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Sunday WildCard – The Kildaran Chapter 52

Here we go! Yes, there’s still some action left, but no more combat. We’re past that and into the after-action reports, Mike’s favorite things!

I can’t believe it’s almost finished. Then again, there are a few more stories we can tell, but we might save those for some other time. Whaddya think? Edit them now, or save them for later?

Don’t forget today is launch day for Triumph’s Ashes, and I’d love for you to go check it out! There’s a ton of action in it, both space-borne and planet-side, and the body count rivals anything the Governator ever did. Add to that the huge number of redshirts and tuckerizations from the JR fan page and you’re in business!

Yes, I’ll bite! I’ll buy the new book!


The Caravanserai

April 19 to 23

The after-action report was gonna be a bitch.

That was clear enough after doing the very brief hot wash immediately after their return to the serai. With combat sites scattered across fifteen hundred miles, only two of which were actively under their control, the simple logistics made doing it ‘right’ nearly impossible. Zero chance to comb over them for missed data, or to properly sanitize the battle scenes.

Especially not Moscow. No way in hell was he or any of his people going to dare Murphy there, not until the uproar had settled from Putin’s apparent death.

He didn’t really think the dead man was a ringer, but he wasn’t going to waste time checking. The official government line was he died, which was good enough for him. As far as he was concerned, the mission was done. Over.

The nukes were safely returned to better hands than before.

The money was in the works.

The men had gotten their steaks and beer and one hellacious ‘welcome home!’ party.

Everyone was happy.


Higher still wanted more details. Katrina and Adams were debating the point. Katrina was insisting, loudly, it ought to be done and done right. It was the honorable thing, after all.

Just as loudly, Adams was attempting to explain exactly what happened to all after-action reports. How sooner or later they all ended up in the wrong hands, with a person who had no clue about the details of the situation. They wouldn’t know the background, or the pressures faced at that moment of decision. And sure as God made little green apples, they’d end up making every operator look incompetent, a criminal, or both. Then they’d use the report to push their own agenda, or maybe a bit of petty revenge.

He wasn’t using nice language, either. He was shooting from the hip and Katrina was alternately blushing, nodding, and repeating what Adams was saying even more emphatically. All along, she was cradling her M4, which she hadn’t set down for more than five minutes since boarding the Backfire for the flight home.

A mite worrying, that was.

Mike listened to Guerrin promise he’d give a copy of his AAR to Nielson for review as soon as he had it finished. Chechnya? Not a prayer. Pavel wasn’t up to the task yet, and Adams flat-out refused. On this point, Katrina agreed.

“Screw them. The job is done. Pay us and leave us alone for a long, long time. I want to get married, and I want to get laid, and I don’t much care about the order. And if anyone tries to bother us before the honeymoon is over, I will personally shoot them in the nuts.”

She caressed her rifle.

That left Moscow, and Cottontail.

“No way. What happened in Moscow, stays in Moscow.”

Mike was adamant. There was no way he could prevent stories from being told. Already Vil’s marksmanship was becoming common knowledge and Katrina was practically preening from all the attention she was getting. Bad enough.

He did not need the notoriety which would arise if her role in Putin’s death was generally known.

The KGB, or the FSB, whatever they called themselves today, didn’t take kindly to outsiders interfering in their politics. Assassination of dissenters was their job, dammit! They had plenty of death squads to dispatch. Or maybe they’d convince the military leadership to launch a missile at them instead. It might be less personal but cheaper in the long run than trying to penetrate through the Keldara.

Even if this mess didn’t bring the wrath of the ultra-nationalist Russians down upon them, he didn’t know if the Valley could stand Kat’s ego blowing up.

“They came after me?” he could imagine her saying. “Oh! I’m famous!” That chilled him almost more than her need for retribution.

At least there was one positive out of this. Putin’s death, his martyrdom as spun by the press, had solidified the support for President Medvedev, stabilizing it immensely. Putin dying as the hero/cowboy he had always pretended to be resonated with the Russian people. And the stories from the witnesses all supported that version of the facts. It was their story, and they were sticking to it.

Putin’s death had made all the headlines.

“Prime Minister Stops Nuclear Terror” – CNN

“Evil Empire Has Soft Side, Saves Bakery” – Fox News

“Elvis And Russian Save Moscow!” – Midnight Sun

Okay, some were more accurate than others. The best part was that none mentioned Georgia, or the Keldara, or the Kildar, or a mysterious Backfire flying in and out of Moscow.

Chechnik had taken charge of the situation long enough for the ‘official’ story to be cemented in the public’s eye. His men spent two days getting very, very drunk and vigorously laid, a minor expense Mike was more than happy to absorb. Arensky had provided them with another concoction which he swore would blur all memories of the past week before the bacchanalia ended. This way even the most rigorous questioning wouldn’t be able to shake their stories from the party line.

As for Cottontail? She was still at the Republican Clinical Hospital, waiting for J to recover. He had begun to regain some movement in his extremities but still required assistance to breathe. His doctors were confident he’d make a full recovery in time. The anti-toxins had arrived and were helping him progress, but it was still a lengthy process.

Tamara was one of the few people Katya freely allowed in the room, and she’d taken a picture of the agent, sleeping. She was head down on J’s leg, one hand clutching a pistol, the other a purple teddy bear wearing an orange-and-black kilt. It was terribly cute, and frightfully scary, and she couldn’t resist the impulse to snap the photo. Luckily, Katya was fully zonked from exhaustion and hadn’t awakened or Mike might be short a pilot.

Mike wasn’t sure J would return to the Valley, though, which would be unfortunate. He’d talked with Katya once he’d returned from Moscow, and she’d mentioned J’s intent to end Katya’s apprenticeship. What it meant for J’s future as the resident HumInt specialist remained to be seen. It made Vanner nervous, though whether at the thought of losing J or having Cottontail as his primary agent Mike wasn’t sure.

Mike had put Chechnik in touch with Sheik Otryad as a final favor to the man before he disappeared himself. Chechnik could use a patron abroad, especially with the public demise of Putin, and Otryad could use a man who, all bitching aside, really knew the intelligence business. Besides, the sheik owed him a favor after borrowing Shota, the Mules, the Four Blind Mice, Lasko, and tapping Mike’s former trainers to reel in McKenzie as well. And Chechnik could use a pair of pilots with no conscience and knowledge of the unofficial southeast Asia flight routes. It was a temporary arrangement, of course, but seemed perfect. God save anyone who got in their way.

Since the news had broken and they’d recovered the last nuke, the phones had been ringing off the hook, as well as all the secure cyber channels. His responses had been remarkably similar to all.


“Fuck you. No.”

“Ask OSOL.”

“Ask JSOC.”

“Ask the Big Man, and he’ll tell you what I told you. Fuck off. You don’t have need-to-know.”

Now he had to deal with Major Hughes, and his boss, to whom he at least owed the courtesy of being polite.

“Jack, if Pierson wants an after-action report, you can give him one.”

“Mike, I wasn’t there! Every time something interesting happened, you sent me somewhere else.”

“Not all of it. What about taking down the Emir? You were there for that, weren’t you?”

“So that’s what, one out of five?” He held up a hand and started ticking off fingers.

“First bomb, Groznyy. We were where?”

“St. Louis,” mumbled Mike.

“All the information I have is second- or third-hand; makes my boss so very happy! Second? Kek-Usn. Oh, by the way? I didn’t enjoy flying in a fucking Hind on top of three hundred kilos of Semtex, fuck you very much! Kek-Usn, and the Emir, right?”

“Right.” Mike caught Adams rolling his eyes, and Katrina hiding a smirk. He faced Jack more fully and subtly flipped both off behind his back.

“One event. One. I can do my job properly. Then you send me back to Elista with a shitload of bombs that have lead aprons rigger-taped to them!”

“You volunteered, Jack,” interrupted Mike.

More snickering. He wanted to turn and say something particularly rude, but Jack was still in full bitching mode and had caught his breath.

“Yeah, whatever. The point is, I spent the next eight hours welding lead plates onto live bombs.”

“And your point is?”

Hughes didn’t answer directly; he simply continued.

“I finally haul my ass back here and find out I’d just missed a major battle between Rangers and Chechens! Mortars, machine guns, snipers, bunkers, you name it, it was there! And where was I?”

“Screwing my harem manager? I‘m sure Pierson would love details of that type of close quarters action. What‘s your story going to be? Diplomacy? Tying down loose ends? Or language lessons in pillow talk?”

“That’s totally not the point!”

“That’s not what she said.”

Nobody hid their giggles any longer. Jack blushed a little but being a professional pushed on. Forward momentum for good or ill.

“I had intended simply to lie down for an hour. Next thing I know, my hands are tied to the bed and she’s blowing me! What do you think I was gonna do?” Hughes said desperately.

“Cum again? I didn’t hear that last part,” Adams added between laughs.

“Need better situational awareness there, Jack. And Chief? Unless you have something constructive to say, shut it.”

Returning to the subject, Hughes said, “Fourth. The action in the woods.”

“That was personal between Cottontail, J, and Schwenke. You’re welcome to interview any or all of ‘em. I wouldn‘t recommend going to see J, though. Only doctors and nurses Katya‘s personally cleared are getting in.”

“Great, I have permission to interview a man on a respirator, a sociopathic bitch I wouldn’t dare to piss off if I lived on another planet, and a lunatic whose body has disappeared.”

“You have Oleg’s report,” Mike added helpfully. “And you could give the President Kurt’s nuts. I’m sure the crows haven’t touched them yet. And if you make a little coin purse out of his sack, Katya might just be impressed enough to talk to you. She appreciates the little touches which mean so much.”

“Fifth and finally, Moscow. You send me to babysit a hundred-fifty kiloton bomb. Bad enough. It’s being transported in a Hind which has been souped up into something totally other and is almost as much fun as Semtex, you know? Anyways, babysit to its destination in a tiny, stinking port on the Black Sea. There I get the third degree from some CIA degenerates who hadn’t been, let’s see if I remember this right. It’s an impressive piece of bureaucratese. “Briefed on the non-itineraried presence of an officered member of the United States Armed Forces in connection with transportation of nuclear deterrent products en route to the US for dismantlification and recycling pursuant to,” I forget, some Executive Order I’ve never heard of.”

Mike winced.

“You’re right. Pure bureaucratese is hard to come by these days, especially around here. I am truly sorry you had to endure it alone. I should have sent the Chief with you. He knows how to put a stop to that.”

“Damn straight. Only takes one round through the knee to set the rules of polite conversation and make them get to the point. Just be sure you have a grenade in your other hand, in case they don’t understand your accent.”

He was grinning like a shark. Mike knew the others weren’t sure if Adams was telling the truth or just spewing bull.

“It was three hours before they were convinced I was who I said I was! It didn’t help that your lunatic pilot and her equally crazed crew chief were sitting back and laughing the entire time! The Company jerks couldn’t touch them because, somehow, they were carrying diplomatic passports so they took their mad out on me.”

“Just a little precaution,” Mike said. “Plus they were probably loaded for bear. Bet she landed so her spinal cannon covered their little camp.”

“Yeah, well, they made me pay for it. By the time we get back, I’m so stressed and wiped out that I crash again. Just sleep, this time.”

“I know. Stasia was complaining you didn’t have the, ah, stamina she’s used to.”

“After I wake up and flee the room, I find out you and your merry band of cutthroats have somehow gotten hold of a Backfire bomber and flown to Moscow! I mean, what the actual fuck, Mike? Didn’t you think of waking me?”

“Stop. One second.“ Mike held up his hand. “Honestly, Jack? You really want to know?”


“Yes. I did. Stasia promised mayhem if I didn’t let you get a full night’s sleep, and over the next day and into the morning, when it was all going down, well, it was just so fucking chaotic I plain forgot.”

Mike shrugged.

Katrina fell off her perch and onto Adams, reclining in his comfy chair, from laughing. Mike gave her a raised eyebrow. She nodded and covered her mouth, but her whole body was still shaking.

Adams decided that he might want to make himself scarce.

“You know, I haven’t “talked” to Bambi in a while. A long while. I think I ought to, soon. Real soon. Right now, in fact.” He stood up, dumping Kat onto the floor and under the table, and strode out of the room.

“Don’t call me; I’ll call you. Later. Much later,” he called over his shoulder.

Hughes didn’t skip a beat.

“In any case, I wake up and you’re gone. Kseniya let me into the Cave, so I was able to follow your progress and read your reports as they came in, but it’s not the same as being there. Those girls edit the data on the fly. They must have had it buffered by at least ten seconds, maybe more. I can‘t read Georgian, but my Russian‘s excellent, and those screens weren‘t matching at all.”

“You’re absolutely right, Jack, it’s not the same. It’s a lot safer. And you‘re right, they probably were doing some editing. It‘s as much about sheltering them as anything. If one of their husbands is deployed and gets injured, or worse, the data gets dumped into a buffer for Grez until she has a chance to counsel them in private, get relief and a Mother.”

“The problem is there are all sorts of questions nobody wants to give me a straight answer to.”

“They’re pros. Vanner, Mr. No-Such-Agency himself, taught them. I’ll help you out, if I can. To a point.”

Mike noticed that Vanner and Grez had taken advantage of Adams’ departure to slip from the room themselves. That was fine. He just hoped they’d air out the Cave before heading to quarters; it stank of gym socks, stress, burnt coffee, and overheated electronics.

“Then tell me this. Who shot Gereshk, where is the bomb, and who shot Putin?”

“That’s a bit more than a little. I can give you the official version. I think some Private shot Gereshk, right after Gereshk shot Putin who was being a dumbass cowboy and crashed our op unannounced –”

“Bullshit, Mike! I can get that from CNN and Vremya! Dammit, if I’m going to do my job, I need the truth!“

Mike pondered this for a moment before replying.

“If I say it doesn’t go in your report, do I have your word that it doesn’t go in?”

“Absolutely! On my honor as an officer in the Corps!”

“I don’t care about your honor. If you lie to me, if you’re lucky, you end up in an unmarked grave.”

“Not that I’m gonna lie, but what if I’m unlucky?”

“I’ll tell Stasia she can’t play with you anymore and give you to the Mice.”

“The Mice?”

“Be afraid. Be very afraid,” added Kat.

“Never mind. I want the truth.”

“Fine. In no particular order? Chechnik took charge of the bomb and contacted our Ambassador to help arrange for secure transport to Novorossijisk. Vil, one of my Team leaders, shot Gereshk after he took a shot at me.”

“Hit you too! Mike’s getting slo-ow!” Katrina’s voice sing-songed out from under the table.

“His aim sucked; I took it in the armor, mostly. Anyway. Katrina did for Putin with a Makarov she’d taken off Gereshk’s body. Putin had finished telling us he was going to kill us all and pin the entire thing on me and the Keldara. Then he‘d take the credit for saving Moscow, even though they‘re the ones who‘d lost the bombs in the first place.” Mike shook his head in mock remorse. “Monologuing, gets them every time.”

“The fuck you say! Chechnik took the bomb?” Hughes didn’t even blink at the part about Putin and Katrina.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, I know the men you picked to lead your Teams can’t be any kind of slouch so Vil’s shooting doesn’t surprise me. And I spent a week with you and Kat; need I say more? I also know she can shoot; I heard the Chief telling stories about her giving some guy‘s balls a close shave with her gun during a spring festival. I did have a thought, a disturbing one.”


“Well, don’t you find it a little odd there wasn’t more fallout from Putin’s death?”

“What do you mean? We martyred the fucker.”

“Right, but not even a questioning?”

Mike frowned.

“Wasn’t that prick trained by the KGB before they went out of business? How many doubles do we know about?”

“Ah, crap.”

Jack nodded. “Exactly. Explains a bunch, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck. Yeah, it does.” Mike thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “He’s officially dead. If he resurfaces somewhere, we’ll worry about it; until then, it’s above my pay grade. But that brings me back to what you’re going to tell Pierson?”

“I think we can tell him Vil took down Gereshk and Chechnik took care of the nuke.”

“And what about Katrina?” She peeked over the table edge at the sound of her name.

“I wasn’t there; nobody actually saw it, right?”

“Nobody except Katrina. Not even the Keldara behind her or next to her. She always does have to have the last word.”

“Do not! And you’re going to pay for that!”

“Anytime, sweetie. Still, between the glare of the lights and her shooting from the hip, no one could really say anything with certainty. It helps Chechnik had his own hand-picked crew there who were primed for a long ‘vacation’ in warmer climes.”

“Who can I ask who would dare contradict Chechnik’s official view? Dead men don‘t talk much, and I never liked that asshole anyway.”

Katrina beamed at Jack before settling into Adams‘ vacated chair.

“Thanks, Jack. Makes things smoother.”

“No problem. I figure I owed you.”

“At least. So, what’s next?”

“Don’t know. How long until the wedding?”

“Twelve days, maybe? The Festival isn’t a fixed date; it’s sometime between the first and third of May. Besides, with all the traveling, I’m not entirely sure what planet I’m on any longer.”

He pointedly stretched.

“I figure in the next couple hours I’ll either rack out or get acquainted with the floor. The little minx isn’t doing much better, are you?”



Jack snorted.

Mike turned, following Jack’s eyes. Katrina had curled up in the chair like a kitten, wrapped protectively around her M-4 and snoring.

“Know what you mean. All the chopper rides, I feel like I’ve spent a week in a mixing bowl. A couple weeks, more or less?” Jack spoke in a much quieter voice.


“Well, I have plenty of leave coming. Unless the Colonel orders me back, I think I might just drop him an email and let him know I’m taking it.”

“Why bother? Just don’t say anything. You’re on TDY to me anyhow; who’s to say when I plan to send you back?” Mike smiled conspiratorially and dropped his voice. “I need you to do something, a few things, actually. Let‘s take a walk.”


There were pluses to being a neo-feudal lord: nice house, freedom to do pretty much as he pleased, Keldara women to look at, a harem at his beck and call, a backhoe to dispose of any stubborn problems…

And there were minuses: paperwork, security, paperwork, training, paperwork…

And, occasionally, he had to check in with his subordinates. Otherwise, who knew what they’d charge into. Or simply charge.

Parts of the Valley were supposed to be self-supporting or even money-makers. Long-term, according to Meller, the Five Valleys had the potential to become a major industrial and tech center, bringing considerable income to everyone who invested either labor or money in building it up. For now, he had to look after the few that were already completed.

The dam had been a quick in and out. Look at the dials, check cleanliness, listen to the hum of the generators and the rush of the spring waters. They managed to export electricity this time of year due to the meltwaters. It allowed Meller to run the system full out as a sort of stress test. Mike would have rather read the memo than endure a twenty-minute drive and thirty minutes of technobabble, but at least he’d been spared the full-on PowerPoint presentation and video.

Now he was back in his office and on to something he was far more passionate about. Beer!

“Gurum! How’s the brewery?” Mike stood to shake the brewery manager’s hand, then sat again. Gurum settled into the seat across the desk.