublemakers), the Four-Blind Mice.
    It'd also made Colonel Nielson happy for at least half a year, until, like all budgets, the new income was exceeded and applied to other needs that kept popping up like weeds.
    This is why J had allowed the Squad to haul as much foreign tech as they could, plus all the test rounds they could carry.  Not only would they have something for them to play with that was definitively non-Georgian and non-US source, but also something more for the tech-heads to tear apart.  They were told to steal anything different and new to see if it could be applied to their own use.  If it could, perhaps someday it could be manufactured locally, either in Alerrso or the tech plants planned for the Five Valley region.  Of course, that would have to wait until after a new town was built for all the displaced Georgians and a new, larger militia trained up to extend the protective umbrella of the Kildar in the region.
    After the Georgian-Russian ’war’, his command had become permanent.  The Colonel had promised that he'd get the best of the best, and that started with two Ghurkha DI's over in the Five Valleys training the fledgling Militia - The Mountain Rams.  Any locals - original or refugee - those two and McKenzie (brought back to help the Rams get started)  thought had the right mindset and build to become Mules of the Mountain would be sent through a special training course before being sent through a trial period with E-HOSS.
    Initially the E-HOSS were meant to carry supplies and help break any Tigers in over their head or in a bad situation.  But they proved that the supply Mules could change into an avalanche of pure destruction when pointed in the right direction, given the right toys - or just told to make do with what ever they could lay their hands on and go save their friends and cousins.
    Shota smiled, remembering carrying a quad-fire rocket pod into combat to clear a nest of pesky Russians from a copse of woods.  They had caught team Sawn by surprise, escorting over a hundred refugees and unable to counterattack.  No other assets had been free at the time.  His men had thrown wooden spears tipped with mortar rounds, amongst other creative uses of high explosives and rockets.
    The order had gone out: “Send in the Mules.  Clear all obstacles and feed the grass with their dead.  Get the civilians and our men out, any way you can.”
    Those woods were still a source of heat-treated timber for the growing city at the nexus of the Five-Valleys.  Luckily the rains had come, extinguishing the fires.  That allowed the twenty surviving Russians to surrender.  They never really knew how many didn‘t make it out of the woods.  The Kildar suspected there was a whole company of paratroopers, but the Russians never offered and the prisoners never talked.  So they were just put to work as forced labor until an exchange was arranged a few months after hostilities had officially ended.
    “You can come out now, Katya.  Are you feeling better?” Shota shouted through the growing wind and the dying sputters of the engines.
    He reached up with his free hand and gave a well-stacked blond a hand down to the tarmac.  She'd have been beautiful except for the  smoke and oil visibly staining her face and hair.  And the puffy, slightly unfocussed eyes.  Oh, and some bits of food and vomit on her.
    If he noticed that she smelled as bad as she looked the thought never crossed the warrior’s mind.  They all had made use of something in the last half hour as a puke bucket, except the proud Katya.  She'd held on until the last gust front hit and they lost altitude at a rate faster than an express elevator... that's what actually took out the communication panel.
    Who knew a girl could puke so hard and so true?
    They knew better than to say anything to her about it.  For fifteen minutes they'd given Katya the best they had to make her forget her nausea and get her angry at the world again.  Normal like.
    Once she caught on that they were teasing her because they considered her part of their team and family, to make her forget her weakness, she started to return barbs in a way only a whore could.  It made the Mules blush red to the tips of their ears, each and every one of them.
    She even managed half a smile, at least until they bounced down the runway.  Then she surprised everyone again by painting the wall to the pilot's area with another barrage.
    Luckily that door didn't work, according to the pilots, or they'd have regretted coming back to check on their cargo.  One wrong comment and not even J could have stopped Katya from defenestrating  at least one of them, probably the Russian.  He’d  been all too touchy-feely on the flight down and back for her liking, but J told her to play along.  She was there as his nurse and the men as his hired bodyguards.  Letting a younger, better-looking man brush up against her instead of her old half-dead boss would have been par for the course with the chosen disguise.
    At least she hadn't had to fuck him.
    So she'd teased and hoped he'd been left with a case of blueballs for the duration of their stay in Tirana.
    She recovered from the abrupt landing and gave him and the others a half smile. She had her own egress plans and that was all she was going to, or was allowed to, tell them.
    “Shota, see you in the valley.  Your men did well, for a bunch of useless soldier-boys.  It was an awesome fireworks show.  Too bad all those assholes got the wrong address, ended up in the condemned buildings instead of at an exclusive party and auction of prime American girl-flesh. A real shame.  I'm sure I gave them the right address.”  She shrugged, and giggled - purely a strange sound coming from a woman the Kildar often referred to as his ’pet sociopath’.  “Wrong place, wrong time.  For that bunch of slavers, anyway.”  Shota tossed her a bag, this one silk chased leather.  It clanked when it thudded into her lap, along with his last clean chamois.
    “Oof!  Dammit, Shota, I'm strong, but that's fucking heavy!”
    “Sorry.  Give my share to Mouse.  She knows what to do with it.  She been doing good by me with my bonuses so far.  Someday I can pay dowry for a wife that's not afraid of big things.”  He blushed.  “You really should talk to her about investments, she's mostly honest now since the Kildar and Anastasia had a talk with her last year.  Now with real gold maybe we can do more for the Families and ourselves too?  Make sure she gets me the new Xbox too, please.  We, uh-broke the last one.  By accident.”  He blushed even harder.
    Shota's watch beeped twice and then went silent.
    “ONE MINUTE WARNING! MOVE IT OR  LOSE IT.”
    “What do you think, Katya?  I'm torn - should shoot from outside or set a charge inside?  What you think will kill this bitch best?  The Sheik said he was tired of those two doing opium and gun running on the side.  I told him we could take them to the farm, we got backhoes, but he said good pilots are hard to find.  Oh, I still need to thank you properly for letting me shoot them guys with the big rockets instead of just guns.”  He blushed.  “J said, 'A kiss is normally in order here.'  But not in front of the guys, okay?”
    “Shota, you did that already.  Twice.  Sloppily.  And you were very drunk.”
    “Sorry, I was very happy too.”  He heard a chortle somewhere behind him.  “You drop that box of reloads, Tubri, and I'll shove that rocket pack up your ass!”
    Katya said, “Happy at kissing me and living?  Or seeing all the big guns and rockets in that warehouse ripe for the picking?”
    “Both.  We did it right, too.  Nothing else got hurt.  Much.  Just a few abandoned warehouses and some vermin that needed exterminating, anyway.  I like that new rocket the most, though.  Filled with liquid air.  Makes doors like glass and people too.”
    “Yes, that was a nice touch, a nice quiet liquid nitrogen explosion in the middle of the bodyguards.  No harm to their fancy cars, or their weapons, or, best of all, their electronics.  That was a nice take.  Using your axes to just chop out what we needed instead of waiting was kinda gross, but, you know, kinda cool too.”  She looked up at the device resting lightly on Shota's shoulder and shivered.
    “So did you read the label on the rocket you loaded up this time?” Katya was sure finding the cold-rocket was a pure accident, but its choice, accidental or not, had minimized collateral damage during the final stages of Sheik's Tirana ‘Urban Renewal’ project and crime reduction movement combined into one  noisy black op.  All ammo and empties left on the field pointed back at Iran, China, North Korea and good ole Mother-Russia.  Nothing local or that would be tied to the US, or the Kildar.  And using the Sheik - who would have thought an Uzbekistani sheik would wipe out a den of sex slavers in Albania?
    In the end it was made to look like a major drug deal, weapons buy, and slave trade gone terribly, terribly bad.  It all had to be timed to take place during a live fire exercise at the NATO base beyond the city.  All eyes had been turned that way, with many families taking to the hills just beyond the warning fences to watch the Americans and their European allies waste another few million dollars just for practice.
    Surely many had personal dilemmas after the fireworks in the hills and in-town had ended.  Ignore the fireworks and wait for the loot?  It would be less risky.  But what if their involvement came out?  In the end, the MP’s beginning to patrol the streets of the chaotic city solved the problem.  The Policia e Shtetit, Albanian State Police, took over the investigation, although it didn’t take long to realize that something big had gone down right under their very own noses.  And, since no one had bothered to bribe them, they were out for blood and actually trying to do their jobs for once.
    In short order they had evidence pointing at a half dozen different countries.  Worse still, more than thirty heavies, and twelve major players in town, were just gone. That wasn't counting the baker's dozen of still defrosting hacked up men at a famous brothel, auction and slave transshipment house in town
    The few that hadn't come to the ‘party‘, had encountered Katya in full hooker-cum-secret agent mode.  She hadn't had to repeat herself in their terminations once.  J had given her a tube of superglue, some dental floss, a toothpick, a playing card, a bag of pistachios, and a jar of habaneros and told her to have fun.  A number of local farmers hardly noticed how large their compost piles had grown overnight; they were more confused by the stockings stuffed full of Euros left hanging on their doors.
    She’d even gotten to use her new trick, breaking a neck using just her thighs.   
    In the end, the police declared all the various killings justified.  After all, they were all criminals, if also leading lights in the city.  Another crop would sprout, eventually.  The only loose end were the Mules, who scampered out of town after emptying the arms warehouse while J, in his role as an elder statesman, held court on the far side.  From there it was into stolen trucks and a final run to an abandoned airfield a dozen miles outside of town.
    The last of the weapons, ammo-boxes, they sheik's team bonus pay in individual bags of gold (one each), and what smelled like coffee beans - still green, taken from one of the warehouses that no longer had living owners to complain - filled all four of the towed baggage cars.  Two Brow jumped into the driver's seat and had pulled up next to Katya in her aircraft tow truck.
    As soldiers they lived on coffee and had claimed that as their bounty and then let in the Sheik's selected looter to grab everything else not nailed down.  A full list would be sent to Vanner later along with any other future bonuses or payments.  That would likely take months, as fencing that much loot would have to be done slowly.  Katya had made the Sheik promise to build a real orphanage and school that wouldn't end up sending the girls and prettier boys into sex-slavery.  J had whispered something in the Sheik's ear and the man had nodded sagely and agreed to the demand as if it had been in his original plans in the first place.
    That likely would mean smaller shares of future bonuses.  But Vanner was more concerned with intel and who tried to move in to fill the sudden vacuum.  Who knew when they'd be called to clean up the town again.  After Shota's debriefing he was sure it would be a topic that the big man would bring up at every opportunity.  He loved blowing things up.
    “You all seem  ready.  Nothing’s left aboard but that other crap we captured, right?  The opium and hash the pilots think is their bonus?  Sheik said burn it all.   Just remember it's gotta look like accident.  That's why the Sheik picked this plane and this crew.  J will take care of the crew and get them home safely.  I'm sure they'll just be happy to be on their way without anyone learning they were here in the first place or tying them to this mess.”     Katya finished her quick reminder, wiped off her face with the chamois, shook it out and offered it back to Shota.  He shook his head in the negative.
    Savo looked nervous perched on top of the pile of ammo boxes.
    “Sarge?  Could we move farther away from the plane before you BIP it?”  He sniffed the air and pointed at the small line of smoke coming out of the rear bay.  “Ought to make it quick too, before that electrical fire does it for us.”
    “BIP?  That's I picked a white phosphorous rocket to use.”  He smiled at Katya.
    “That old bird‘s made of aluminum and steel.  Add oxygen and my willie pete and you end up with thermite, near enough. Burns so hot water doesn't help.  Foam maybe, but I’ll bet twenty rubles that fire truck turns around when we run off since Two Brow just threw two smoke grenades inside!  What the fuck you do that for?”
    “Sorry Sarge, you were talking so much and we got a schedule to keep.  I figure only a lot of smoke will make our running look real, put all eyes on the plane and not on you when you shoot it.  Right?”
    He had to admit, for once Two-Brow‘s logic was sound.  “Yeah, okay. See you Katya.  Go see Mouse soon.  Or I’ll kiss you again!”
    His men laughed, and she actually blushed.  She slammed the tiny car to its top speed of forty KPH and took off.  Her path would lead to the far hangars where there'd be a change of clothes and a motorcycle waiting for her.  Theirs would lead to a rear gate and  several SUV's filled with drivers from Team Oleg, but first things first:
    Erase all evidence.  Pilots too if necessary.
    Shota looked around.  Nope.  They and J were long gone and the smoke was getting bad.
    He jumped on the rear of the last luggage cart, hooking a foot under a cargo strap.  That allowed him to take a solid stance even as the swaying cart increased the distance from the aircraft.
    “Wish we had a heat seeker, but I think they'd spot that from the tower.  Keep us in the shadow and moving opposite the fire truck and Katya, Two Brow!  Backblast area clear?”
    “Roger that.”
    “Hey, Savo!  Bet you I can center hit that hatch with the rocket from here.  I win, I get your sister for the flower picking this spring.  Deal?”
    “No deal. I’ve heard the stories about you - what happen to the girl in Virginia?  I don’t need my sister with a broken jaw or walking with crutches for the rest of the spring.  Besides, what man would marry her after the stories got started?  How about five kilos of your share of pistachios instead?  Bet you hit the door, but still set it on fire.  Eventually.”
    “HAH.  I'm Shota.  My Drill pierces the Heavens.”
     With a pop and barely any smoke the rocket shot out in a short arc shot  right up into the cargo hold.  There were some sparks as the propellant went off deep inside, making it bounce around, setting all sorts of things on fire.  By then they were over half a klick away and accelerating.
    Shota smiled at Savo and mimicked throwing pistachios into his mouth and holding a woman's head near his groin.  Savo just flipped him off and tapped Two Brow who floored their vehicle to its max, fifty-five KPH.  Shota never lost his balance.
    Life was good.  He'd gotten to blow up one more thing before the mission was officially over.
    Wasn't that nice?
    Shota tossed the used tube onto the pile of coffee beans, rugs, and raw bolts of silk and lay back looking at the sky.
    He hoped that their helmets and tablets had captured all the glory of this mission and that they could get another new movie made.
    He hoped God-boy liked pistachios and dates. - he wasn’t about to cough up any of his gems, gold or silk.  He was saving that silk for a future bride and their bed.  It was going to take a lot to cajole one of the Valley's girls into his bed and marry him.  Being rich and having his own home filled with luxuries wouldn't hurt.  He was sure if the woman could survive bedding him, their children would be like those warriors of legend.
     “Gonna rain, then snow.  I sure hope they got the trucks waiting for us where they’re supposed to be.  I don't want to fly again today in this shit, not even if Valkyrie is the pilot.  Though she is pretty.”  That started another line of thought.  “Hey, Savo, you know everyone down at the airfield, doncha?  Does Valkyrie have a boyfriend?  I hear them American women like their men big and dumb.”
    Shota never stopped grinning.
    Then it started to rain pieces of the Hildegard.  Pieces that were burning.
    After that, Shota had other things to bitch about as some even reached their cargo train.  Bare-handed or not, they cleared the pieces on the move.  Some of their pay could and would burn and other parts could imitate the late Hildegard too.

    After the plane exploded, no one at the airfield thought about the Mountain Tigers, the old man or the pretty lady who'd ‘borrowed’ the ground crew's vehicles.  Those were found the next day near the South Gate along with a box of candied dates, some spices, and a couple of wads of rubles.  The ground crew called it even and didn't bother to mention their largess to anyone else.  Their wives would appreciate the goodies and come market day the wives could trade what spices they didn't use for more luxuries or necessities.  It'd all work out in the end.  If the tower had just let them in onto the secret predawn flight in the first place maybe they'd have returned the favor the next day themselves.
    They hadn't, so fuck them.  What they didn't know, wouldn't hurt them.
    No one found the pilots or the old man in the wheelchair that day or the next.  An hour after the all clear at the main airport, two well dressed European businessmen shook hands with an American Colonel who'd eased their way through customs with liberal use of his rank, a smile, and a firm handshake filled with a few hundred rubles to the right people.  Just everyday business in the Tbilisi Airport.
    No US Colonel exited the Airport either that day or night.  But an elderly Georgian did manage to catch the last bus of the day heading to Alerrso.  The bus was followed by a motorcycle that had seen better days and seemed glad for the company of the bigger vehicle as the snowfall increased.

The Kildaran - Chapter 30

[Yes, 30 chapters down!  Plus five interludes.  And a prologue.  One more Interlude needs to be written - looks like I'll be working on that at some point - so I GUESS that the book isn't quite done.  Well, plus I'm waiting on more revisionizing and editing by Dick.
In any case - here's another chapter for you to enjoy!

Adam]

CHAPTER 30

    Despite the late night, Mike woke with the dawn after a restless night.  A nagging feeling dogged him, barely remembered dreams of cold and darkness.  He extricated himself from the sheets, being especially careful not to wake Katrina, and padded out to the living room.  Hughes was racked out on the couch, but sprang up almost instantly.
    “Sorry.  Couldn’t sleep any longer.  Need to get some exercise.  Want to join me?”
    Hughes stretched.  “No problem.  Yeah, if I don‘t have to leave the hotel.”
    “I‘m sure that can be arranged.  Why don‘t you go find where their fitness center, or whatever they call it, is?”  Hughes took the implied dismissal quietly as Mike pulled out his mobile and called Hardesty.
    “Yes?” came the sleepy voice.
    “John?  Jenkins.”
    “Sir?”  This response was much more alert.
    “Plans have changed.”
    “How soon do you need the plane?  She’s fueled, but I’d prefer the other crew get a little more rest before -”
    “Whoa!  Not that quick!”
    “I’m used to your, ah, shall we say precipitous departures?”
    “Point.  No, we won’t be leaving until late tonight, but we’ll be flying back home.  Does the bird have the legs for a single hop from here?”
    The reply was hesitant.  “I don’t believe so.  I’ll check on that and file a flight plan.”
    “Okay, I’ll call back later.”  He hung up without another word.  “Morning, Stasia.  Sleep well?”
    “I slept alone.  Again.”  Then she smiled.  “I suppose I shall have to adjust.  What are you doing?”
    “Just making plans for tonight.  Thought Hardesty might appreciate a little advance notice for once.”
    “We are leaving St. Louis so soon?”
    Oops.  “Back to the Valley.  Mission’s going hot.”
    “Ah.  Should we return sooner?”
    “No, they can handle the mobilization on their own.  Plus, I’m not gonna miss Cruxshadows if I’m in town!”
    “When you talk to Captain Hardesty again, please ask him to plan a stop in Washington.”
    “DC?  Why?”
    “Have you forgotten Katrina’s dress?”
    “Um -”  Danger!  Danger!  Stall!  Don’t answer that!
    “And would it be polite to strand Jack - I mean, Major Hughes here?”
    “No, but -”
    “Michael!”  She sounded vexed.  “I see you would have!”  He was saved by the suite’s phone ringing.
    “Jenkins.”
    “They’ve got a gym, and it’s open.   Seventh floor.”
    “Be right down.”  Hanging up, he stood.  “Hughes.  Off to do a workout.  Kat’s still asleep; I’ll wake her when I get back.”  With that, minefields avoided for now, he retreated.
=============================
    A sweat-filled hour later they returned.
    “I talked with Noemi.  Most of Katrina’s clothes are finished, and she can have them at the airport tonight.  But the dress is taking longer.”
    “Can she ship it?”
    “I asked that.  She can, but is unwilling.  She will bring it personally to the Valley when it is complete.”
    “I’m sure that’ll cost.”
    “She said she would do it at no charge, on one condition: that she be allowed to use photographs of Katrina in the dress for her business.”
    “Deal.”  He nodded at his bedroom door.  “Katrina awake yet?”
    “I have not heard her,” she answered.
    “Right.  We’ll be out in a while.”  And he walked to the door, entered, and closed it quietly.  Katrina was still asleep, nightclothes disarrayed.  He said, once, “Kat?”
    She stirred slightly.
    “Kat?” he repeated, a little louder.
    She stirred again, but that was all.
    So he opened his palm and slapped her butt, eliciting a startled squeak as she popped upright.
    “Hey!”
    “Good morning!” he said cheerfully.  “Awake now?”
    “Michael!” she said severely.
    “What?  You weren’t waking up, and we need to get going.”
    “So early?”
    “Busy day.  Now, are you going to get out of bed, or do I have to encourage you again?”
    =============================
    “Hardesty.”
    “Jenkins.  We have to stop in DC.”
    “Bugger.  Right, I’ll refile the flight plan.”
    “Murphy strikes again.”
    “Indeed.  Just for information though, she does have the range, just, to make Tbilisi from here.”
    “Good to know, I guess.”
    =============================
    Eventually they were all ready.  “The Arch should be open soon,” said Mike.  “We can do that first, go to the Zoo, or just walk around the city if that strikes your fancy.”  He looked out the window, seeing the wind stand the flags straight out.  “I’d suggest the Arch, since it’s sunny out now.  Don’t want to go up and get clouded in.”
    “The Arch, then,” said Katrina.
    “Sounds like a plan,” added Hughes.
    “How high is it?” asked Stasia.
    “I’m not sure of the exact number, but I know it’s over six hundred feet.  High enough to see quite a ways.  Come on, let’s head out.”
    The sun warmed them as they walked the few blocks to the site of the Arch.  They entered the underground, North entrance and boarded the egg-shaped tram car to the top.  The door closed.
    “Are you sure this is safe?” asked Stasia, looking nervously around at the small space.
    “Of course,” started Mike, but was interrupted by a narration:  “Welcome to the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial in St.Louis…”
    Four minutes later, the tram stopped and the small door slid open.  They climbed a series of stairs, past other similar doors, that quickly flattened out.  Soon they were in the observation deck, a long, gently curved room.  The walls were angled out from the floor, mirroring the triangular facets of the arch.  Deep, small windows were set along both sides, the walls carpeted, and a small ledge ran along the floor to provide extra lift.  A few other tourists wandered from window to window.
    Stasia clung to Mike.  “I do not like this,” she said.
    “Here,” he responded, guiding her to the wall.  “Lean against this.  Feel how solid that is?”  She nodded.  “You’ll be okay here,” he added.  “Jack?  Stay nearby.”
    Katrina was leaning over to a west-facing window, overlooking the city.  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing.
    “Don’t know, babe,” he replied.  “I’m not that familiar with St.Louis.”  A park attendant, walking by, added, “What building do you mean?”
    “Right down there, many pillars out front, with the green dome on top.”
    “Oh, that’s the Old Courthouse.  The majestic Old Courthouse has remained over the past 150 years as one of St. Louis' most prominent architectural landmarks. The Old Courthouse was the site of the first two trials of the pivotal Dred Scott case in 1847 and 1850. It was also where Virginia Minor's case for a woman's right to vote came to trial in the 1870s.”
    “Sounds like you’ve said that once or twice,” said Mike.
    The ranger smiled.  “Maybe.  It’s still worth a look, if you have the time.  Some really neat exhibits down there, especially about the Underground Railroad.”
    “Oh, we were on one of those in Washington!  Boston, too!”
    Mike contained his mirth, suspecting that laughing at Kat in public would be a mistake.  “Not a subway, Katrina.  The Underground Railroad was a system which helped free slaves before the Civil War.”
    “It wasn’t even usually a railroad,” added the ranger with a straight face.  “Just a series of safe houses.”
    Katrina flushed.  “Oh!” she exclaimed, then returned to the window.  “That’s a baseball stadium?” she said, pointing.
    “Busch Stadium, right?” said Mike.
    “Home of the Cardinals, sure is!”
    “I’d like to see another game; can we go, Mike?”  He looked at the ranger.  “Don’t suppose you know the schedule?”
    He shook his head sorrowfully.  “Sorry, miss, the Redbirds are out of town this week.  They’ll be home again next Tuesday if you’ll be in town?”
    “Nope, maybe another visit.”
    “No better place to see a game!”  Looking around, he continued, “Nice talking to you folks, but I have to keep moving.”
    “Thanks for your time,” agreed Mike.  “Sorry, Kat.”  He leaned down, head next to hers, and peered out the window.  “See that white dome?  That’s the football stadium.  I don’t know what it’s called, though.  The Rams play there.”  Falling silent, he took in the city with her for a moment, then moved to the other side.
    “I know what we’re doing next!” he exclaimed.
    “What?” she asked, coming across the aisle.
    “Down there.”  He pointed to a riverboat moored across the river.  “On the other side of the Mississippi.  Name says it’s the Casino Queen, so I’m thinking it’s a riverboat casino.”
    “I don’t want to go there,” insisted Kat.  “I though we were going to the Zoo?”
    “Well -”  Damn.  He had all sorts of Bond lines all prepared.  Well, he could be stubborn too…
=============================
    They were back to the suite just before two.  “Kat?” called Mike, as he opened the door.  “Major?”  No reply.
    “Looks like we’re here firs - oof!”  Even an ex-SEAL could be surprised occasionally, and Stasia’s leap had caught him unprepared.  He staggered for a moment, her legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his shoulders, before recovering to close his arms under her shapely rear.  “What brought this on?”
    “I want to thank you.” she replied, kissing his neck.
    “For what?”
    “For taking me with you today, to the casino, for lunch, for spending time with me - for everything!”  She let her voice turn meek.  “I’ve been quite naughty, these past days.  I’m sure you’d be terribly angry if you knew what I’ve been thinking about every night.”
    Getting into the play, carrying her toward his bedroom, he said, “You’d better tell me.  And quickly before I really lose my temper!”
    He kicked the door shut behind them.
=============================
    Four o’clock.  Stasia was lying across his chest, dozing.  Mike heard the outer door open, so he was watching when Katrina opened the bedroom door.  Stepping into the darkness, she paused briefly, eyes adjusting to the lack of light, before continuing in.
    “You didn’t even flinch,” he said admiringly.
    She leaned over and kissed him.  “I knew that I couldn’t yet provide you all you need.  Stasia’s my friend, too, and she needs you.”  Looking down at the sleeping harem manager, a wicked gleam in her eye, she inquired, “May I?”
    Uncertain of her intent, Mike nodded his agreement anyway.
    SMACK!
    The palm of Kat’s hand left a bright red mark on Stasia’s ass.  Eyes flying open in surprise, Stasia quickly relaxed and, with a lazy smile, said, “You have a good touch for someone so young.  Again.”
    “None of that right now, ladies!” interrupted Mike.  “Do that when we have a little more time.  Now, though, we have to get ready for dinner and a show - so up!”

The Kildaran - Chapter 29

[Not much of an intro this time - but I did want to say, keep up the good work!  Even though Dick and I have been over this plenty of times, we still miss things - and the idiot spell-check doesn't know when I substitute the correctly-spelled but otherwise INCORRECT word!  So - thanks for the hypo/hyper catch - and it's been fixed already (See?  I read my mail!).

Adam]

CHAPTER 29

    Chechnik hadn’t lied, precisely, about Russian satellites.
    Most of their high-resolution optical reconnaissance satellites, like the Yantar and Kobolt series, were placed in orbits that allowed them to focus their cameras on the United States.  Overflying Russia were a number of Liana COMINT (Communications Intelligence) and Tselina ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) craft, designed to eavesdrop on cellular phones, radio transmissions, and other forms of electronic ‘noise’.  Only a single old Tsirkon, with its low-resolution, visible-spectrum-only camera, was positioned to observe the area around Lake Kek-Usn.  And, unfortunately, it couldn’t ‘see’ anything much smaller than three meters across, nor could it penetrate the tree cover.
    That was the beauty, and the downfall, of the old Soviet-era satellites.  While they were robust, durable, and long-lived, they were also limited in function and difficult (if not impossible) to upgrade.  And while they were still functioning - however marginally - they wouldn’t be replaced.
    Upgrade?  A newer satellite would have the best possible hardware, while being able to take advantage of software updates as they came available.  These old satellites - hell, some of them had tape drives!  Uplink?  Forget it.
    American satellites weren’t any better.  While they did provide continuous coverage of the former Soviet Union, the Caucasus region had been a low priority for many months.  Even with urging from agency directors, it took some time for department heads to execute new orders.  Besides, there was plenty of COMINT coverage, and didn’t everybody use cell phones now?
    Murphy smiled.
    The three Predator drones were on the way.  One had been forced to turn back when a processor reported an electrical fault.  The fact that it was a relatively minor system, which had a functional backup and a built-in bypass routine was irrelevant.  Standing orders were to RTB, so, back it went.
    Murphy smiled wider.
    The other two continued onward through the icy winds.  Unfortunately, the winds deposited a thin coat of ice over the optics of one bird, orbiting the eastern shore of the lake, blurring its vision for this mission.  No permanent damage, noted its controller, and made a note in the log to have it de-iced on return.  Of course, if they had been on their game, they might have realized that they were taking drones from a desert environment and flying to a cold, mountainous region and installed the necessary hardware.  Little things, like a heater.
    Wider still.
     The final Predator, on station and fully functional, orbited the western shore, some three kilometers away.
    Can’t win ‘em all.
    So, two hours before dawn, when Gereshk headed north through the woods, with a dozen men and a five-megaton thermonuclear weapon, nobody was in position to note it.
    Nor did they note, an hour later, when Boulos Rahal and another six mujahideen headed south, with their much-smaller bomb, to Groznyy and Kassab’s impatient force.
=============================
    “Miserable Americans.”
    Grez looked over.  “What’s the problem, Anisa?”
    “Look at this map!”  She transferred the map she was examining from her station to the main screen.
    It was more of a patchwork than a map.  Gaping holes in coverage were immediately apparent, giving the image the appearance of a jigsaw put together by a three-year-old.
    “I could do better with Google Earth!” she snapped.
    “Probably, but -”
    “They ask for our help, promise support, and what do we get?  Nothing!”
    “Anisa -”
    “And don’t get me started with the Russians!  Their crap satellites might be old, but at least they have some in orbit!”
    “Anisa!”
    “Sorry.”
    “I understand.  Just do the best you can.”
    Anisa returned to her work, muttering.  She didn’t notice Grez leave the Cave.
=============================
    “Patrick, we cannot do our jobs if we don’t have the data!”
    “Yes, dear.”
    “If they’d listened to us in the first place, we’d have the gamma scans!”
    “Yes, dear.”
    “It would be a case of ‘follow the bouncing ball’ - one JDAM and the problem would be solved!  We wouldn’t have to put any of our men at risk cleaning up someone else’s problem!”
    “Maybe if they painted it pink…” said Vanner, quietly.
    “What?”
    “Nothing, dear.”
    “We need the data, Patrick.  At this point, I can only see two solutions: call back the Mice, let them hack their way into whatever they can and steal it; or call the Kildar, get him to shake the trees.”
    A horrified look from Vanner, and, “Not the Kildar.  He’d probably shoot someone.  Several someones.  And probably whoever called him and ruined his vacation, too.”
    “Then the Mice.”
    “That won’t work.  They’re up to their armpits in snakes right now.”
    “Then what do we do?”
    “One other option - see what Pierson can scare up.”
    “Do you think that will do any good?”
    “Can’t hurt.  And a damn sight better option than calling the Kildar.”
    “I have to agree.”
    “Okay, I’ll call Bob.  In the meantime, see if you can get the girls thinking about the problem from a different angle?  Maybe that way they won’t get so frustrated?”
    “I’ll try.”
=============================
    “It’s cold.”
    “Weather is a situation you must learn to accept.  Missions will not wait for your comfort.”
    “I understand, but can’t we figure out a way to be just a little warmer?”  She raised an eyebrow, almost suggestively.  “I know one way…”  She didn’t expect him to respond, and was not disappointed.
    Katya and J were laying in the snow, across the road from where Gereshk had disappeared two days before.  The signal from the tracer, now that they were back within range, was weak but stationary, about three hundred yards into the woods.  They were both dressed in thermal protective garments, camouflaged for the snow cover, and should have been quite comfortable.
    Except for her feet.  Next time, she was stealing a pair of the militia’s heated socks.  Walking a bit would help, but no.  They had to simply lay in wait, observing.  Fucking boring.  And goddam fucking cold!
    J explained.  “We are virtually invisible to the casual observer as we are now.  If we disturb the snow any further, we risk creating an unnatural shape, one which a sentry’s eye would be prone to pick out.  Or, worse still, if we should be spotted while creating our little shelter, our mission would certainly be a failure.  With nuclear stakes, do you wish to risk that?”
    “No, teacher.”  The admission was grudging, at best.  “Maybe next time we should build a fucking hide.”  His gaze was like ice.  “Sorry.”
    “Then concentrate on the track into the woods.”
=============================
    “Kassab.”
    “Greetings, brother!  It is Boulos!”
    “Boulos, my friend, how good to hear from you!  It’s been a long, long time.”
    “Too long, indeed.  Good news, though: I am on my way to visit, if that is convenient?”
    “Delightful!  All is prepared!”
    “Allah smiles upon me,  I shall be there tonight!  And I shall bring a great gift to you!”
    “Inshallah, Boulos!”
    “Inshallah.”
=============================
    Stella was monitoring the ECHELON take.  “Kassab’s talking on the phone again, someone named Boulos.”  She listened to the raw feed, then called up a transcript.  “Grez?  I think they might be moving.”  ECHELON could be hit or miss, just by its nature.  Massively capable, it could intercept just about any signal, any location, any time.  That was its downfall, too; without an adequate filter, it returned far too many false positives.
    The Mice were best at programming.  That was a given.  But the rest of the Intel section weren’t slouches, either.  This call was returning a confidence rating of 85%.  Good as gold.
    Greznya was by her side in seconds.  “Who is moving?”
    “I mean, I think that a bomb is on the move.  To Groznyy.”
    “Did Katya or J call it in?”
    Stella shook her head.  “No, and that is why I’m not sure.  It sounds like a badly-disguised code, but here, you listen.”  Grez put on headphones, listened to the brief conversation.
    “You’re right, it does sound like movement.  Who is Boulos?”
    “Probably Boulos Rahal, another of Inarov’s regular supporters.”
    “So he would make sense to transport a weapon?”
    “Very much so.  Inarov trusts him as much as he trusts anyone.”
    “Send an alert to Pavel’s team, let them know to expect company soon.”
    “Should they take out Kassab?”  Stella’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to tap out the few strokes necessary to put the team into action.
    “Not our decision.”
=============================
    “It’s our decision.”
    “Scrag ‘em now and we’ll have a little surprise waiting for Mr. Rahal when he arrives.”  The Chief was unequivocal.
    “What if there’s another contact attempt?  What then?”
    “Pat, you worry too much.  These ragheads don’t know diddlyshit for security.  I’ll bet they don’t even warn ‘em before they show up tonight and have to knock on the door.”
    “No bet.”
    “It’s still too great a risk,” added Nielson.  “If Pat’s right about another call, we can‘t chance it.  Even if he’s wrong, we have enough firepower there to take out twice the force.”
    Adams considered this.  “If they can plant some demo, it’ll make the take-down easier.”
    “Do they have a sniper?”
    “Yeah, Braon.  He’s not in Lasko’s league, but who is?  That’s why he’s off now.  You thinking about rooftop?”
    “Exactly.”
    “So they place demo where they can, cover the rear with Braon, and take them from the front.  Best time would be when the other group arrives, situational awareness should be at it’s lowest.”
    “You’re the SEAL, Chief.  Whatever you think will work best.”
    “They are soooo fucked.”
    Nielson rolled his eyes.  “SEALs.”
=============================
    Both the half-blind Predator and myopic Tsirkon saw the battalion-sized force move south out of the woods.  They weren’t moving quickly, since they were on foot and leading a single mule-drawn wagon.  This was just what they were looking for, and the electronic intelligences screamed.
    Murphy stopped smiling.
=============================
    “Movement south of Kek-Usn,” announced Kelson.
    The American driver, sitting at her video terminal, commanded the Predator’s camera to zoom in.  “Sorry, not much joy here.  I can see a bunch of people, but - whoa!”
    The screen had suddenly erupted in static.
    “We’ve lost telemetry from the bird!” she snapped.  “All systems are off-line!”  She typed in a series of commands that should have reset the operations computer aboard the Predator and waited ten seconds.  “Nothing.  I don’t think there’s anything there any more.”
    “Confirmed.  No joy on return signal.  Bird is dead,” agreed the support tech, sitting in the booth next to hers.
    “Shot down?” asked the monitoring officer.
    “Seems like.  Shit!  I didn‘t get a flare or any other warning.  They shouldn‘t have anything that advanced!”
    “Nothing you could have done.  The question is, do we leave the other on station, or do we send it after your bogey?”
=============================
    “What was that?”
    “What was what?”
    “I thought I heard something, off to the south.”
    J strained his ears, but whatever it had been was gone, now.
    “What did it sound like?”
    “A sharp cracking sound.”
    “A hunter, perhaps.  Pay attention to your sector.”
=============================
    “General, with all due respect, one Predator or two doesn’t mean squat if we lose track of a nuke.”
    “How do you know they have a nuke, Pierson?”
    “Would you use a ground-to-air on a Predator if you weren’t protecting something big?  The driver didn‘t get any warning, either.  That means her bird was taken out by something using either purely passive sensors or optics; either way, it‘s dammed hi-tech and seriously expensive.”  He plowed on.  “Let’s assume you’re right, General, and we just have a bunch of people off for a walk in the woods in winter.  I think I’d be just a little curious about it, don’t you?”
    “You have a point,” admitted the Air Force officer.  “Very well, I’ll order the other Predator to follow.  I’m keeping this one above missile range though!”
    “That’s not gonna do any good, unless it’s above 20,000 feet.  That’s the range of the Igla’s we think these bastards have, and that’s too high for an off-the-shelf Predator to do much good.  They’re only good up to 25,000, and their cameras can’t see worth a damn from that high.”
    “I know that, Pierson!  What else can I do?”
    “Not much, sir.  My suggestion is you order it in at about ten thousand.  That should be high enough to degrade the Iglas’ accuracy enough, and maybe give your drivers enough time to pick up a trace and evade.  If not, well, they can’t knock out the satellites.”
=============================
    “42nd Recon, Anderson.”
    “Richie?  Bob Pierson.  How soon can you get that Two Victor in place?”
    “One is standing by for orders on Diego Garcia, and a second is en route.”
    “Get it up.  We need eyes, and we need ‘em now.”
    “You got it.”
=============================
    “FUCK!”
    Nielson’s voice, echoing through the caravanserai, brought Vanner and Adams at a run.
    “What happened?” asked Adams, first to arrive.
    “There’s a god dammed battalion-sized force of Chechens marching south from Kek-Usn, armed with SAMs, and we have NO fucking idea where they are!”
    “How did they get by?”
    “They blasted the Predator orbiting above them to splinters as they started movement, then kept firing SAMs at the second drone until the chickenshit Air Force puke in charge pulled it out of the area!”
    “When?”
    “Two hours ago.  Pierson just called, he’s gotten a U-2V in the air and heading that way, but it’s gonna be at least another hour before it’s on station.  Motherfucker!”  Nielson dropped into his chair.  “We’ve lost them.”
    “Dave, Katya and J are in the area -”
    “And how the fuck did they manage to miss this?  I thought he was the master spy?”
    “I don’t know, but I’ll ask.  Let’s get them moving, see if they can track them down.  They can’t have gone far, not on foot.”
    “You do that.  Chief, get the teams moving faster.  As soon as you can get them rolling, I want them on the road.”
    “What about Mike?”
    “How long do you need?”
    “Three hours for the Keldara.  Not sure about Dragon and Valkyrie, but they can catch up.  They need serious ECM packages, if we‘re getting this kind of fire at drones.”
    “I’ll call him once you hit the road.  He’ll fly into Tbilisi, I’ll have Dragon pick him up and ferry him to wherever you are at the time.”
    “That’ll work.  And the girls?”
    “Valkyrie can shuttle them back here.”  He turned to yell for Daria, but she was already there, closing her notebook.  With a half-nod, she headed out, giving orders.
    “Damn, I’m gonna miss that girl.”
=============================
    “They got past us,” snapped J, rising from the snow and dashing down the road, all caution thrown to the wind as he traded stealth for speed.  This part of the mission was blown, and only serious effort would begin to repair the damage.
    “What?  How?” panted Katya, running hard through the snow to catch up.
    “There must be another exit, one we didn’t know about.  Vanner said that there’s a force headed south, with at least a two-hour head start.”  He shook his head.  “I should have realized.”
    “What?”
    “Remember, you heard a noise?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “That was one of the Predators being blown up, not a hunter.”  He smiled grimly.  “See?  You begin to exceed your teacher’s abilities.”  They had reached their car, far off the road in a copse.  “I’ll drive, you look for anything unusual.  It won’t be easy to hide several hundred men.”
  

The Kildaran - Chapter 28

[For a treat, let's go back and visit Mike again.  We know what's happening with the Emir and Ibrahim (will the Emir ever figure him out?) and Chechnik, and back in the Valley - so how's Mike handling it?  We're gonna find out. 
Just FYI, this is definitely a NSFW chapter - at least at the end.  Remember that this is a pre-honeymoon for Mike and Kat and you'll have an idea...

Adam]

CHAPTER 28

    So much for the vacation, Mike thought after the phone call.
    The flight to Lambert St. Louis International  had been uneventful.  Of course, getting out of the airport, even with Hughes’ connections, had taken time, and getting to their hotel even more.  Traffic from the airport to the hotel had been murder; he’d been away so long, he’d forgotten about timing and traffic patterns.  If only he’d taken a little more time in Boston - there wasn’t any rush to get here.  No, he’d simply forgotten.  That’s why OSOL gave you a guide, jackoff, he reprimanded himself.  Ask questions!
    At least there was a bright spot at the end of the smog-choked rainbow.  The Four Seasons itself was a dramatic glass structure rising by the Mississippi, only a few blocks north of the Gateway Arch.  They had mercifully whisked through check-in, and were soon settled into their suite on the 19th floor.
    “Michael, do we have plans tonight?” asked Kat.
    “No, the show’s not until tomorrow night.  Why?”
    “It’s been a very busy few days.  I don’t feel like going out,” she admitted.
    “Suits me.  I’m for dinner, then take it easy.  Don’t I remember seeing a restaurant in the hotel?  Or do we want to go out?”
    “There is one, called Cielo,” said Stasia.  “I had asked.  They serve Italian cuisine.  There is room service - or I‘m sure we can arrange a private chef…”
    “No, if we’re in St. Louis, we’ve got to have barbeque.”
    “I can ask the concierge?” said Stasia.
    “That’ll work.  Take a half hour to freshen up, change, then we’ll hit the desk and see what we can see.  And don’t dress fancy!  Barbeque, especially ribs, can be messy!”  So they had divided, cleaned, and reformed, refreshed and ready for dinner.  Jack was ready first, in jeans and a sports jacket that easily concealed his piece.  Mike was thinking of going heavy; this was St. Louis, after all.  But he eventually settled on ensuring that Stasia’s pink Tanfoglio Lady Witness 9mm was loaded and in her clutch.  He didn’t want to actually carry tonight, and having to rely on a pink gun would help; after the traffic clusterfuck, the need to kill someone was running high.
    The concierge naturally tried to steer them to the in-house restaurant.  “Italian, I can get anywhere.  Hell, I can do Italian!” Mike insisted.
    “What you want is Pappy’s!” said a desk clerk.  Her nametag read Emily.
    “Pappy’s?”
    “Pappy’s Smokehouse, out on Olive Street.  Best barbeque in town!  And you have got to try their five-way!”
    “Sounds kinky.”  The clerk had the decency to blush.  “How do we get there?”
    “It’s not too far, only twenty blocks west or so.”
    “We just flew in, and it’s been quite a day.  Can we get a cab?”
    The concierge, trying to recover Mike’s good graces, said, “Sir, I can have the hotel limo bring you there and back.  It’s a complimentary service that comes with the Presidential Suite.”
    Emily interrupted.  “And they shouldn’t be sold out, either!  The Cards aren’t in town this week.”
    “Sold out?” said Kat.
    “It takes a long time to do barbeque right.  When they get busy, they run out of food early.”
    “Then let’s stop jawing and move!  Emily, thanks!” Mike called over his shoulder, following the suddenly eager-to-please concierge to the VIP exit.
    The limo was prompt, and delivered them to the restaurant quickly.  It was an unimpressive brick building with a plainly-lettered sign above the door.  “That’s a good sign,” said Mike, pointing.  A bright neon “OPEN” was still lit.  “Let’s get in before they change their mind.”
    The interior didn‘t reflect the plain exterior.  The walls, painted yellow above and red below, were covered with pictures, photographs, and t-shirts.  Around the ceiling ran a shelf with what appeared to be every barbeque sauce known to man.  And, to top it off, a life-sized pink ceramic pig stood in front of them.  All this before they even began to take in the family-style dining room.  It was a large space, liberally filled with tables covered with red-checked tablecloths.  To the left was an ordering queue, with handwritten menus mounted above.  They examined these for a few moments.
    “’Pulled pork‘?  ‘Beef brisket’?  Michael?  And what is an ‘Adam bomb‘?”
    “What the hell - Frito pie?” added Hughes.  “Haven’t seen that in years.  Doesn’t matter, I’m going for the Adam bomb - that must be the five-way.”
    “Let’s just go order,” said Mike and, suiting action to words, moved up to the register.
    “Howdy!”
    “Evening.  I think two rib combos.  What do you suggest for the meats?”
    “I’d go with the brisket, pork, or the turkey.”
    “Turkey?  Okay, brisket and turkey it is.  Sides.  How about a beans, a slaw, a sweet potato fries, and potato salad.  Four soft drinks.  And the junkyard dog behind me wants  an Adam bomb.”
    “Sides for that?”
    “Surprise me,” said Jack.
    “And your name?”
    “Mike,” he answered, the question in his voice.
    “We’ll call your name when it’s ready.  Should be just a few minutes, we’re not real busy right now.  Y’all just go have a seat.”
    True to her word, less than five minutes later Mike heard his name, and turned around.  A server saw him and came, bearing a heavily-loaded tray.  The platters were unloaded and, with a minimum of conversation, attacked.  Jack, with the zeal of a man long denied, didn’t say two words until the platter was more than half gone.  Then, groaning, he sat back and said, “You’ll have to finish it.  I can’t eat another bite.”
    They did.
    Shortly, satisfied and full, Mike sat back.  “That is something I have missed!  What did you think, Kat?”  
    “Different, very different.”
    “Did you like it?”
    “I liked the, I think it was beef?”
    “Brisket, yeah.”
    “Brisket.  That was very good, very tender.  And the turkey, too.”
    “I enjoyed the slaw, too,” added Stasia.  Though, it appeared that she was annoyed that the napkins were paper, not cloth.  Very undignified.  And very difficult to stay clean.  “Very similar to something we made for the sheik, but sweeter.”
    “It’s made from cabbage, so that doesn’t surprise me.”  Rolling slightly, they rode back to the hotel and went to bed.
    Now, after Nielson’s call, Mike lay awake.  Part of him itched to return, to get back to the valley, to finish preparing for the mission.  He needed that rush, he knew.  The heat of battle fulfilled his sense of duty, as well as satisfying his appetite for destruction.  It was when his two halves merged most completely, and he could allow the rage that flowed through him free rein.
    But he hated planning, he hated preparation, and he hated waiting.  He always had, even in the Teams.  The sense of his edge slipping away frustrated him, and got him too focused internally.  It took a real effort to drag his attention back outwards to the needs of the day.  He much preferred encountering a situation and dealing with it.
    They’d stay for the show, then fly back.  That was the plan.
    “Michael?”  Kat’s sleepy voice brought him back.
    “Kat?”
    “Did someone call?”
    Options flashed.  Lie, say nobody called?  No.  Tell her some of the truth, that it was Nielson checking in?  No.  “Nielson.  The nukes might be in play.”  Even as he said it, he felt the rightness.  If he was taking this girl - no, dammit, woman - as his wife, she would share his life fully.  That meant being included in planning and executing missions.  He hadn’t thought it out, before, but as a supersaturated solution would crystallize instantly, so too did his decision.  He felt her tense.
    “How soon?  Do they need you now?”  She hoped not.  She was enjoying her time away from the valley too much to want to return quickly.  Once they returned, these idyllic nights next to her Kildar would end, at least until the wedding.  Though, perhaps - it wasn’t uncommon for a prospective bridegroom to ‘come through the window’ and spend nights with his betrothed.  After all, the handfasting ceremony carried the force of law among the Keldara; the couple were as good as married.  Perhaps, as the Kildaran, she would be able to reverse the tradition and come through Mike’s window?  It bore some thinking on…
    “A few days, and they will need us, but there’s plenty of time.  We’ll head home tomorrow, after the concert.”
    “Good.”  She snuggled closer to him.  “I am ready to go back to the valley, but don’t want to leave your bed just yet.”  She made sure that her ass pressed up against his middle.  Down, boy! he thought.
    “It won’t be for much longer,” he said, stroking her hair.  “I don’t know that I could keep your honor intact if we kept this up, anyway.”
    He felt her smile.  “Nor I yours.  Stasia asks me, every morning, if I have taken you yet.”
    “She does?”
    “Mm-hmm.”
    “Every morning?”
    “Mm-hmm.”
    “And what do you tell her!”
    She pinched him, hard.  “The truth!  That you cannot keep your hands off me and that I am a ruined, ruined woman!”  Laughing, she added, “I don’t think she believes me.”
    “Brat!”  He whipped himself over her, pinned her, and began a manic tickle attack.  She writhed and howled beneath, laughing and trying ineffectually to force him off.  He relented quickly, though - her tickle response was extremely high, and he worried that she wouldn’t breathe for laughing.  Still atop her, he said, “Give up?”
    “Never!”  And with surprising skill, she seemed to levitate from the bed, now grasping his arms, flip him in midair, and land, straddling him.
    “Damn!  How’d you manage that?”
    “Didn’t the Chief tell you I was working with him?”
    “I don’t think you learned that from Adams,” he said.  “Certainly not the landing.”  She glanced down as if suddenly aware all that was between them were their thin nightclothes.
    “No, that was my own.”  Her voice turned seductive, moving her hands along his arms.  “There is something else, something I would like to try.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes,” she said, leaning down to kiss him.  “There is.  Don’t move.”  She kissed his neck, and his chest, her long hair trailing, her hips moving rhythmically into him.  It had been days since his session with Stasia, and Mike was instantly aroused.
    “Kat, what are you -”
    She kissed him again.  “Shh.  I want to do this.”  Kissing, again, her hand crept under his waistband and brushed his member.  He was hard under her hand, and slowly, inexpertly, but with increasing confidence she began to stroke him.  Her mouth continued its journey down his chest, hair tickling him.
    She used her other hand to tug his boxers down to mid-thigh, bunching against her legs, straddling one leg and grinding against him.  She didn’t hesitate a moment, Mike noted in a remote corner of his mind as she took him into her mouth.  Most of his thoughts were occupied by the beautiful woman giving him her first-ever blow job, and trying to remember how to hold back.
    Baseball statistics, he thought, her tongue active along his dick.  WHIP is walks plus hits divided by innings pitched, was the desperate thought, her hand gently cupping his balls.  It was no use resisting; she had been part of his fantasies, admitted or not, for too long.  At least he could give her a choice.  “I’m going to come,” he managed to gasp, trying to pull her off him.  She pushed his hand away, instead pulling him deeper into her mouth.  He felt it before he erupted, pumping down into her throat.  Amazingly, she swallowed it all, and when he finally relaxed back, spent, she came up for air smiling.
    “Tinata told me you liked this,” she whispered.
    “God, honey, that was fantastic!”  He hugged her, then let her settle against his shoulder.  “Do you want a drink?  There’s got to be something in here…”
    “No, Michael.  I think, yes, I think I like the taste.  Now.  You will sleep.”
    And he did.

The Kildaran - Chapter 27

[Quite the ride, wouldn't you say?
It's a helluva thing, riding up and down that Road.  Long, narrow, and twisted.  Really nervewracking, especially if you're not a great fan of heights.  But the view from the summit is like nothing else in New England!
Anyways, we've spent two chapters and an Interlude with Mike and the kids - surely, Ibrahim hasn't stood still, has he?  Probably not.
Let's find out.

Adam]

CHAPTER 27

    “I want my bombs!”
    “Excellency, the men are working -”
    “I want my bombs!”
    “Soon, Excellency, soon, we will -”
    “I want my bombs!  No more excuses, Ibrahim!”
    Ibrahim thought furiously for a moment.  “The reclamation of tritium is proceeding as quickly as we can safely manage, Excellency.  Any faster and we risk the lives of our men.”
    “Risk them!  But get me my bombs!”
    “Of course we shall.  I merely awaited your command.  Even so, it will take time to rearm all the bombs, especially since we are still awaiting our deliveries.”
    “Why do we wait?  Are our followers so inept?”
    “No, Excellency, there seems to be problems at the sources.  We divided the amount needed among many vendors to avoid arousing suspicion, but as yet we have only received one delivery of tritium.  It was a fair-sized amount, though.  We may be able to complete reactivating three weapons.”
    “Then give me my three so we can emplace them!”
    “Excellency, your desire is, of course, my command, but may this unworthy one ask a question?”
    “Ask.”
    “Excellency, the plan was to place all the bombs in the target cities at the same time, was it not?”
    “It was.  The plan has changed.”
    Ibrahim’s swarthy face showed worry for the first time.  “What is the plan now, Excellency?”
    “You will take the three weapons you repair and place them in Groznyy, Moscow, and Makhachakala.  We will demand that the Russian puppets in Chechnya and Dagestan step down immediately, and that the godless Russians recognize the Emirate or we detonate the bombs.”
    “But what of the rest of the Emirate?”
    Inarov waved his hand dismissively.  “Soon enough.  Allah has blessed us, Ibrahim, and will not allow us to fail.  We simply need to accept his changes to the plan.  Once the Emirate controls Chechnya and Dagestan, we will have some breathing room and time to advance our destiny.”
    “Very wise, Excellency.  May this one make a suggestion?”
    “You may suggest.”
    “Your wisdom in targeting Groznyy and Moscow is impeccable, yet I am troubled.  If we take the three weapons available - and they will be complete in no more than three days, Excellency - and ignore the threat the Keldara present, I fear that our works will be undone.”
    “You fear, Ibrahim?  Your faith wavers.”
    “Perhaps I misspoke, Excellency.  Shai’tan is clever; the Prophet has warned us to ignore his temptations.  Yet I feel if we were to focus to greatly on reclaiming these lands for Allah, and not remove the viper in our midst, the Keldara, then we would provide Shai’tan the opening he needs to undo our efforts.”
    Now it was Inarov’s turn to think.  “You truly believe these Keldara are that much of a threat?”
    “Excellency, outside of the Greater and Lesser Satans, there are no more dangerous foes in the world.”
    “What, then, do you suggest?”
    “We will take two bombs, one to Moscow, one to Groznyy.  We will gain our freedom thereby.  Allow me to take the third bomb and wipe the Keldara from the pages of history!”  Ibrahim fell silent and waited.
    Finally, Inarov spoke.  “There is wisdom in your words, Ibrahim.  Forgive me for doubting your faith; I should have known that you only thought of the greater good.  Very well!  As soon as the bombs are ready, we will execute your plan.”
    “Thank you, Excellency.  I shall not fail you.”
    “I know you won’t.”
================================
    “At least we know his name now.”
    Katya’s comment seemed to go unnoticed by J, so she elaborated.  “Bursuk Gereshk.”
    J looked up from the map he had been poring over.  “What does that mean to us?”
    Katya looked unsure.  “We can use his name as a way to enter his circles?”
    “And if they ask for a code, or a password?”
    “Then we take them down.”
    “Just when I think you’ve gotten over your need to kill, padawan, it rears its ugly head.  No, we don’t take them down, not until we’re told to.”
    “Master, then I am confused.  What of the two men in Elista?”
    “They  could have identified us and made our task more difficult,” he explained.  “We needed Hamid to get to Gereshk, and we needed Gereshk to locate their position.  Now, we observe, and wait.”
    “I hate waiting.”
================================
    “Another report from Katya.  They have a location!”
    “Where?”
    Grez pointed to a monitor.  “There, just to the east of Lake Kek-Usn.”
    “They’re sure?”
    “She stated that Gereshk brought the tritium there and has not yet left.  Unless he’s waiting for another contact?”
    “It’s possible.  That would seem to be out of character, though, given the haste they’re trying to collect the tritium.”
    “That’s what I thought, too.”
    “We need to bring this upstairs.”
================================
    Nielson was happy.  “How far away is this lake?”
    “Straight line?  About three hundred fifty klicks.  Of course, there’s no such thing as a straight line around here.”  Vanner shrugged.  “We’d have to detour way around Chechnya at the very least.  Figure six, seven hundred klicks at least.  More, if the roads are blocked.”
    Adams looked thoughtful.  “Two days drive?”
    “About that,” said Vanner.  “Maybe a little less if everything goes well, but probably not much more.”
    “If everything goes well.  Riiiight.”  Chief Adams had a long, and frequently painful, association with Murphy.
    Nielson interrupted with,  “Okay.  Chief, call Chechnik and explain the situation to him.  Nicely,” he added, seeing the malicious grin on the Chief’s face.  “I’ll talk with OSOL, coordinate with the alphabet soup, and get that area under constant observation.”  He thought again and waggled his fingers at the ceiling with a  half smile.  “Make sure they‘ve moved the eyes in the skies.”
    More seriously, he continued.  “We’ve got to get this dialed in.  If we’re going to commit to this site, we need to be sure of the target.  We wait until we’re  absolutely sure the nukes are there before we engage.”
    “What if they move the nukes before we get there?”
    “Point, but that’s why we need it under observation.  Still - I’ll get the teams mobilized and the choppers loaded.  Put the Rangers on notice.  I want to be ready by dawn.  I expect it will be a few days, though.”
    “And Mike?”
    “I’ll call him, as well.”  He said this with some reluctance, unwilling to interrupt the Kildar’s first real vacation in, well, forever.
    Adams said, “If he misses the concert, he’ll be pissed.”
    “He’ll be more pissed if he misses the movement.”
================================
    “Colonel Chechnik’s office, Lieutenant Malakov speaking.”
    “I asked for Chechnik.”
    “I am the Colonel’s aide.  How can I help you?”
    “If I wanted to talk a miserable piss-ant who isn‘t fit to lick my boots, I would have asked for you!  I asked for Chechnik, and you’re going to connect me.  Now.  Tell him it‘s Adams.”
    “Hold.”  Malakov put the phone down.  This assignment sucked, but was better than the other choices: Siberia, or an unmarked grave.  Putin wasn’t entirely convinced of Chechnik’s loyalty, and so Malakov had been tapped for the job of spying on one of the nation’s spymasters.  “Colonel?  There’s someone named Adams on the line for you.”
    “Adams?  What does he want?”
    “He wouldn’t tell me.  He insisted on talking to you.”
    “Thank you, Lieutenant.”  Chechnik picked up his extension.  “Master Chief.  How can I help you today?”
    “You can tell your aide that when I call it’s fucking important!”
    “My apologies.  It won’t happen again.”
    “Good.  Colonel, we have a possible location for the nukes.”
    Chechnik sucked in his breath.  “So quickly?”
    “Yeah, we don’t screw around.  We need some help on your end, though.”
    “Anything at all!”  Chechnik scrabbled for a pen.  “What can we do for you?”
    “We have agents in the area, but we need constant observation.  Any movement in or out, we need to know when it happens.”
    “Where do you need this?”
    “It’s the eastern shore of Lake Kek-Usn, in Kalmykia.”
    Chechnik considered this.  “We may not have the resources to maintain constant surveillance,” he admitted.  “Our technical means are not usually slated for Russian overflight.”
    “I’m aware of that, Colonel.  Whatever coverage you can provide.  Doesn‘t have to be aerial; a couple fishermen with good cameras will help.  But we need it.  Right now.”
    “Very good.  What else?”
    Now Adams paused.  Chechnik had fucked them over once before, but he didn’t see any alternative.  Sooner or later, they’d have to tell him of their movements.  “We will be taking the site out.  Timetable is still up in the air, but we will be moving on it shortly.  Overflight for our Hinds and customs clearance for our teams should have already been approved.  If it hasn’t, get it done.  And road conditions for our route.”
    “Certainly, certainly!”
    “Multiple sources, Chechnik.  And no troops on the ground; one thing we don’t need are the locals blowing the whistle on us.”
    “I understand, Master Chief.  I have done this before.”  Chechnik’s voice was cold.  “Overflight has been granted, I know; I’ll ensure that you have easy passage through customs at your entry point, though knowing at least the primary route will allow for better data.”
    Adams ignored the obvious attempt for information.  “Good.  Once we have the route planned, I’ll download it to you personally.”  He allowed his tone to turn menacing.  “Don’t screw this up, Chechnik.”
    Chechnik heard the click, then, a second later, another click.
    Fuck me.  He had suspected, of course, that there was a spy in his office.  Too much information had flowed the other way to be explained otherwise.  He was insulted, though.  At least Vlad could have given the job to someone competent, instead of Malakov, the worthless mudak.
    He pulled his service pistol from the drawer.  Well, a service pistol.  Actually, it had been signed out by Malakov - at Chechnik’s request.  That would just make it more believable when his aide, torn between two loyalties and suffering from PTSD, committed suicide in the Colonel’s office.  It was going to be messy, but…
    “Lieutenant?  Will you come in here a moment?”
================================
    “Pierson.”
    “Colonel, Nielson here.  Sorry to be calling so early.”
    “No problem.  At least I was able to get in before the calls started today.  What can OSOL do for the Keldara today?”
    “We may have the nukes located, but we need surveillance.  We’ve asked the Russians to keep it under observation, but -”
    “Let me guess, they don’t want to admit that their satellites watch their people just as closely as they watch us.”
    “Bingo.”
    “Okay, let’s see here…  We have enough recon satellites to keep it under our umbrella 24/7.  Do you want updates, or the raw feed?”
    “I think just the feed.  Make sure we get it all - deep scans, infra-red, the works.  We can monitor it just as well from this end.  Plus, no offense, we have a very direct stake in this.”
    “None taken.”
    “What about Predators?  Can you shake some loose for low-level recon?”
    “I’ll work on it, but they’re pretty thoroughly tasked.  It might take a day or two to get them on-station.”  Pierson thought.  “But I may be able to get a U-2 for you.”
    “You think the Russians will go for that?”
    “I don’t think they have any choice.  Mike was pretty brutal with them, I heard.”
    Nielson chuckled.  “He was, at that.  Seriously, I thought all the 99th’s birds were tied up?”  The 99th Reconnaissance Squadron was based, officially, at Beale Air Force Base, and was supporting the American missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, a demanding duty that required most of their airframes.
    “I wasn’t thinking of the 99th, but you’re right.  No, I was thinking of the 42nd Recon.”
    “42nd?  Pardon me, Colonel, I didn’t think there was a -”
    “42nd?  Not on most books, no.  This program’s as black as they come.  A few years back, they scratch-built a dozen new U-2s, designated the U-2V, with a second seat, state-of-the-art avionics, upgraded engines, and, most importantly, improved sensors that can maintain a constant air-to-ground feed.”
    “Never heard of them.”
    “Exactly the point.  They belong to the Air Force, officially, but the National Reconnaissance Office operates them.  I know that they are under-utilized at the moment.  The only catch is I know the NRO won’t allow you to take the direct feed.”
    “We’ll live with that, if we can have ‘em.”
    “See what I can do.  Anything else?”
    “Not at the moment, Colonel.”
    “Very well.  I’ll get back to you as soon as I have any answers, one way or another.”
================================
    “Mike, it’s Dave.”
    Mike had awakened at the first ring from the sat phone, climbing quietly from the bed.  Katrina wiggled a bit but didn’t seem to wake.  “Yeah?”
    “We’ve got some movement.”
    That brought Mike fully awake.  “How soon?”  He was already thinking of flight times.
    “Not soon.  Four days, minimum.”
    Mike relaxed a little.  “Where?”
    “In Kalmykia, north of the Chechen border.  Cottontail and J followed a tritium packet there.”
    “I can be back -”
    “Whoa!  We can handle this part.  Besides, isn’t the concert tonight?”
    “Yeah, but -”
    “No buts, Mike.  We can handle this.  You enjoy the show, and fly back tomorrow.  That’ll give you plenty of time.”
    “Time?”
    “Yeah, time to think of an excuse for Cottontail.  You think she’s gonna be happy you saw Cruxshadows without her?”
    “Fuck.”
    “See you in a couple days.”
================================
    “O Great One, I have wonderful news!”
    “Yes, Ibrahim?”
    “We have completed the rearming process on three of the bombs.”
    “Which three?”
    “Two of the large weapons, the five megaton and the two megaton; and a small one, one hundred kilotons.”
    “That is good news, Ibrahim!  Proceed with the plan immediately!”
    “Excellency, of course we shall.  I will dispatch the largest to Moscow, naturally, and shall oversee the movement of the next-largest to the Valley of the Keldara myself.”
    “No!”
    “Excellency?”
    “The next-largest, the two megaton bomb, that should go to Groznyy, not the Keldara.”
    “Excellency, perhaps you are not aware of the scope of the Valley?”
    “It is a single valley, Ibrahim!”
    “It is a veritable pit of vipers, Excellency, and needs to be scoured clean!”
    “No, it is a source of annoyance which you seem to have an unhealthy obsession with.  Again, I ask you, why do we need to waste a weapon on a bunch of barely-past stone age barbarians?”
    “They are a grave threat to the security of the Emirate!”
    “So you say, Ibrahim.  But my other advisors do not feel the same.”
    Ibrahim‘s usually-calm voice rose in anger and frustration.  “Have they forgotten the crippling blow these infidels inflicted on our cause, so little time ago?  The best, most dedicate, most skilled of our fighters butchered in the field, slaughtered by the accursed women?  Are they afraid?”
    Ibrahim pushed his luck a little too far.
    Inarov leapt from his seat and backhanded Ibrahim off his feet.  Ibrahim hadn’t thought he could move that quickly.  “They - and I! - fear no one!  We are the tools of Allah’s destiny!”  He fumed before continuing.  “I should have you killed for your impudence.”
    “Excellency, kill me if you desire, but you must listen!  The Keldara must, must, be eliminated!”  He assumed the tone on one shamed, and begging forgiveness.
    “You truly believe this?”
    “I do, Excellency, more than you can imagine.”
    “Are you willing to stake your life upon it?”
    “I am, Excellency.  The Keldara must die.”
    Inarov sat back in his chair.  “Very well, Ibrahim.  Your willingness to die for your belief speaks well of you.  I respect your commitment.  You shall have a bomb, the smallest one we have ready, and transport, and men.  Be warned: one of those men shall be given orders to shoot you if your faith, your belief in this mission, wavers, even slightly.”
    “I accept.”  He hesitated a moment.  “I shall need quite a few men, Excellency.”
    “It’s only a single bomb.  How many would you need?”
    “The Keldara are ferocious fighters.  If I am to have the smallest bomb, I shall need to get into their valley properly, instead of staying outside and depending on the blast radius to wipe them out.  They will defend their homes, Excellency, men and women alike.  We will have the element of surprise, yes, and that will work in our favor.  Yet I still think that I will need, perhaps, three hundred men.”
    Inarov was apoplectic.  “Three hundred?  Impossible!”  And Ibrahim would need fighters, not support, not the misfits.  They would have to stay behind.
    “Necessary, Excellency.  That will barely give me a two-to-one advantage.  Less than that, and I cannot guarantee success.  And since I am staking my life on the success of this mission…”
    “We have barely twice that, total!”
    “Yet you will hardly need that many here.  We are undiscovered -”
    “So far.”
    “So far, yes Excellency.  Our men are already in Groznyy; you will not need to dispatch any more for that.  Since we are relying on stealth for the cities, the plan for Moscow calls for a dozen men, including two technicians, and a leader.  That will leave you with nearly three hundred.  And once we return, your security will be guaranteed.  Once the people see the glorious results of your actions, they shall flock to your cause, as numerous as the grains of sand in the holy deserts.  Yes, we shall be vulnerable here briefly - but we shall emerge victorious and more powerful!”
    “Very well, Ibrahim, you shall have -” He paused, as if considering, making himself look generous, and merciful.  “Yes, you shall have your three hundred.”  He scowled at the look on Ibrahim’s face.  “What else?”
    “Excellency, to move that many men quickly, I shall need to utilize the vehicles we have secretly repaired.”
    Sigh.  “Is this truly necessary?  No, don’t speak; I know your answer.  You may have your transports, too.  How soon do you plan to leave?”
    “Tomorrow, before dawn, we dispatch the bomb to Groznyy, and the team to Moscow with theirs.  I shall leave at noon.”
    “Noon?  Is that wise?”
    “Excellency, with so many men, even a blind Russian satellite could see us, day or night.  Who would think that we would risk such a precious cargo on such a daring plan?”
    “Audacious indeed!  Allah’s blessings be with you, Ibrahim.”
    “Thank you, Excellency.”  Without another word, Ibrahim bowed his way backward out of the room, never looking up at the Emir, never letting the contempt that Kurt felt for him show on Ibrahim’s face.