Deckard set down his second cup of coffee and opened his laptop computer. The reality of running a private military company was that there was a lot of mundane bullshit to deal with. Samruk International had expended a lot of human and financial capital lately. He had been reduced to selling off two of the company’s mammoth An-125 cargo jets. Now they only had the one An-125 and two C-27J’s left in their aviation wing. At least the C-27s had been bought dirt cheap. The U.S. Air Force decided they didn’t want them anymore after wasting millions of taxpayer’s dollars.

They had taken the oil security contract in the Arctic to keep the revenue coming in. Maintaining a small private army wasn’t cheap, and this wasn’t the way most companies did business; usually, they just hired independent contractors from job to job. Deckard was instead running a de facto military unit, and he wanted to keep his team intact.

However, as it turned out, there could be many interesting tasks rolled up under an oil security contract. Not only could those tasks include static security around offshore oil rigs, but they could also involve training other security personnel, and maybe even killing off those who would would threaten the business interests of said oil companies—threats like the Russian mafia, who had recently been acting like Arctic pirates.

Deckard’s office door swung open again. Rocheniore looked up at him with a grin.

“We got the green light,” the former SEAL announced.

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Everything is prepped and pre-staged, correct?”