“I’ll pass all of this on,” Kortotich said, pocketing the picture. “And I give you the thanks of Russia, for what it’s worth.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will have some use in the future,” Mike said, smiling faintly. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Take care, Colonel.”

* * *

“Back into training again,” Nielson said in a satisfied tone. “Nothing like a little live-fire exercise to get the blood pumping and the troops motivated, but now they’re going to think they know it all.”

Colonel David Nielson was the senior officer of the group Mike had hired to train the Keldara. The colonel’s field credentials were impeccable but he was, at heart, a trainer. He loved taking soft clay and molding it into soldiers. As such he’d been a very good choice to lead the training, although some of the trainers, notably the SEAL and Marine Recon members, had questioned having a regular Army guy in charge. That was until they started to see the results.

Mike had been flown back to the serai, courtesy of the Georgian government, which was being remarkably friendly at the moment. He’d consistently tried to downplay the Keldara, but having a fraction of their force wipe out a Chechen “battalion” was, he was told, being discussed at the highest levels. It had also made the international news, although the story for press consumption was a special Georgian commando group. Which, in a way, they were.

“Get that out of their system with a good, solid after action review,” Mike said. “I’ll be on the grill, too.”

“Everyone was involved,” Nielson pointed out. “Who conducts it?”

Mike started to answer when his sat phone rang.

“Jenkins,” he said.

“Pierson, go scramble.”

“Scrambled, how’s it going, Colonel?” Mike replied when the system was in place.

“I thought it was going to be a year before you were fully in the groove?” Pierson said. “What’s with making network news?”