John Ringo: Choosers of the Slain

“I could use some hands,” Genadi admitted. “When are the younger men going to be free for work again?”

“Not for a few weeks,” Mike said, frowning. “What do you need?”

“Small things, but numerous,” the farm manager answered. “Some trenching that I can’t get a backhoe into, some repairs on the barns that requires strong backs. The old men are doing well, as are the women, but there is only so much they can do.”

“We’ve got a break in the training schedule coming up the end of the week,” Mike said, frowning. “I’ll see about gettting that break extended from a few days to maybe two weeks. I want them to have a break before we go to patrol phase two. That’s going to be a ball buster.”

“I’ll put it off until then,” Genadi said, nodding. “And I’ll make sure they have a break towards the end.”

“Great,” Mike said, grinning. “How’s the crop?”

“Even Father Mahona admits that the grains are coming in well,” Genadi replied, smiling broadly. “And the peas are nearly ready to harvest. We’ll do that with the combine so I won’t need the young men. Before it would have taken everyone stripping the plants, but the combine has an attachment that does it for us. Then we’ll replant in beets for the fall crop.”

“Whatever,” Mike said, admitting that he knew nothing about farming.

“It goes well,” Genadi said, smiling back. “Very well.”

“Good,” Mike replied. “That’s all I needed to hear anyway.”

“The farm goes well,” the farm manager said, frowning slightly, “but there is another problem.”

“What now?” Mike asked, sighing.

“Father Nona and Father Kulcyanov would like to meet with you, privately,” Genadi said. “It is a very private reason, for the Kildar only. Not involving the militia.”

“Today?” Mike asked, puzzled.

“Soon,” Genadi said, shrugging. “Not right away. Any time this week or next week would do.”

“Going to hint about what?” Mike asked, smiling.

“I think they need to discuss it with you,” Genadi said, shrugging. “It is for them to say.”

“Tomorrow do?” Mike asked. “Afternoon?”

“That is fine,” Genadi replied.

Mike entered the caravanserai and looked around the foyer. Two of the harem, Tinata and Azhela, were sitting in the foyer area playing a game involving small colored pebbles. Tinata was a sixteen-year-old with flamboyantly large breasts and flaming red hair that was quite natural. Mike knew for sure and certain that the curtains matched the rug. Azhela was smaller with fine, light brown hair and a smaller chest that, nonetheless, was quite noticeable on her smaller frame.

In a move that made sense to him at the time, he’d had Anastasia obtain uniforms for the girls. They were essentially “school-girl” uniforms, white shirt, blue and green plaid skirts and low-quarter shoes, which had advantages and disadvantages. It cut down on the petty bickering about who got to wear what on what day, and who was prettiest, which was a major point of contention among the girls. However, as with many males, he found the “school-girl” look was a major turn-on. It didn’t help that they were, essentially, real school girls. As usual when the girls popped to their feet, skirts swirling, their shirts straining their buttons, smiling, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and obviously quite willing to satisfy his every desire, whatever important problem had been on his mind went right out the window. The braces that many of them now sported didn’t help matters.

Mike dragged his eyes away from Tinata’s remarkably fine breasts and shook his head.

“I think I need to dress you girls in chadours,” he said, smiling to show it was a joke. “But could one of you ask Anastasia to meet me in my office whenever it’s convenient for her?”

“Yes, Kildar,” Tinata said, curtseying slightly and bowing her head in a gesture of meekness that Mike knew was an act. The girl was an absolute minx in bed. “I’ll go summon her directly.”

“Don’t bother her if she’s doing anything important,” Mike said, heading for his office.

“Shall I come back with her, Kildar?” Tinata asked, looking at him out of the corner of one eye.

“No,” Mike said, definitely. “But don’t go far. I haven’t got anything scheduled this afternoon.”

“You asked to see me, Kildar?” Anastasia said as she entered his office.

The harem manager had been a member of an Uzbek sheik’s harem since she was twelve. She was tall and refined with long, lovely, blonde hair and blue eyes with a slight epicanthic fold. Fine boned with the face of an angel, she could have made big money as a supermodel. Instead she had been immured in a harem for fourteen years with rare opportunities to get out; the flight to Georgia had actually been her first flight on an airplane.

She was trained, and naturally skilled, at managing groups of girls. However, she had few other skills. Since she was getting a bit long in the tooth for the tastes of the sheik, at all of twenty-six, she was looking at being either given away as a bride to some retainer or being sent off with a chunk of money to find a new life. The “new life” would probably be a madame in a whorehouse, given that she didn’t know anything else.

The job offer from Mike had been like a gift from heaven. Not only did Mike need a manager, he was far less controlling than the sheik and more than willing to include her in his travels. Then there was the fact that Anastasia was a serious masochistic submissive. The sheik had never had a strong enough hand with the whip in her opinion and was otherwise rather uninteresting in bed, generally going for “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” but not even staying awake for the “thank you” part. Mike was a serious dom and more than willing to satisfy that side of her sexual personality. Then there was the fact that he considered it a duty and a pleasure to make a woman have a good time in the sack. For Anastasia the last months had been heaven. Her only complaint was that Mike still hadn’t set up the bondage dungeon in the old cellars that he’d promised her.

“I want you to start working more with Katya,” Mike said, waving her to a chair. “I know she’s working with Vanner, but I want you to start training her in Arabic.”

“I already have been,” Anastasia said, smiling. “And German and French. She already speaks Russian and more English than she’s willing to admit. I started teaching her other languages to keep her busy. When she’s learning, she isn’t so much of a problem. And she is very smart. Smarter than I am, I have to admit. She soaks up information and has a remarkable memory.”

“Especially for slights,” Mike said, sighing. “But that’s good. I want you to concentrate on Arabic and Chechen dialects of Russian and Arabic for the time being. Get her able to understand it, clearly, no matter how garbled.”

“I understand,” Anastasia said, nodding. “Are you sure you can trust her?”

“No,” Mike admitted. “But leave that for me to worry about. I’ll set it up as a win/win proposition. She can do the mission, or she can run. She won’t have enough information to do us serious harm.”

“She has been working with Vanner,” Anastasia pointed out. “She knows about your intercept capability.”

“So do the Chechens,” Mike pointed out, sourly. “The Russians leaked it to them.”

“But she knows details,” Anastasia argued.

“We can change codes after she leaves,” Mike said. “And that won’t be soon. I’ll pull her out of Vanner’s section and set her to learning. For that matter, I’ll see what I can scrounge up in the way of manuals on infiltration and espionage. I think she’d be good at it. And if she cuts and runs instead, well, then we don’t have to worry about her anymore.”