Filtered through the medium of culture in developing countries, though, and you ended up with something different. The worst had to be “Syrian Commandoes” who had a purple camouflage uniform that would make a peacock go “OH MY GOD!” And, of course, it had to be bedecked in metals otherwise nobody would realize you were a general, right?
Mike had realized at some point he was going to have to tread a fine line. While there were times he was going to have to wear a cammie uniform for more or less “official” reasons, as a SEAL he had a problem. When SEALs wore field uniforms they might have a nametag. Otherwise they tended to be pretty bare. For one thing, everybody on the team knew who you were and what you’d done so you didn’t have to cover the damned uniform in qualification badges and gee-gaws. You were a SEAL, who cared if you’d gone to another school, BUD/S was all that mattered. And you didn’t have to wear some stupid subdued SEAL badge. You were on the team. Ergo, you’d passed BUD/S. Point, set, match.
But if he turned up in a set of sterile cammies, that would send the wrong message. It all came down to politics, something he’d hoped never to have to play. But in his current situation, it was a daily grind.
So he’d set up a set of “dress” cammies, most of it stolen lock-stock-and-barrel from the US Army.
On the right and left shoulders were the snarling tiger face that was the Keldara patch, the left shoulder because he was, by God, a member and the right because he had, by God, been in combat ops with them. Over the right one was his Ranger badge from that extended version of helclass="underline" a fraction as bad as Hell Week but five times as long. Under it was a US flag because he was, by God, still a US citizen. He’d found a subdued SEAL badge and that was on top of his qualification badges. Below that was his HALO badge flanked by Pathfinder. He could put on airborne wings if he wanted, master jumper given the number of times he’d jump-mastered drops.
Figuring out which to put on the velcro patches had been hard. He’d sat down when he was contemplating the uniform and tried to figure out how many schools he’d gone to, on the side, that would qualify for badges on an Army uniform. In the end he realized that he could basically cover the damned thing. Sometimes he put on the Marine Sniper badge instead of Pathfinder, sometimes he switched both out for Sapper or for SCUBA, having cross-trained in all of them. Hell might as well put on French Commando school, which was a joke so bad it should be run by Cub Scouts, or Special Boat Squadron which was one kick-your-ass motherfucker of a school that should be outlawed under international treaty.
SEAL instructors were supposed to be “broadly and comprehensively trained”, said so right in the documentation. And their schools budget was huge, comparable to an entire Army division. In every department of the government budgets were the same: Use it or lose it. So the SEALs, especially the instructors, tended to spend two thirds of their time training and the other third… burning off budget. It was amazing how many courses you could pack in in a sixteen year career that had covered most of the time the US was at relative peace.
The toughest part had been figuring out the branch tape and nametag. In the end, the branch tape, where it would say “US Army” or “US Navy” or whatever, simply read “Mountain Tigers” in Georgian. The nametag simply read: Kildar.
He looked at the suits, looked at the dress-cammies and tossed the latter on the bed. Sometimes you just had to dress for success. Politics. What the fuck had he done to earn politics?
Mike got out of the Expedition and was surrounded by a smaller than normal contingent of children. From the looks of it most of the older ones were up in the hills picking tiger berries.
It was the time of year that the “secret ingredient” in Keldara beer reached full ripeness. Some of the shrubs had been planted to harvest for the brewery but they hadn’t matured enough to provide more than a pittance. There was less than a week when they were ripe and for the Keldara the picking was an all-hands evolution. With the preparations for the mission, they had to be hard pressed to have enough bodies. From the looks of things the kids, down to six or so, had been sent up into the hills.
“Dimi,” he said to one of the few of the younger children he recognized. “I need you to find someone to drive the truck back. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Kildar,” the boy said, tucking the sweet in his cheek and dashing off.
Mike had about finished passing out the candy when he heard an indrawn breath and looked up into Gretchen’s face.
“Ah, Gretchen… ” Mike said, clearing his throat. “I don’t suppose you know how to drive an Expedition?”
“Yes, Kildar, I do,” Gretchen said. She was carrying a baby and looked positively beatific despite the thoroughly pissed expression on her face. “But there is only one adult here for each Family to watch the children.”
“I don’t think all the girls up at the castle are fully… ” Mike stopped and thought about it. “Yes, they are. Damnit. We need more Keldara,” he added with a grin.
“Here they are,” Gretchen said, gesturing to the children. “Pick the one to drive the car.”
“Pass,” Mike said. “I’ll pick it up when I get back.” He paused and frowned. “I hate to be… How you doing?”
“I am fine, Kildar,” Gretchen said. “Except for having twenty brats to keep an eye on.”
“How come you got stuck with the duty?” Mike asked.
“Some of the teams are training in the same area as the berry picking,” Gretchen said.
Mike had to process that for a second then shook his head.
“And if I was going to be doing anything with my little spare time it would be checking on the teams,” Mike said. “Not coming down to the houses where I might run into you? And if I’d picked anyone but one of the little kids to go find a driver… They’d have found anyone but you, right?”
“Did I say that?” Gretchen said, relenting. “It is… good to see you.”
“Same here,” Mike said, flexing his jaw. “Care to let me in on any of the Mysteries surrounding this? I take it there has been… talk.”
“Much,” Gretchen said. “And, of course, I’m the last to be informed of any of it. Well… ”
“Except for me,” Mike said. “What have you heard?”
“Let me see… ” Gretchen said, tapping her finger on her lips. “The Kildar is honorable and will not violate the contract between myself and Kiril. The Kildar is human and therefore can only be expected to violate it. I should be sent away, so as to prevent the offense. Kiril should be sent away, there is a group called the… Legion Etran… ”
“The Foreign Legion,” Mike said, translating it into Keldara. “Over my dead body.”
“And then I would be Kildaran,” Gretchen said, shrugging.
“Anybody ask you what you want?” Mike asked. “I know nobody has asked me.”
“It is not the Keldara way,” Gretchen said, shaking her head. “The Keldara’s fates are chosen by the Elders, not by themselves. Our spouses are chosen, our lots in life. I was picked for neither the intelligence teams nor the mortars. I am one of the few women of my generation who is not contributing, directly, to the teams.”
“Why?” Mike asked, frowning. “You’re not exactly… dumb.”
“Thank you so much for the compliment!” Gretchen snapped.
“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it,” Mike said. “Why weren’t you… You are, in fact, quite bright. You’d make a good contribution to the intel section. What am I missing?”