John Ringo: Unto the Breach

Former Master Chief Charles Adams was Mike’s tactical second, a right arm for Mike when the bullets were flying. They’d known each other since both were SEAL candidates in BUD/S and both had survived the utter horror of Class 201, now an infamous SEAL legend. But when Mike had gone off to be a SEAL trainer Adams had stayed on the teams.

Tall, bald and blocky, Adams had divorced his sixth wife shortly before Mike contacted him, looking for trainers. Although it had, at the time, been a temporary contract, Adams had stayed on. At this point, Mike couldn’t imagine doing a mission without him.

Adams was also just about the only person in the world, outside of a very select group in Washington, who could connect the “Kildar” to a mysterious figure who had broken up a major terrorist plot and, worse, killed Osama Bin Laden by practically shoving mustard gas down his throat. Adams had been the team chief of the SEALs who dropped into that madhouse to extract the kidnapped co-eds and a vaguely defined “independent” who had found and rescued them. He’d found a very old friend, one he’d pretty much lost touch with, just about shot to ribbons.

Upon arriving in the teams, the two had immediately been dubbed “Ass-Boy One and Ass-Boy Two” a result of the horrors they had endured in BUD/S.

“Ass-Boy yourself,” Mike said, ladling some beets onto his plate. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Except for the weather,” Adams said. “I hope everyone recognizes that there’s a fucking storm on the way.”

“Everybody’s fully aware of that,” Mike said, getting a sudden chill. “I hope it holds off for a few days, anyway.”

“It’s going to hit tonight,” Adams said, looking at him quizzically.

Mike blinked and shook his head.

“Yeah,” he replied, confused. “I knew that. I don’t know why I said a few days … ”

“Sniper right,” Kiril Devlich said, ducking for cover. Kiril Devlich was just eighteen, medium height and heavy of body with jet black hair, blue eyes and broad cheekbones. One of the SAW gunners in Sawn’s team he had been born and raised in the Valley of the Keldara. He had had the axe placed in his hand in the birthing bed, he bore the scars of judgement from the year he came to manhood and had participated in his first Ondah contest only the year before. Today he battled for honor and glory and, of course, the flag.

“Got it,” Hadar Makanee said, calmly. The Team Sawn spotter was acting as sniper today. “Tango down. Go.”

Kiril darted forward, hunkering down behind a rock then tossing a grenade over the rock towards where the enemy had been previously emplaced. There was a screeching sound over the radio his armor clad opponents burst from cover, ducking as the frag grendade went off.

“Tango down,” Darin Shaynav said. He had taken a rear position and was covering Kiril’s flank with a heavy battle rifle. “Two tangos moving right.”

“Tango down,” Hadar said. “One more… ”

Kiril rolled around the left side of the rock and then came around in circle. The green clad enemy was just ducking around the rock, looking for him.

“Tango down,” Kiril said, putting a three round burst into the enemy’s back.

“I’ve got the flag,” Darin said, coming out of the green base. “Not much sense even bringing it back to ours.”

“Engagement… terminated… ” a deep voice announced and the green players suddenly started getting to their feet.

“That fucking sucked,” one of the green players said in a high voice. “We had you pawned, what the fuck did you do?”

“They cheated!” another of the green players said. “Cheaters!”

“We sucked you into a simple deception scheme,” Hadar said. He’d taken the teleport down to the ground level and now walked out of the fort carrying his sniper rifle. “We made it look as if the center was open. And you fell for it.”

“You sound funny,” the first green player said. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“If you mean the United States, no,” Kiril said, chuckling. “And we do this for a living. You’re not bad, for newbs… ”

“Noobs!” the green player screeched as the scene faded out.

“Making fun of babies, Kiril,” Hadar said, setting down his controller and taking off his headset. “It’s beneath you.”

“My name is Kiril Devlich,” Kiril said in a deep voice. “And… I… Hate… Babies!” He set the headset on the Xbox, still half giggling.

“You’ll have babies of your own, soon enough,” Roan Makanee said. He normally carried one of the M240s but had taken a submachine gun in today’s operation. He’d also agreed to act as bait, sacrificed as, supposedly, the only “defender” in the center of the attack route. The others had been arrayed and concealed to the side and had easily ambushed the less experienced green players. “Well, the Kildar’s baby.”

“Oooo, cheap shot,” Darin said. “Two points.”

“Well, you might ,” Hadar said, looking at his watch. “If you make it to your handfasting.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Kiril said, scrambling to his feet. “I completely forgot!”

“Kiril, Kiril, you’re going to be late to your own funeral,” Darin said as the boy pounded out of the door to the barracks. “I suppose, though, that we should go along and lend moral support.”

“Why?” Hadar asked, picking up his headset. “We are training , after all… ”

“Who brings this girl before me?” Father Kulcyanov boomed.

“I, Mother of the House Mahona,” Mother Mahona said. She was holding Gretchen’s left hand. Standing behind her was Mother Silva, Gretchen’s “Body Mother”, the woman who had born her seventeen years before.

Gretchen Mahona was 5’ 10” tall with gorgeous blonde hair and a figure that made men want to follow her around like little puppy dogs. With high cheekbones, blue eyes and a beautifully heart shaped face, she was one of the most traditionally “Nordic” looking Keldara. Mike suspected that she had hellacious legs as well, but since she always wore a skirt it was hard to tell. There was no question about her upper body, though. Even the slightly baggy Keldara blouses couldn’t conceal that.

It was slightly after noon and the whole clan was gathered in front of the houses, watching the ceremony. A circle of pine branches had been laid on the ground and the two groups stood within them, presenting the two young people for Father Kulcyanov’s blessing.

“Is she pure?” Father Kulcyanov asked.

The Keldara set big store by virginity. At least to a point.

“She is. On my oath as a Mother.”

“Is she free of defect?” Father Kulcyanov asked.

“She is. On my oath as a Mother.”

Mike realized that he’d never been to one of the bonding ceremonies. That question begged a dozen others. But if Gretchen had any defects, he’d never noticed them. Okay, so maybe the Rite wasn’t all bad.

“Is she fit to bear child, to bring forth warriors and wives, to be a Mother of Tigers, to honor the Keldara?”

“She is,” Mother Mahona said, fiercely. “On my Oath as Mother Mahona.”

“Bring to me the boy,” Father Kulcyanov said, looking at the Devlich contingent.

Mother Devlich stepped forward, holding her son’s hand.

Kiril looked nervous. Any teenage male would being forced to hold his mother’s hand in public. Being called a boy wasn’t the greatest, either. And he’d nearly missed the thing, arriving at the last minute at a dead run. And from the direction of the barracks, by the looks of it. Playing Halo again. The boy needed to get out more.

“Who brings this boy before me?” Father Kulcyanov asked.