Back | Next  Chapter Seven  "Frog Gear."  "This is Mike Jenkins.
I'm an advisor to a local militia in Georgia, the country not
the state. I need gear. Lots and lots of gear."  In the previous
two weeks, things had started to shake out. The house was
improving; there was heat at least and the whole place was now
spotless. The cellars were still being emptied out, but Mike was
keeping some of the stuff. There were some interesting metal
trays he suspected dated to the period of Ottoman occupancy and
wooden boxes of books in Russian, Arabic and even Greek that he
was itching to figure out. The Keldara had turned out to be
excellent craftsmen and he now had shelves in the library again
as well as a desk.  And he'd gotten a handle on his potential
militia manpower. There were a hundred and twenty of the Keldara
who were in the age and ability range to make decent militiamen.
He suspected a few of them wouldn't have the right mindset to
make the sort of soldiers he wanted, but most seemed to. The
Keldara were very