“Colonel Kortotich,” Mike “Jenkins” called out as the unwounded Chechen prisoners were being unloaded at a Georgian military prison.
Mike Harmon had been a college student at the University of Georgia when he’d witnessed the kidnapping of a coed.
So he just jumped on the kidnapper’s van and rode it to its destination.
“Mike Harmon,” Team Name “Ghost,” had quietly disappeared, maybe alive, maybe dead, and “Mike Jenkins” had reappeared in his place.
Mike suspected it wouldn’t be the last such battle for the group called “The Tigers of the Mountain.” “Mr. “Quite a battle for a little militia.” “Untrained militia,” Mike pointed out. The teams fought them straight off of their first days of range training.” “How many did you kill? Forty-two WIA, including some the doctors don’t think will survive. “He, unfortunately, did not survive the encounter,” Mike said, slipping a picture out of his jacket pocket and handing it over.
And twenty-one prisoners, unwounded.” “And Breslav? Breslav had, apparently, been directly in the area of effect of a claymore, since his torso and right arm were missing. Very impressed.” “And, of course, the intel we forwarded you,” Mike pointed out. Can I take it we might be able to avoid a border war?
After being the wrong place at the wrong time too many times, Mike had settled down in the Republic of Georgia, using part of his reward money to buy a pleasant little farm with a group of tenant farmers already in place.
However, the security situation in the area being what it was, he’d taken the opportunity to train the retainers as a local “militia.” The retainers, called the Keldara, had taken to it like so many ducks to water.