“Fortunately, most of the instructions have pictures,” Mike said, looking at the instructions for the Nautilus equipment. “But even with the pictures, I’m lost. I’m not the world’s greatest mechanic. And we’ll need tools.”
“I get toolbox,” one of the other Keldara said. Mike thought his name was Dutov and from his looks he was a Devlich. If he remembered correctly, he was Katrina’s older brother, although with the Keldara it was hard to tell.
Mike pulled out parts to the weight bench and started laying them out on the floor as Vil started doing the same with one of the Nautilus machines. The third Keldara, who was in his mid-teens, scratched his head for a second, then started in on one of the other Nautilus machines.
“What are these?” Vil said after looking at the instructions in confusion.
“They are machines for building muscles,” Mike said, then looked up at their expressions of surprise. “Look, I know you guys pick rocks and throw bulls and stuff all day. But, first of all, I don’t. I’m stuck in this house doing other things. Second, with these you can target build specific muscle groups so you don’t just have muscles for picking rock and throwing bulls. When I have the time I like to use these machines for about four to six hours a day.” He’d had to use a fair bit of Russian to get that across and Vil was forced to translate some of the words, in some places obviously looking for phrases when Georgian and Keldara gave out.
Dutov shortly came back with a toolbox and the four of them went to work. It quickly became apparent that Dutov had quite a bit more mechanical aptitude than the other three, especially after Mike ended up assembling half of a Nautilus backwards.
“This is for muscles?” Vil asked, holding up a padded part. “How?”
“That’s a pec device,” Mike said, holding up his arms bent at the elbows and moving them inward. “You push your forearms against the pads. There’s a bar you hold with your hands,” he added, pointing at one of the parts. “The one… son, what’s your name?” Mike asked the teen.
“Erkin, Kildar,” the boy said.
“What he’s working on is a leg machine,” Mike said, pushing with his legs. “For building strength in the legs.”
Dutov said something fast in Keldara and Mike couldn’t quite catch it but the other two laughed.
“What?” he asked, curiously.
“He said you should try using a plow all day,” Vil said, flexing thighs that were thick as trees. “And climbing the mountains.”
“That I do,” Mike said. “Climbing, that is. But this is for doing what is called circuit work. Trust me, it’s better than general farm work and, as you pointed out, I don’t do that. Although I’ll probably help some, just to get a feel for it. It reminds me of a joke, though.”
“You have good jokes,” Dutov said in broken Russian. “Try it.”
“Hmmm, you know anything about American football?” Mike asked.
“No,” Vil said. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, take my word for it, it takes big, really strong guys,” Mike said. “Oleg might make a decent pro-player, but he’s one of the only Keldara I’ve seen that’s big enough.”
“Oleg is an ox,” Dutov said, frowning. “Football players are bigger?”
“And stronger,” Mike said. “Trust me. Pro players are fucking monsters. But the joke goes like this. Up until, say, when Father Kulcyanov was young, there were still people in the U.S. that used horses and plows. There was this one team that had really big guys on its line, the guys that have to be really big and strong but don’t have to be smart.”
“Oleg is smart,” Vil said. “Don’t let him fool you.”
“He hasn’t,” Mike said, smiling. “But the joke about how the team got those guys is that the coach, the boss, would go driving around in the country. When he saw a big guy behind a plow, he’d ask him the way to the nearest city. If they guy stopped plowing and pointed, he’d drive on. He hired the guys that picked up the plow to point.”
“Yes,” Vil said, laughing. “Even Oleg would point.”
“Shota would point the plow,” Erkin said, shyly.
“Then we must get Shota on a pro football team,” Mike said. He thought he knew which one Shota was, a red-headed monster even bigger than Oleg but with a very placid nature. He moved well, though, and he looked fast.
“Dutov,” Mike said, standing up and stretching his joints. “I hereby promote you to assembler of Nautilus machines. I’m going to go find out what crashing emergency has occurred while I’ve been down here. Don’t work on this too late, and expect to come back tomorrow to finish, okay?”
“Yes, Kildar, is very okay,” Dutov said, looking up at him with a grin.
“I like the Kildar,” Erkin said after Mike was gone.
“So do I,” Vil admitted. “But I’m interested in finding out what will happen that he will not promise.”
When Mike made his way back up to the ground floor, he found Mother Savina waiting for him.
“Was a call on your satellite phone,” Mother Savina said. “Colonel Pierson. He asked you to call him back.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Mike replied, sighing. “I wonder what he wants now?”
“What now, Bob?” Mike asked when the scrambler was in place.
“You sound tired,” Pierson said. “Too many women?”
“None at all, unfortunately,” Mike admitted. “Seriously, what’s up?”
“A little bird suggested that you take a ride over to Tbilisi, tomorrow,” Pierson said. “There’s a meeting tomorrow with Ambassador Wilson, ours, Ambassador Krepkina, Russia, our military attaché, the Russian military attaché and a couple of Georgians. The Russians just intercepted a big group of Chechens that were planning on replicating Breslan. And they intercepted them exiting Georgia. Actually, although the Georgians don’t know this, the Spetznaz team was on the Georgian side of the border. The Russians are getting ready to do a Cambodian invasion on Georgia, and the Georgians are making big talk. I think your intent to form a militia group in the area can possibly calm things down. At least it’s something.”
“Would the little bird be a black guy of Jamaican extraction?” Mike asked. “Or a cowboy from Texas?”
“Both,” Pierson replied. “The Russians are taking their new preemption doctrine to consider Georgia fair game. In a way, I don’t blame them; Georgia is a haven for the Chechens. But it’s not Georgia’s fault; they’re trying. They just don’t have the funding, the training or the manpower.”
“Bob, all I’m forming is a company of light infantry for local defense,” Mike pointed out. “I can’t solve the Russians’ problems for them.”
“But you are intending to shut down Chechen operations in your area, right?”
“To the extent that I can,” Mike said. “Yes. I don’t like any Islamic group, you know that and you know why.”
“Just tell them what you intend,” Pierson said. “That may mollify the Russians enough to get them to back off. They don’t really want to have a border war with Georgia; they’ve got too much on their plate in Chechnya. If they can see any glimmer of hope, they’ll probably snap at it. Even if they don’t appear to at the time, we’ll be dropping hints in their ears at higher levels. Just go to the meeting, okay?”