“I am… ” She paused and frowned. “The Mother of a Family is not necessarily married to the Father. There are some in the Keldara who are spotted for… other needs. Stella… Stella and Lydia, yes, I could see them being Mothers. But it is less likely with Shariya, who is promised to Yosif… ”
“Shariya is a mortar girl,” Mike said, frowning. “One of the ammo bearers… She’s… ”
“Sweet,” Gretchen said. “Also very simple. Yosif, on the other hand, is very smart and capable. He is the man most likely to be the Devlich Father when his time comes but… ”
“Shariya wouldn’t make a good Mother,” Mike said. “So… you’re getting married to Kiril who is a Devlich so you transfer to that Family… ”
“And I train as a Mother,” Gretchen said, shrugging. “Instead of, you know, something fun or exciting. And I get to take care of the babies.”
“Except that is so that you wouldn’t meet me,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I appear to have really fucked up your existence.”
“And have I had no effect on yours?” Gretchen asked.
“If you hadn’t, would any of this be going on?” Mike replied at the sound of rotors in the distance. “Spread the word, quietly. The Kildar is going to be a very good man. He can look you in the face and walk away. He can watch your children grow. He admires Kiril and hopes the best for both of you. Nobody should be sent away. Except these children because there is a helicopter about to land on them.”
“Yes, Kildar,” Gretchen said, frowning slightly.
“I don’t think we talked, did we?” Mike asked as the helo descended.
“I don’t think so,” Gretchen shouted. “But I wish we could… ”
Chapter Fifteen
“General Umarov, good to see you again,” Mike said as he was ushered into the general’s office by an aide. He hadn’t had to wait which he took as a sign. A sign of what, he wasn’t too sure.
“And you, Kildar,” the general said, walking around his desk to shake Mike’s hand. He gestured for Mike to take a seat, ordered coffee and did everything but check to see if Mike needed a blow-job from the secretary.
It was going to be bad.
“How are Galiko and the kids?” Mike asked. Mrs. Umarov had passed away before Mike arrived in-country. Galiko was their sole child. She was married to a major in the Georgian National Guard and they had two children that the general doted upon.
“All are well,” Umarov replied, nodding. “I will send them your regards.”
“Please do,” Mike said, taking a sip of coffee. He’d actually become a pretty big tea drinker but since he was American it was assumed he’d prefer coffee. It wasn’t bad, by Georgian standards. “General, we need helicopters to get this plan to work.”
“In that you and I agree,” Umarov replied with a sigh. “But there are… problems.”
“Politics,” Mike said. “Is it that they are Russian? I don’t, off the top of my head, know of a group besides Birusk Flying Services that can, and will, pick up a company of infantry and take them anywhere close to where they might be shot at. And Birusk is not Russian government, any more than I am US government.”
“And again, you and I agree,” Umarov said, shaking his head. “Others do not.”
“What others?” Mike asked, blanching. “General, this is no insult to your armed forces but we have to keep this information very confidential!”
“That is not a problem,” the general said, making a placating gesture. “It is, as you would say ‘very tightly held’. But the president and the defense minister had to be told of what was going on, you know that, yes?”
“Of course,” Mike said, nodding. “I cannot disagree at… Oh, crap. The defense minister?”
Vakhtang Gelovani was a strong Georgian nationalist who had risen to the rank of major in the Red Army before the fall of the Soviet Union. Of course, that had been over a twenty-five year period. Ethnic Russians had controlled the upper ranks of the Red Army even under Stalin, who was a Georgian. Anyone non-Rusk rising above colonel was exceedingly rare. He clearly felt that he should have been a general and it was rumored that for that reason he hated and despised all things Russian.
From Mike’s perspective, the reason he’d never made general was that Gelovani would barely tie his own shoes. The man was a classic case of “active/stupid” if Mike had ever seen one, a micro-manager who had a strong tendency to choose exactly the wrong course of action and enforce it on subordinates. And then, as often as not, blame them for the failure.
The fact that he was frequently bruted as a possible successor to the current president, who while not great was head and shoulders over Gelovani, was good reason to contemplate the stupidity of settling down in Georgia. And Mike had heard quite a few rumors about clashes between Gelovani and Umarov. Given that Umarov wasn’t an idiot, Mike didn’t find that surprising.
“I will neither confirm nor deny that the defense minister has raised objections,” Umarov said, grimacing. “I will however say that the president has also stated his objections.”
Which meant that the president did not want to give Gelovani an excuse to paint him as in the pocket of the Russians. Even over a black op. Of course, Gelovani would not care that it was a black op if he went babbling about it to some group of faithful or supporters.
Taking Gelovani out was looking better and better.
Mike lowered his face and rubbed his forehead for a moment then looked up.
“Okay, then can I have Georgian helicopter support? You’ve got a couple of Hips and those Blackhawks from the US. I don’t know if we can make it in one lift, but… ”
“No,” Umarov said with a shake of the head. “And that is my objection, solely. We have very few helicopters. Not only are most of them busy, most of the time, but the loss of even one, and there is a good chance of losing one on this operation, would be… very bad. Unlike the US military, we could not hide the fact that we’d lost one or where we’d lost one. Given that, it would be apparent that we’d lost it to the Chechens or at least in operations against them. Call it ‘face’ if you will, but with everything that is going on in this country, making it truly apparent that we cannot control actions in that area would be very bad, politically. Let me ask: Would you prefer that Gelovani replace me with one of his hand-picked cronies?”
“No,” Mike said, grimacing.
“If we lost a helicopter in this operation, I would grade that as ‘likely,’ ” Umarov said, placidly. “Also, the loss would be a capital loss to my military, both in the loss of the helicopter and the pilots. We would have to send our very best pilots, yes? And we have very few who are of the caliber you would need. I would be, in your American phrase, eating my seed corn if I lost them. We guard them very preciously, the helicopters and the pilots. I cannot justify using them in an operation with this great a risk factor.”
“So that gets me back to square one,” Mike argued. “I have to have helicopter support. If I don’t use it, I’d have to have already left to do the whole thing on foot. I need birds to get me in striking distance. And I really need dust-off. We’re going to take casualties. I’ll walk out if I absolutely have to, carrying the damned items if I must, but I’m not going to do this mission if I have to pack my wounded out on litters. Not.”