Unto the Breach

Chapter Twenty-Six

“First Sergeant… Kwan?”

Most of the company had assembled on a flat open area near the houses of the locals. It was a flat spot slightly lower than the area where the houses were with a short bank separating it from another open area directly in front of the houses.

Quite a few of the locals, ranging from some oldsters that looked on their last legs down to the usual gaggle of kids that swarmed around and American military unit, had come out of their houses to look over the new arrivals. And quite a few of them were damn fine looking women. Most of the company had been around enough, the average was four trips to the sandbox, that they weren’t gawking, much, except at the girls.

Kwan had at first worried about the gathering, not just because Rangers and women went together like iron and magnets, but because in the sandbox a gathering like that read “riot” or a carbomb taking out a bunch of locals. But these folks didn’t seem hostile or worried. They didn’t seem exactly friendly, either. They seemed to be more curious and even judging than anything else. Quiet. Even the kids were making quiet comments to each other, taking the serious tone they were getting from their elders. One of the oldsters, a big blonde guy that was one of those that looked on his last legs, was standing at parade rest and observing them like a general on a reviewing stand. It was nervous making.

Kwan turned to the guy in unfamiliar digi-cam and paused. His nametag read “Nielson” but he was wearing some foreign rank the NCO didn’t recognize. He didn’t even know if the guy was an officer or a civilian advisor or what. But he had an air of authority and on the basis that a salute never hurt the First Sergeant saluted.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pleasure,” Nielson said, returning the salute. “Colonel Nielson, late of the US Army, currently operations officer of this little lash-up. Where’s Captain Guerrin?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Kwan said. “We were just discussing that. He chose to JM the drop, sir. Sergeant Clavell said the CO told him to decide if he could go in the last stick and it looked good. But he came down fucking close to the treeline. He doesn’t know if the CO went out or not or what.”

“Oh, he’s gone from the bird,” the “colonel” said. “The Ukrainians confirmed all jumpers gone before they flew home.”

“So the CO… ”

“One jumper, at least, went down on that ridge,” the local said, gesturing to the north. “He’s probably in the trees. I’ve already sent a recovery team. Where’s the XO?”

“Here, sir,” Lieutenant Robert Imus replied.

“I’ll need to hold most of this until your CO gets here,” Nielson said. “But I’ll give you the quick version. The locals are called the Keldara. They are superb mountain fighters with a tradition that goes back… well very very far. I noticed your First Sergeant giving the tall man the gimlet eye. First Sergeant, are you familiar with the term the Soviet Hero’s Medal?”

“No, sir,” Kwan said. “Not really.”

“It was a general medal given by the Soviets, sir,” Imus said. “It ranged in grade from something like the Legion of Merit up to the Medal of Honor.”

“Yes, well that gentleman earned a Hero medal in WWII,” Nielson continued. “And you got those for everything from building more widgets to personally strangling Hitler with your bare hands. Because we have become close, he permitted me to read the citation. He took out four German Tiger tanks with a fucking captured German rocket launcher, by himself, on foot.”

“Holy shit,” Kwan blurted.

“I tell you this because while Father Kulcyanov is unusual, he is not abnormal among the Keldara. They are a race of fighters, of warriors, par excellence. They also have been recently introduced to Western style tactics and training by a group of people at least your equal as fighters and in many cases your superiors. Some Rangers were among their trainers but also former Deltas, SEALS and SAS. So the Keldara know ‘good’. But you are one of the first American units they have gotten the opportunity to observe. So the Keldara are going to be judging you, every minute of every day, on everything from your tactics to your professional deportment. Until your CO gets here, ensuring that you hold up the high standards of the United States military is up to you, Lieutenant, and will always be up to you, First Sergeant. The Keldara asked if they could come out and serve beer, which is to them something like the inevitable green tea in the sandbox. I suggested they hold off. I have never seen a Ranger act with anything like professional decorum around a keg of beer. And I say that as a tabber myself.”

“Yes, sir,” Kwan said. “Thank you, sir.”

“Have your men rest until the Bobsie Twins recover your CO,” Nielson said. “Then we’ll settle you into quarters and get started on briefings.”

“Sir, one question,” the XO interjected. “I don’t see any young males. Where are they?”

“In the mountains, lieutenant,” Nielson replied. “And that is all you are permitted to know. I’ll be briefing your CO further.”

“Are we going to be aggressing against them, sir?” Kwan asked.

“First Sergeant, for a senior NCO of a company in the United States Army you have remarkably poor hearing,” Nielson replied, tightly. “I said, that is all you are permitted to know. So put a fucking cork in it, Top.”

Kwan raised his eyebrows but shut the fuck up. His questions about whether the “colonel” was a PX Ranger were answered. No.

Guerrin flexed his knees as the Hind dropped him lightly to the ground, looking around at the company. The PJ guy undid the connection to his harness and then the Hind lifted up and away.

As soon as the rotor wash had settled he popped the quick release on his parachute harness and headed over to the cluster of senior NCOs and officers. One of the group, however, was unfamiliar.

“Colonel Nielson?” Guerrin said as he approached.

“The same,” Nielson replied. “Tree landings suck do they not? I had a friend in the unit who preferred them but I always thought he was high when he jumped, anyway. I’ve been giving your First Sergeant and XO a brief precis of the local conditions. I’ll catch you up later. The problem, at the moment, is figuring out quartering. There are… issues. May I make a suggestion?”

“Yes, sir,” Guerrin replied. “I was told that you’d brief me in on our mission, so I’ll take it as more than a suggestion.”

“This is, however, a suggestion,” Nielson said. “There are decisions to be made so having the troops pick out their bunks would be unwise at this time. Troops so grumble when they are moved and moved again. We do, however, have a very nice live fire range and even a CQB facility. There is daylight to be had. I would suggest that you have your senior NCOs take the troops over to the range while we, that is yourself, myself, your first sergeant, XO and such others as you deem fit, figure out quartering. That way they’re not sitting about. Idle hands and all that. When we figure out the quartering, then I can brief you in on the secure aspects of this mission while your people actually get them settled.”

“Sounds good, sir,” Guerrin said.

“It should,” Nielson replied. “I’ve both had time to think about it and been at this game for a while. I will meet you in the middle house over there,” he added, pointing to one of the local houses, “when you’re ready. I’ll have one of the Keldara join you with keys to the ammo bunker. I know you’ve brought your own, but it’s a lovely day to be shooting.”

“Gentlemen,” Nielson said, nodding at the Ranger officers and one NCO. “I have asked Father Kulcyanov to sit in as a courtesy. Father Kulcyanov speaks and understands very little English. This is, however, his house and he is the senior, if not oldest, Keldara father.”

Guerrin had wondered at the inclusion of the old man and come to much the same conclusion. Kwan had also given him an apparently verbatim report on what he’d been told by Nielson. So he took a chance.

“I understand, sir,” Guerrin said. “Does Father Kulcyanov understand Deutsch?”

“Bischen,” the old man said, nodding. “Kennen sie irhen Feind.”

“Danke schoen… Fuer Seinem Haus verwenden.”

“Soldaten sind immer wilkommt zum Senke des Keldaren, aber nicht zum seinem Frauen. Seien gewarnt.”

“Ja Mein Herr,” Guerrin said with a chuckle. “Verstandet!”

“Sir?” Kwan asked, confused.

“He said that soldiers are always welcome here,” Imus translated, chuckling. “But keep your hands off our women.”

“Yes, sir,” Kwan said.

“Not ‘sir,’ ” the old man said, making what was either a wet cough or an equally wet laugh. “I work.”

“So now that we’re acquainted,” Nielson said when the chuckles had died down. “Here’s the quartering issue. We have two useable sets of quarters, the barracks and the caravanserai up on the ridge. We can quarter all of your people under roofs and in beds. Barely. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the barracks are open bay with the exception of two rooms per barracks that are private, you can handle that. But they are only big enough for two platoons. The other bad news is that the caravanserai is the personal home of the local landowner and warlord. He’s an American, Mike Jenkins, who is currently out of town. It is also the quarters for his harem. And I mean that in every possible sense of the word. I will now entertain questions.”

“Girls,” J.P said, wincing.

“Eleven of them… actually make that about thirteen,” Nielson replied. “Four of them are straightforward hookers who can be available to your personnel at your discretion. They’re underutilized at the moment because most of the male residents are out of town. Then there’s the harem manager, Anastasia, who is a former harem girl of a sheik in Uzbekistan and now runs Mike’s. Whatever Mike may think, she considers herself monogamous to Mike. Daria who is the operations executive assistant and bookkeeper. One hot blonde, as is Anastasia who is arguably hotter, who is unattached but equally unlikely to have a casual fling with any of you.

“Then there are seven ladies who are Mike’s exclusive, highly exclusive, harem. I don’t have access so neither do you. Two of them are, in fact, virgins and are going to stay that way until the day comes for the Kildar to have his way with them. They are, in fact, looking forward to it more than he unless I’m much mistaken.

“So, gentlemen, this is the problem. You can put all your troops in the barracks and all your senior NCOs, officers and such, up at the caravanserai, creating a huge impression of favoritism but reducing some potential problems, or you can quarter some of your youngsters with a bunch of incredibly fuckable little ladies, most of whom are equally incredibly off-limits. Oh, last problem, most of the rooms that are available are in the harem quarters. At the very least we’re looking at senior NCOs quartered with seven nubile but off-limits young ladies and four very available hookers. Questions, comments, concerns?”

“Harem?” the XO said.

“Virgins?” the First Sergeant added.

“Kildar?” J.P. asked.

“Harem,” Nielson said. “Another thing to brief your personnel on is not running off at the mouth about conditions in this valley. While a large number of senior people are aware of Mr. Jenkins’ harem, it’s not something for casual discussion down on River Street. If it becomes a subject of casual discussion the leaker will be punished under the full weight of the UCMJ. Guaran-fucking-teed. Yes, virgins. Their history is complicated and not germane to the discussion. Kildar is the local term for Mr. Jenkins’ position. The history is not germane, either. Having said that, it’s an ancient term for the noble who commands the Keldara. They are a very feudal tribe with traditions that date back to the Byzantine Empire. I’ll discuss it at length if we ever have time. It’s quite fascinating.

“The Keldara girls are equally off-limits, as Father Kulcyanov pointed out,” Nielson continued. “Unless you brought a chaplain, with the permission of the parents which you’re not going to get. Most of the girls are promised to guys who are currently… ”

“Out of town,” Guerrin finished. “Okay, fuck favoritism. I’ll put it straight to the troops. How willing are the professional ladies?”

“You’re speaking of the hookers?” Nielson said. “Anastasia considers herself a professional lady but that’s besides the point. Quite willing. Enthusiastic even. And, as I mentioned, currently underutilized. Why?”

“First sergeant?” Guerrin asked. “Girls in the barracks?”

“Ouch,” Kwan replied.

“Let me add they had better get the private rooms,” Nielson interjected. “And some decency. They’re willing. That’s not the same as interested in being trained or gang raped. They’ve had that in their lives and we’d rather they not go back, thank you.”

“If the senior NCOs were there to… manage things… Maybe,” Kwan said. “But not if it’s just the troops and junior NCOs, sir. Fights among other things. And the evangelicals would flip. Even if what happens on the mission, stays on the mission… I’d recommend against it. There’s that new UCMJ reg, for that matter.”

“Can you clear the harem quarters entirely?” Guerrin asked. “And is there enough room for a platoon there?”

“Yes,” Nielson said. “It was one possible solution. Some of the girls will have to double bunk in other rooms. They can handle that.”

“With your permission, we’ll do it that way,” the CO said. “Second Platoon.”

“Yes, sir,” Kwan said.

“Next on the agenda,” Nielson said. “Your mission is to perform local patrolling and positional defense training here in and around the valley. During patrolling phase there is a chance of encountering and possibly engaging Chechen convoys and patrols. I’ll arrange a more thorough briefing on the local threat situation. But, effectively, you’re here to protect this area while their normal protectors are… out of town. You will, in fact, arrange things so that it appears that you are here as aggressors against the Keldara, who are hiding up in the woods. The supposed notional mission is that you’ve captured a hostile town and are hunting for the hostiles up in the mountains. The Keldara are not, in fact, there but if you could shoot off some blanks from time to time as if you were engaging in raids and ambushes it would be nice. But don’t get caught with blank adapters on if there are any Chechens around. They will mount your head on their wall.”

Kwan started to open his mouth and then shut it.

“The question was, ‘where are they’?” Nielson said.

“And I didn’t bother to ask, sir,” Kwan replied. “Not my business.”

“Indeed,” Nielson said. “I will discuss that with your commander and he will not be authorized to pass that on. I might add that that fact is a National Command Directive, not something thought up by some local asshole. You are here because someone in your chain of command found it wise that you be here, now, doing this mission. That is all any of you, save your commander, needs to know. As far as anyone outside of your command is aware, you came out, did some training missions with a local mountain militia then flew home. God willing, that is all that will happen, except the militia will not, in fact, be there. Is this clear?”

“It’s a deception plan,” Imus said.

“Correct. There are additional details but I will discuss those with your commander only for the time being.”

“It’s clear,” J.P. said. “Top, get the quartering started. Colonel Nielson, we have another briefing?”

“And I need to get the girls moved,” Nielson said. “Fortunately, Mike has good subordinates. They’ll be moved by the time your guys get there.”

“This is a nice fucking shoot-house for some Third World yahoos,” Serris said as he emerged from the smokey interior.

Lance Serris, 6’ 1” tall, slender with short cropped blond hair and an almost unnoticeable beard, was twenty, just, having joined the Rangers straight out of high school with only intervening steps at One Station Unified Training and airborne school at Ft. Benning. Upon completion he hadn’t gone far, just across the state to Hunter Army Airfield. There he’d passed the initiation rite known as “Ranger In Processing” or “RIP.” RIP was a kinder gentler version of SEAL Hell Week, a week long test of endurance designed to determine if the candidate had what it took to be a Ranger.

He had assumed that when RIP was over things would get easier. What he realized within a month of joining First Battalion was that RIP wasn’t a pointless test. There had been plenty of weeks in the Batt when RIP had looked like a day at the beach.

Rangers had an interesting role in the US military in that, in many ways, they were neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat. Rangers were trained in much the same way as any standard light infantry outfit. Every light infantry company could patrol, every light infantry company could march, scout and do a basic entry. Delta Force, the primary “black op” unit of the military, was specialized for entry and killing or capturing targets. They could do a long range reconnaissance quite well, thank you, but tended to work in shorter ranges and hard bursts of, highly clandestine, activity.

Rangers, though, trained in it all. They were better than any other light infantry company in the US military, possibly the world, at patrolling, either in vehicles or on foot. They could march further and faster, in worse conditions. They were, in general, much more stealthy in reconaissance and their raids hit harder and faster. Their missions were always classified Secret and often involved, as in Mogadishu, “backstopping” Delta and doing much the same missions, just with lower profile targets or less resistance.

Some units that had a bit of one skill and a bit of another but no real concentration tended to be under utilized. Not Rangers, though. Especially since 9/11 their operational tempo had been through the roof. Jacks of all trades, close to masters of most, they were constantly going somewhere doing something.

Serris had started to wonder if it was worth it. If he transferred to the 82^nd or, God help him, a leg infantry unit, he’d at least be more or less guaranteed of spending some time Stateside. Hell, he couldn’t even find a girlfriend when he was out-of-town 90% of the time.

“No shit,” Lane replied. “And those women.”

Specialist Kevin Lane, 5’ 5”, dark of hair and eye, had just gotten his specialist rank whereas Serris was already on the list for the sergeant’s board. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t seen a few shoot houses, or foreign women, in his time. And so far this mission was just fine by him. Among other things he was a “there’s no such thing as a bad jump” parachutist who freefalled on his rare free time. The ride in and the jump had been a kickass start as far as he was concerned.

“That’s because they ain’t yahoos,” First Sergeant Kwan said. “Get your ass over here!”

Apparently Top had gathered the rest of the platoon while the two had been doing their run-through and Serris and Lane hurried over to join the rest of the cluster.

“Gather round,” Top said, shaking his head. “I don’t know why the CO picked you idiots for this, but… While the rest of the company is being quartered in the local militia barracks, which I’ve looked over and ain’t half bad, you yardbirds are going to be up in the castle.”

“Hoowah!” Lane said. “That’s gotta be cool!”

“Yeah, cool,” Top replied. “Now shut up, fuckhead. Here’s the first problem. You ain’t gonna think it’s a problem but if you give it some small consideration you’ll see that it’s a hell of a problem. Most of the rest of the residents of that castle, which is called a caravan surry or something, are women. Fine women from what I’ve been told. And you’re all thinking ‘Excellent’ or ‘Woohah!’ But I guess I need to explain in words of one syllable. If you touch one single woman in that house, if you look at them sideways, if you even think about talking to them, smelling them, kissing them or, God help you, fucking them, I will personally bury your ass in the ground. If you’re lucky, you won’t be breathing when I bury you. So you are going to be surrounded by good looking women and you can’t so much as acknowledge their existence. Now, Lane, you were saying?”

“Fuck!”

“No,” Kwan replied. “No fuck. No look. No talk. That is the point.”

“Top?” Serris asked. “What if they talk to us?”

“You smile,” the First Sergeant answered. “Politely. And then you walk the fuck away. Fast. Understood?”

“Understood,” Serris said. “Fuck.”

“Now, as to the nature of the quarters,” Top continued, smiling. “That’s the second problem. Some of the girls are being moved out of their rooms. Some of you will be using those rooms. They are, for sure, not going to be moving all of their stuff out. So if one of you perverts goes and jacks off on their underwear, or even opens a fucking drawer, the same thing goes. Understood? Sound off!”

“Clear, First Sergeant!”

“Don’t try to game it, don’t try to get around it and damned sure don’t just fucking ignore me,” the First Sergeant said, tightly. “I’m starting to get a smell about this op. I don’t know who this guy is who runs this place but he’s connected. There’s a very strong smell of high brass and seriously deep black ops to this place. If you piss off the owner, you are going to be head down in shit, deeply head down in shit, faster than you can say ‘Condom.’ Now grab your shit and head up to the palace. This is going to be so much fucking fun I can’t stand it. The good news is some of us are going to be training in ‘positional defense’ here in the area. Others of us, and I will permit you fine young men to think on who that might primarily be, are going to be doing heavy duty mountain ops during our stay. Guess who’s going to be doing most of them?”

“This way, captain,” Nielson said as they entered the great room of the castle. It was a hell of a place, that was for sure. Big didn’t begin to cover it; the had a dome that was at least three stories high and the rug on the floor looked like an antique Persian. “I think I’d better take you to my… Anastasia!”

Guerrin froze and, frankly, stared. The women that had appeared out of a side door was… Beyond hot. If she was one of the harem girls, his problems had just gotten worse than he could possibly have imagined. She looked like she should be in the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Edition.

“Captain J.P. Guerrin, Anastasia Rakovich,” Nielson said. “Anastasia is the Kildar’s housekeeping manager.”

“I run the house and his harem,” Anastasia said, taking J.P.’s hand. She had incredibly fine hands. “I am given to understand you were to be briefed on the latter. Welcome to the home of the Kildar, Captain Guerrin.”

“Thank you,” J.P. replied, tongue-tied.

“Anastasia, we’re going to have to quarter one of the platoons in the harem quarters,” Nielson said. “I’d like to move all the girls out into the other rooms in the house. For the time being, all of the girls are off-limits. If we had the beds to do it the other way around, and put them in purdah for the duration of the Rangers’ stay, I’d be happier. But we don’t.”

“It will be fine,” Anastasia said, easily. “I will begin moving the girls. I would suggest, however, that Katya’s room be placed off-limits.”

“Well, she’s not here to agree on its use so I can see that,” Nielson said.

“It is not that,” Anastasia said, exasperatedly. “The last time she went out of town she left some nasty suprises behind. I would guess this time they would be nastier.”