“I can see that logic,” Guerrin said, trying not to grin. The woman could charm the scales off a snake. “I’ll round up some guys. Second Platoon looks a little worn out.”
“Why thank you, Captain,” Mother Lenka said, smiling. She dipped into one of her ammo pouched and pulled out a bottle. “Have a beer. But eat something with it. You Americans are weak drinkers.”
“Presents from the Mothers,” Sawn said, dropping a package in Kiril’s position.
Kiril had gotten the bodies arranged to his satisfaction, cleaned his SAW and reloaded it. He’d left one of the bodies, one of the less bloody ones, in the position. It gave him something to sit on.
“Blessings be upon the Mothers,” Kiril said, opening the wooden box.
There were three meat rolls, beef and vegetables wrapped in bread, a small loaf of oatmeal cake, rich with honey and washed in egg and, blessed be, a bottle of beer stamped with Mother Lenka’s personal rhune. He’d only had Mother Lenka’s beer on two other occasions; it was saved for holidays. The meat rolls were hot and the beer still cold, courtesy of the straw both were packed in.
“Blessings indeed,” Sawn said. He had a load of other boxes in his arms. “I have to drop these off before I can eat. So I’m out of here.”
“Go,” Kiril said, his mouth already stuffed with meat-roll. He cracked the top on Mother Lenka’s brew and took a sip. Given that he’d been out of beer for days and hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, it was one of the best meals he’d ever had. “Go with blessings.”
Mike opened up the box then looked over at the commo and intel section.
It was like friends told him about kids. They weren’t getting into trouble until they were quiet. Before the food got dropped off they’d been happy-talking. Happy to be alive after the Keldara had beaten off the attack. Now they were quiet, and they weren’t eating.
“What?” Mike said. “Whatever it is, I’m going to find out sooner or later.”
Vanner looked up from the C2 pad and shrugged.
“Check the updated casualty report,” he said. “Female.”
Mike pulled out his own pad and keyed the casualty reports. He didn’t need to sort it, the name leapt off the screen.
Mahona, Gretchen, Private, Crew-Chief. KIA.
Crew-chief. “Game as hell. Took some with her, I think, but she got hit by one of the 12.7s.”
Mike put the pad away then put his hand to his forehead, eyes closed. His jaw worked as he tried to get control but his mind was filled with the sound of laughter, flashing legs and the war in his head was one of chocolate mousse.
He could not do this right now. He could not. He had to bottle it away. And there was one other thing he had to do. Nobody else could do it. Nobody.
He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath as he stood.
“Keep the food warm. I’ve got to go over to Sawn’s positions.”
“Oh, shit,” Pierson said as CNN broke in with a “special report from Chechnya.”
Ever since the advent of the 24-hour news cycle, every higher headquarters kept at least one TV tuned to one or more of the satellite news channels. Not only was it a necessity to see what lie was being perGretchented by the Main-Stream Media today, quite often you could pick up intelligence that was otherwise unnoticed or unavailable.
And sometimes, you found out when an op had been blown sky high.
“This is Jack Sperman with CNN,” the newscaster said. “We are receiving reports of a major battle going on in Chechnya at this moment. The region where the battle is taking place is called the Pansiki Gorge, an area long used by Chechen militants as a refuge in their resistance to Russian occupiers. Much of the area belongs to the country of Georgia but Georgia has been unable to stop the Chechens from using it. They have apparently sent a small force in for reasons at this time unknown and the force has been cut off and surrounded by the Chechen freedom-fighters who are vowing to destroy them. We now take you to live video feed from the Al-Jazeera satellite news service… ”
The video was of an Al-Jazeera reporter interviewing a big guy wearing the der rigeur bandana of “freedom-fighters” everywhere. They were both speaking Arabic but there was a continuous translation overlaid on the voice track.
“Commander Bukara,” the reporter said, “your first attack was beaten off. What are you going to do, now?”
“That was only a probe,” Bukara said. “We were just finding where their positions are. Now that we know, we will attack in force and destroy the infidels, removing their stain. These are the lands of Islam and we refuse to let foreign crusaders, pagans and pigs, from setting foot here!”
“You say they are pagans, yes?”
“Pagan eaters of pig flesh. They are worshippers of false gods and will recant or die as the Prophet decreed!”
“You are confident, then?”
“Very. They are few and number and my men, after a long battle that left many of them dead, now have them trapped. They are faithless, as well, leaving their wounded and dead behind. We have treated the wounded with care and the dead shall be buried with full Islamic ceremony, although they are pagans and thus doomed to hell. It shall not be said, though, that we are barbarians.”
“You are acting in the best traditions of Islam, Commander. When do you plan to attack… ”
“Somebody better tell the president,” Pierson said with a sigh.
“Kildar, this is Tiger Two.”
“Go.”
Mike was feeling pretty good just looking off into the distance. Telling Kiril had been harder than just about anything he’d ever done. But it wasn’t that that had a black place where his soul used to be.
“We’re sending you a video on feed two,” Pierson said. “Al-Jazeera had some reporters covering the Chechen forces in the area. They’ve apparently caught up to your battle. Bukara is spouting bullshit but I thought you’d find it humorous.”
“Fuck,” Mike said, picking up his personal pad and hitting the control for feed two. Sure enough… Motherfucker. He could recognize their emplacements in the background. Just what he fucking needed.
He stood up and walked to the front of the bunker and looking down the hill then picked up his binoculars. Steadying his arm on the wall of the bunker he dialed in the digital zoom and spotted the group. Bukara had to be the guy waving his arms.
“Fuck. Is the president seeing this?” Mike said.
“Mike, it’s satellite TV,” Pierson replied. “It’s being carried live on CNN, Fox, Al-Jazeera and Skynet. Yeah, he knows. Hell, the whole world knows.”
“Mr. President,” the Secret Service agent said, hand to his earmike, “Sir, sorry to interrupt dinner, but Colonel Pierson says you might want to turn on Fox News.”
“Sorry about this, honey,” the president said to the First Lady, smiling slightly. He gestured with his chin and another Secret Service agent clicked the TV in the dining room on.
“… Kill the Keldara pagans. Then we shall go to their homes and scour them. Their valley is a rightful part of Islamic lands, stolen from us long ago. Today is the day of reckoning against these infidel invaders… ”
“Get me Colonel Pierson,” the president said, his face hard. “Now.”
“That’s Michael isn’t it?” the First Lady said, worriedly. “Honey… ”