“Up to you,” Mike said. “The main point is that I’ll need about a two-month period when the men are freed up to an extent. And assume that they’ll have machinery to help with what it can help.”
“If there are tractors and machinery, many of them will be free even during planting,” Genadi said. “Not all the young men, but many of them. By around the first of May.”
“I’ll take a look at manning later,” Mike replied. “But do you think we can squeeze, say, seventy percent of the men from seventeen to thirty-five, starting sometime in May?”
“Easily,” Genadi said. “If we have machinery.”
“Okay,” Mike said, nodding. “I want you to move down to Tbilisi for the time being to get the machinery we’ll need. I’m not sure they’ll have everything we want in stock. How do we get you there? I don’t want to be driving back and forth.”
“There is a bus, I can ride that,” Genadi said.
“Works,” Mike replied. “That way. You’ll need an SUV or pickup, your choice, for getting around. Get that first. I’ve got an account with the Bank of Tbilisi. I’ll set up another that you can draw on. Get everything in place and we’ll move it up in one load if we can. By late March, I want to be able to dump a gigaton of machinery on these folks. Let’s figure out what we need, want and desire.”
It took about an hour to draw up the list. Some items could be put off and a few could be rented for specific periods, but Mike erred on the side of purchase. The final estimate was a pretty fair bite, running right at a million euros.
“A million here, a million there and before long you’re talking real money,” Mike muttered. “While you’re in Tbilisi, find out if there are any IMF grants for this sort of thing. Grants not loans. Check with the American Embassy as well; I know there’s a fair amount of foreign aid going to Georgia. But nothing with a lot of strings attached. With Americans, there are always strings.”
“I will, Kildar,” Genadi said, nodding. “This is very much money.”
“I can afford it,” Mike noted. “But I’d prefer to afford as little as I can. See about a lawyer as well. A good one. They’re generally up on things like that. Check with your old professors, all the usual. Use your head. On the trucks and whatnot, if it’s about the same price or even a little more, get Fords if they’re available. F-350s for the big ones.”
“Why Fords?” Genadi asked. “Mercedes makes…”
“I like Ford,” Mike said, cutting him off. “And they’re bigger than the Mercedes vehicles in the same cost range. Oh, and all of them need to be four-wheel drive with the roads around here.”
“As you say, Kildar,” Genadi replied, sighing.
“I need to make some phone calls,” Mike said. “Get packed and head to town tomorrow. Get yourself a cell phone when you get there and contact me so I know where to reach you.”
Mike went back to the master suite and got the larger sat phone, bringing it into the parlor when Genadi was gone and setting it up. It had a good connection and he used the limited internet pipe to do some searching. He got a few good hits off of Google and started making calls.
Three hours later he’d learned more about the international arms business than he liked. He was going to need an end-user license from the Georgian government, which he assumed Tyurin could arrange, and a bunchaton of money. After talking to a few brokers he’d cut to the chase and called Skoda Arms. The Czech company had been formed during the Soviet period and, even then, was noted for its high quality of manufacture and design. They still made some of the best weapons in the world and were more than willing to sell to anyone with cash and a reasonable set of documents. They’d even offered to broker secondary weapons they didn’t make and ship the entire load in one shipment. He still wasn’t sure what his total manpower looked like so he started doodling on a notepad until he figured it was after lunch and he could call Washington with a fair chance of getting ahold of Pierson.
“You said you bought a house,” the colonel said when the scrambler was in place, “not a fucking fortress.”
“I take it you’ve been talking to NRO,” Mike replied, referring to the National Reconnaissance Office, the guys who ran all the satellites for the United States.
“That we have,” Pierson said. “Nice place. The President’s impressed.”
“It’s going to take a fair bit of work.” Mike sighed. “It’s so old nobody knows who built it to begin with and the interior looks it. But what I called about was the local militia, or lack thereof. This area is apparently lousy with Chechen terrorists and support structure. I’m going to try to form a tiddly little militia to cut down on that. If I do, it will take some of the heat off of Georgia with regard to the Russians. I know a border war has been a real worry in Washington for a while; any chance Uncle Sammie could, quietly, defray some of my costs? I’ve been doing equipment lists and, before the cost of the trainers, I’m looking at two to four mil in gear. That’s a nasty bite. Then there’s ongoing training costs.”
“We might be able to swing something,” Pierson said, musingly. “You’ll need to work through the local military attaché but we can keep your connection low-profile. A word in the right ear and all that. What are the Georgians going to think of an American warlord in their rear area?”
“The local police chief thinks it’s fine and dandy,” Mike said. “I’m not too sure about the central government. I’ll probably have to cross a few palms.”
“Just dialing back the Chechens should make them happy,” Pierson said. “But you never know about local governments.”
“It’s not like I can stage a coup,” Mike pointed out. “Not with one company, more or less, of light infantry.”
“How high you going to train them?” the colonel asked.
“As high as I can,” Mike admitted. “I’d like them to be at least Ranger quality in a year. The basic material is there, I’ll have to see if they can really take to the training. I’ve got a start on the TOE, I need to start rounding up trainers.”
“Have fun.”
“I’m buying guns, gear and soldiers,” Mike said, chuckling. “Other than women, what’s more fun to buy?”
Chapter Seven
“Frog Gear.”
“This is Mike Jenkins. I’m an advisor to a local militia in Georgia, the country not the state. I need gear. Lots and lots of gear.”
In the previous two weeks, things had started to shake out. The house was improving; there was heat at least and the whole place was now spotless. The cellars were still being emptied out, but Mike was keeping some of the stuff. There were some interesting metal trays he suspected dated to the period of Ottoman occupancy and wooden boxes of books in Russian, Arabic and even Greek that he was itching to figure out. The Keldara had turned out to be excellent craftsmen and he now had shelves in the library again as well as a desk.
And he’d gotten a handle on his potential militia manpower. There were a hundred and twenty of the Keldara who were in the age and ability range to make decent militiamen. He suspected a few of them wouldn’t have the right mindset to make the sort of soldiers he wanted, but most seemed to. The Keldara were very disciplined, but after watching a couple of fights he’d come to the conclusion that was necessary rather than normal. Aggression was the first necessity for a soldier, the rest could be trained. And the Keldara had plenty of aggression. They were very serious about how they settled arguments.