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He’d taught a few of the women to take measurements, given them a list of Keldara who were designated for the militia, and set them to work measuring them. So he had full measurements for the entire group. Putting them all in an e-mail had been tedious, the sort of reason he wished he had a staff, or even a clerk. But the order was ready to go. And after he got the weapons and equipment, he could start introductory training.

In addition to the male fighters, there were about forty females he thought might make decent fixed-position soldiers. The Keldara women were beautiful and, on the surface, remarkably oppressed. But there was a lot of fire there. He’d seen one of the Family mothers berating one of her sons and it sounded like a drill sergeant dressing down a recruit.

But the time had come to start putting in serious gear orders. And Frog Gear was the place, in his opinion. They could supply everything from boots to batteries with all the electronics gear, uniforms and rucksacks that would be needed in between.

“How are you going to be paying for this, sir?” the saleswoman asked.

“I’ll mail you a check from Citicorp,” Mike said. “I want to set up the order, then I’ll mail you the list. It’s probably going to take a container to ship it all.”

“That much?” the saleswoman squeaked.

“That much,” Mike said. “I’m outfitting a light infantry company and I’ll need both mobile and fixed communications gear. So give me an order number and I’ll send you the list. You figure out how much it’s going to cost, including shipping, and I’ll send you a check. Works?”

“That will work, sir,” the saleswoman said, cautiously.

“Just to give you an idea,” Mike said. “I’m looking at a hundred and fifty sets of uniforms, an equal number of combat vests, an equal number of NODs, etcetera. Delivered to Georgia. And, given the quantity, I’m going to want at least some discount.”

* * *

“Adams.”

“I heard you retired Ass-boy,” Mike said. “It’s Jenkins. How you doing?”

“Jenkins, huh?” the retired master chief replied. “Nice handle. Where the hell are you?”

“Georgia,” Mike said. “The country, not the state. What are you doing these days?”

“Watching the grass grow,” Chief Adams grumped. “I’ve been looking for a job but what in the hell does a retired SEAL do for work?”

“There are plenty of companies that could use you in sales,” Mike said, grinning. “But I’ve got a contract offer you might be interested in.”

“What are you doing, headhunting?” Adams asked, warily.

“No, this is for me,” Mike replied. “I bought a farm in Georgia. It came with retainers. They need training. Lots and lots of training.”

“Georgia, huh?” Chief Adams said. “The wife is going to love that.”

“You old goat, what is this. Number six?”

“Five,” Adams said. “Going on six.”

“The girls are gorgeous and the beer is fantastic,” Mike said. “And the base material is outstanding. I figure six months with some time off when they have to work on the farm. Not just you, I’ll need a team of fifteen or so. Maybe, probably, more. Twelve instructors for the males, three for the females, a few specialists, notably commo and rifle, you for senior NCO and an OIC. Frankly, I’d like you to pick an OIC for it; you’re more connected these days than I am. Spend six weeks taking a class in Georgian, a month or so getting to know the people, basic training period, then some stick around for advanced training. I’ll need at least three females with combat experience since I’m going to want to train some of the women as well.”

“Direct fire only?”

“No, I got permission for mortars,” Mike admitted. “You think you can round up some special forces heavy guys? Oh, and there are some civil works projects I think we can throw in the mix. See if you can get a couple of Sfers with real engineering and electrical training.”

“I know some people,” Adams admitted. “This is on the up and up, right? I want to be able to come back to the States.”

“Fully supported by the government of the land of the free,” Mike said. “At least as long as the current government is in place. Next year’s elections are going to be interesting.”

“That they are,” Adams said. “Okay, I’ll start rounding up a team. What’s the pay?”

“Two hundred kay for six months for the OIC,” Mike said. “One-seventy for you. One-twenty for all the other trainers. Room and board provided. And, of course, seventy kay is tax free.”

“In that case I’ll get right on it,” Adams said. “How soon do you need them?”

“Soon,” Mike admitted. “I’ve been running behind the eight ball getting things in place. So the sooner you can get a team over here and learning Georgian, the better.”

“Will do,” Adams replied. “See you soon, Mike.”

“Look forward to it,” Mike said, cutting the circuit as Mother Savina came in the office with a distracted expression on her face.

“There is another truck,” Mother Savina said, shaking her head. “A large truck from DHL.”

“Workout gear,” Mike said, happily. He went to the front and, sure enough, the usual DHL driver was standing outside his truck looking dyspeptic.

“There is many parcels for you, Mr. Jenkins,” Tolegeon said in broken English, shaking his head. “Very heavy. Very much.”

“I’ll get a crew,” Mike replied in a mix of Georgian and Russian. He was picking up the former more or less by a process of osmosis while his Russian was getting, if anything, more fluent. Albeit with some odd loan words. “Mother Savina, get Petro and he and I will start. But call down for a few strong backs; we’ll be at this for a while.”

“You should wait until Keldara get here,” Mother Savina said, shaking her head. “Kildar should not unload trucks.”

“The Kildar has done worse in his time,” Mike said, going around to the back of the truck.

He, the DHL driver and Petro had barely gotten a third of the way through the truck when some Keldara made it up the hill. Despite the climb the farmers immediately started unloading, toting the gear to the cellar room Mike had designated for a weight room. He’d decided to leave the library as a library and use one of the many rooms in the cellars for workouts.

The truck took about an hour to unload, since most of the packages were heavy enough it took two to lift them. But finally it drove away and Mike was left looking at a room piled with large and small boxes.

“This is going to take a while to assemble,” Mike said, shaking his head.

“You want help?” Vil Mahona asked. He was one of the Keldara Mike had mentally designated as a militiaman and given his normal initiative and “can do” attitude, Mike suspected he was going to be one of the officers or NCOs.

“I could use help,” Mike admitted. “If anybody wants to stick around, feel free. And, yes, you’ll get paid.”

The Keldara had a brief discussion and Vil and two of the others stayed as Mike went to work opening the boxes. One problem that was immediately apparent was that although the assembly instructions were “international,” the various languages they were printed in did not include Russian, much less Georgian. Which led to another question.

“Vil, can you read?” Mike asked as well as he could in Georgian.

“A little,” the Keldara admitted. “We are taught some reading by the mothers. But not well. Are not many books.” Vil was using a mix of standard Georgian with some Keldara words. The Keldara spoke a dialect of Georgian that was very nearly a different language. Fortunately, most of the older members spoke Russian and all but the youngest could get by in standard Georgian. However, the “Georgian” Mike was picking up was mostly Keldara.