AIRBORNE

Sarge taps me on the shoulder, "Nilofar come with me." I follow her reluctantly as we head across the lounge to the Zamani sisters, Gulazar and Nasiba.
"Right girls" sarge leads, "enough. This ain't a kindergarten, but a real genuine Airborne unit and yes tomorrow we go on a real genuine combat jump, backwoods New Guinea. Bear in mind your lives may well depend on each other. So what's this big dispute about? Why not just live and let live?" She gestures to them to start.
Nasiba gushes with outrage, "do you know who this piece of filth is?" and points at me.
Sarge frowns, "please take the snarl out of your voice and explain."
"This garbage happens to be a direct descendant of the infamous Omar Khan."
Sarge grins awkwardly, "history ain't my long suit. When did this happen?"
"Two hundred years ago, it was, sarge."
Sarge looks dumfounded.
Nasiba continues, "a killer warlord. Tens of thousands died during his shelling of Kabul."
Sarge turns to me, "Nilofar, your side of this please."
"Sa-arge, I'm a real Canadian citizen, eight generations in Canada, come from Toronto."
"Girls" sarge lays down the law, "I don't give a rat's behind what you do once your hitch is up. Stab each other back in TO for all I care. But here in this unit you will behave. So, right now, hug and make up." Gulazar, blushing, hugs me shyly; Nasiba does so in a resentful manner.
"Let's roll y'all" sarge calls out, "briefing time."
The 235 members of Company B fall silent as Captain Federenko raises her hand. "Right girls, tomorrow we make history. See this village on the map. Lotta murderers there we'd like to bring before a UN court. We fly in Dragons. Fifty miles from the Drop Zone, switch to silent running. Dark of the moon. You'll be beamed into position. All goes well, then we've got the village surrounded just before first light. Sergeants and officers, get kill and stun settings. Rest of you it's stun gunning only. We take everyone into custody, let Intel sort out who to keep. Questions?"
Our sarge asks, "captain, please explain the beamer risk calculation done on this mission"
Captain blushes, "sorry, should have said. One in nine thousand. Now for you rookies, that means odds are 8,999 in 9,000 you're gonna land in one piece in proper location. In fact, safer than a lotta stuff in life, if you think mathematically. Safer than motor vehicle travel or the parachutes used centuries ago. Even safer than a booze-up in TO or unprotected sex." Everyone laughs.
Captain continues, "if you are unlucky enough to be the one in 9,000 you could land anywhere on earth, any time in history. New York, Greenland, ancient Rome, you name it. Questions?"
Our sarge again, "captain, please tell us what to do if it happens."
"Don't be a hero. Don't try anything spectacular. Just try and come back alive. See if you can return you help everyone behind you, with what you learn. No one has returned yet. Be the first, win a Silver Star."
As we file out, I realize I don't give a hoot. Happen, it happens. What is life anyway? See, nineteen of every twenty draft lottery ballots are white, shorttimers. The twentieth, silver, twenty-five year hitch. Me, I'm a lifer, not like that lucky Gulazar and Nasiba.
Now I never have dreams that I remember very much of, but this one is the exception, very vivid. I see myself step into the beamer. I don't land in upland New Guinea, but on a bare, dark, craggy terrain. The landing is brutally hard, destroying my body armor and mangling my blaster. As I peel off the useless armor like the shell of a hard-boiled egg, I see two ancient hydrocarbon jeeps rolling toward me. Six hard-faced women, packing the ancient AK47 model of submachine gun.
Breakfast is somber, no one talking. Fifty miles from the DZ the smoking light goes out and we're on silent. Twenty-five of us in the Dragon, I'll be second last to jump, just before sarge.
Sure enough it works exactly like in the dream. I stand, hands in air, as a forest of AK47's point at me. After the search, they relax. After all, I'm 5'0" and they're all 5'7" and up.
A corporal has taken away my handheld. In Dari I say "don't touch it."
"Why not shrimp?", she leers, starting to play with the keys.
Well now I got three seconds, do it or not.
Fast, I snatch it out of her hand, throw it behind a huge rock. Dive for cover myself and command the others to do so in English and Dari. It throws up an immense cloud of sand as it blows.
Corporal, lying next to me, says in a tone of reverence, "that was beautiful." Murmurs of agreement.
The lieutenant in charge feels the fabric of my uniform. With a drawl, "time traveller, huh? No one makes stuff like that."
"Ma'am, I can assure you, an unintentional time traveller."
Huge grin, "saved our lives, you did. Saw your face, took you a bit to decide. Coulda taken us all with you. Come, join us for tea."