SOAP 1
The ferry crossing from Belfast to Liverpool was almost ten hours. The Devon and Dorsets were in full celebration, just ending a Northern Ireland tour in XMG (Crossmaglen), bandit country down near the Eire border. By the time they saw the lights of the Isle of Man, two-thirds were paralytic.
One man in particular was in high spirits, Sergeant Charlie Thompson, a 21 year veteran. For him, this was completion of his thirteenth Ulster tour. The unlucky number had spooked him a bit. What spooked him more was his adoptive sister Pamela, talented reading tea leaves, who had predicted he'd never return from 13th. She flat out had told him to retire.
Well the army was his home, only skill he had, he'd disregarded her advice. Now here he was, safe and sound. Not even the helicopter crash nor the rocket attack had got him. Pamela had been wrong.
Not really, the D&D's arrived in Liverpool short one man. Sgt Thompson, intoxicated, had fallen overboard.
He came to in a darkened room half dozen beds, faint night light. Found the loo at the end. After attending to business, he drank some water, tried to swish off some of the oil and salt.
Only one other bed was occupied, woman, fattish, white but not really, both wrists bandaged, probable suicide attempt.
He couldn't get back to sleep what with the blinding headache. So Pamela was right, was he dead or alive now? He didn't even know, hurt too much to think.
The first faint light of day filtered in and he took stock. Uniform, still damp with oil and salt, was hanging near his bed. He was dressed in a hospital gown. He wished he had tea and a cigarette. The nurse peeked in, saw him stirring, called the officer.
A hard-bitten, hard-eyed woman of 5'9", 150 pounds, wearing Lieutenant bars asked, "what in blazes are you doing here?"
"Ma'am, I was about to ask you the same."
"So, Sgt Thompson of Devon and Dorsets, what happened?"
"Fell off the ferry."
"Which ferry?"
"Belfast to Liverpool."
"So, you were on an Ulster tour?"
"Lucky 13th."
"You darn well fall off a ferry half a world away and new you're here?"
"Ma'am, if I were lying, wouldn't I at least try something more believable?"
She laughed, "right, breakfast and we'll try and sort this out."
On the way to the mess, Lt asked "so how do you know Dari?"
Shrug, "is that what it is?"
"You know a language and don't know what it is?"
"Ma'am, I'm not originally English. Little boy in Czechoslovakia during the mayhem in 1968. Maybe age 5, escaped to the west, no clue on my real ID."
Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face. Son of foreign workers in Czech? Very possible. Parents originally Afghan? Could be. "By the way, I'm Malali, no surnames or rank here, security, we use first names only. I'll call you Charlie."
They sat with Sonali (sgt), Tasma (cpl) and Nilofar (Warrant officer and math teacher). Of course everyone wanted to hear the story.
"Me and Sgt York, WO MacLean, Lt Simpson, Sgt Barry, we were drinking gin on the carpark deck. Went over to the rail to throw up, fell in."
Sonali grinned, "you boys always drink so?"
"Not usually, but after an Ulster tour, yeah. Crossmaglen, bandit country, lucky me, my 13th Ulster tour."
They all laughed, by now they liked him.
Nilofar asked "tell me what you felt, I mean as you were falling?"
"Darndest thing. Like I fell forever, through a tunnel, like I fell thousands of miles."
Nilofar's eyes narrowed, "what date did it happen?"
"Date? Don't be daft, last night, December 17, 1998."
People stared at him in catatonic shock. Nilofar broke the ice, "ever read sci fi Charlie?"
"Time to time, standing radio watch."
"Know of time warps, wormholes?"
"Yeah."
"You're in one. You aren't going back."
He groaned.
Malali summed up, "right. Burn his uniform. So oil-soaked it'll never be clean. Sonali, you look after him. Probably need three soapy, steamy baths. Also clue him in on the code of conduct. Clothes, no problem, least half of us are bigger than he. Get him 2 uniforms."
Malali turned to Charlie, "after that, you and I talk. We'll fit you somewhere."
As Charlie bathed, Sonali told him of the place. Kerguelen Island, Southern Ocean. 100 women members and 1,000 refugees (women and girls) attending the school.
Sonali grinned, "now the rules, you need a chaperone, we'll fix you up with an 80 year old in a burqa."
He groaned.
Sonali flashed a wicked grin, "only one loophole around that."
"I'm all ears."
Another wicked grin, "rules of conduct on field operations concerning encounters between members and any men they might encounter. No anal, oral, vaginal, only manual permitted. Now if you think you can manage that, well you and I could get a Married Quarters unit, no need of a chaperone."
Used to sizing up people quickly, he grinned, "sure."
By lunch he was pink-skin clean, wearing a shalwar kameez, long loose shirt and trousers of baby-blue and off-white.
Sonali and Charlie joined the gang for lunch. Sonali announced they'd be sharing a MQ unit. He was surprised at the reaction, no jealousy, people seemed happy for them.
Now there was a reason why Sonali wasn't in a lesbian relationship. She just didn't have that high-voltage, politically correct makeup.
Malali gently pumped him for info. 13 Ulster tours, 3 in the mayhem of former Yugoslavia, 1 tour in Belize and 2 in Cyprus; including one hitch in 1 Para and one in the Special Air Service.
After lunch Malali interviewed him. She was in charge now, the regular commander being sent home medically.
During the interview, a strong suspicion formed in her mind. "Ok, drop it for today. Tomorrow you write the exams, I can mark them here."
Turned out she was right, strong math skills, 99th percentile of the population in ability.
She smiled, "be a math teacher with us. You'd be a WO. In fact, as WO you'd get more than me.
Shrug, "ok, sounds fun."
Sonali and Charlie joined the mess bull session. After maybe an hour, the massive 5'10" Wahida fixed a hard eye on him. "you owe us buddy, a good story."
"Sure what would you like?"
Wicked smile, "your worst date."
He blushed, oh well here goes.
"Me and Lt Simpson, we were in London on technical course. We were in a nice coffee house, next table turned out it was two closet lesbians who were university professors. Now they needed someone to be pretend dates at a Faculty Club meeting of their department. Lt Simpson says sure, why not, food'll be good there. Anyhow, I ended up with the real hardcore drinker. She was drinking too much red wine. Ended up throwing up all over me."
Howls of laughter.
"It got worse. She fell onto the buffet table, rolled around in the food and vomit."
Laughter went up ten decibels.
As people whooped, cheered, punched his arm in fun, he knew he had passed the test.
Waheeda grinned, "your clothes? Cleaners get the stain out?"
"Yeah."
"Consider yourself the winner. I don't suppose this helped her career prospects any."
More laughter.
One man in particular was in high spirits, Sergeant Charlie Thompson, a 21 year veteran. For him, this was completion of his thirteenth Ulster tour. The unlucky number had spooked him a bit. What spooked him more was his adoptive sister Pamela, talented reading tea leaves, who had predicted he'd never return from 13th. She flat out had told him to retire.
Well the army was his home, only skill he had, he'd disregarded her advice. Now here he was, safe and sound. Not even the helicopter crash nor the rocket attack had got him. Pamela had been wrong.
Not really, the D&D's arrived in Liverpool short one man. Sgt Thompson, intoxicated, had fallen overboard.
He came to in a darkened room half dozen beds, faint night light. Found the loo at the end. After attending to business, he drank some water, tried to swish off some of the oil and salt.
Only one other bed was occupied, woman, fattish, white but not really, both wrists bandaged, probable suicide attempt.
He couldn't get back to sleep what with the blinding headache. So Pamela was right, was he dead or alive now? He didn't even know, hurt too much to think.
The first faint light of day filtered in and he took stock. Uniform, still damp with oil and salt, was hanging near his bed. He was dressed in a hospital gown. He wished he had tea and a cigarette. The nurse peeked in, saw him stirring, called the officer.
A hard-bitten, hard-eyed woman of 5'9", 150 pounds, wearing Lieutenant bars asked, "what in blazes are you doing here?"
"Ma'am, I was about to ask you the same."
"So, Sgt Thompson of Devon and Dorsets, what happened?"
"Fell off the ferry."
"Which ferry?"
"Belfast to Liverpool."
"So, you were on an Ulster tour?"
"Lucky 13th."
"You darn well fall off a ferry half a world away and new you're here?"
"Ma'am, if I were lying, wouldn't I at least try something more believable?"
She laughed, "right, breakfast and we'll try and sort this out."
On the way to the mess, Lt asked "so how do you know Dari?"
Shrug, "is that what it is?"
"You know a language and don't know what it is?"
"Ma'am, I'm not originally English. Little boy in Czechoslovakia during the mayhem in 1968. Maybe age 5, escaped to the west, no clue on my real ID."
Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face. Son of foreign workers in Czech? Very possible. Parents originally Afghan? Could be. "By the way, I'm Malali, no surnames or rank here, security, we use first names only. I'll call you Charlie."
They sat with Sonali (sgt), Tasma (cpl) and Nilofar (Warrant officer and math teacher). Of course everyone wanted to hear the story.
"Me and Sgt York, WO MacLean, Lt Simpson, Sgt Barry, we were drinking gin on the carpark deck. Went over to the rail to throw up, fell in."
Sonali grinned, "you boys always drink so?"
"Not usually, but after an Ulster tour, yeah. Crossmaglen, bandit country, lucky me, my 13th Ulster tour."
They all laughed, by now they liked him.
Nilofar asked "tell me what you felt, I mean as you were falling?"
"Darndest thing. Like I fell forever, through a tunnel, like I fell thousands of miles."
Nilofar's eyes narrowed, "what date did it happen?"
"Date? Don't be daft, last night, December 17, 1998."
People stared at him in catatonic shock. Nilofar broke the ice, "ever read sci fi Charlie?"
"Time to time, standing radio watch."
"Know of time warps, wormholes?"
"Yeah."
"You're in one. You aren't going back."
He groaned.
Malali summed up, "right. Burn his uniform. So oil-soaked it'll never be clean. Sonali, you look after him. Probably need three soapy, steamy baths. Also clue him in on the code of conduct. Clothes, no problem, least half of us are bigger than he. Get him 2 uniforms."
Malali turned to Charlie, "after that, you and I talk. We'll fit you somewhere."
As Charlie bathed, Sonali told him of the place. Kerguelen Island, Southern Ocean. 100 women members and 1,000 refugees (women and girls) attending the school.
Sonali grinned, "now the rules, you need a chaperone, we'll fix you up with an 80 year old in a burqa."
He groaned.
Sonali flashed a wicked grin, "only one loophole around that."
"I'm all ears."
Another wicked grin, "rules of conduct on field operations concerning encounters between members and any men they might encounter. No anal, oral, vaginal, only manual permitted. Now if you think you can manage that, well you and I could get a Married Quarters unit, no need of a chaperone."
Used to sizing up people quickly, he grinned, "sure."
By lunch he was pink-skin clean, wearing a shalwar kameez, long loose shirt and trousers of baby-blue and off-white.
Sonali and Charlie joined the gang for lunch. Sonali announced they'd be sharing a MQ unit. He was surprised at the reaction, no jealousy, people seemed happy for them.
Now there was a reason why Sonali wasn't in a lesbian relationship. She just didn't have that high-voltage, politically correct makeup.
Malali gently pumped him for info. 13 Ulster tours, 3 in the mayhem of former Yugoslavia, 1 tour in Belize and 2 in Cyprus; including one hitch in 1 Para and one in the Special Air Service.
After lunch Malali interviewed him. She was in charge now, the regular commander being sent home medically.
During the interview, a strong suspicion formed in her mind. "Ok, drop it for today. Tomorrow you write the exams, I can mark them here."
Turned out she was right, strong math skills, 99th percentile of the population in ability.
She smiled, "be a math teacher with us. You'd be a WO. In fact, as WO you'd get more than me.
Shrug, "ok, sounds fun."
Sonali and Charlie joined the mess bull session. After maybe an hour, the massive 5'10" Wahida fixed a hard eye on him. "you owe us buddy, a good story."
"Sure what would you like?"
Wicked smile, "your worst date."
He blushed, oh well here goes.
"Me and Lt Simpson, we were in London on technical course. We were in a nice coffee house, next table turned out it was two closet lesbians who were university professors. Now they needed someone to be pretend dates at a Faculty Club meeting of their department. Lt Simpson says sure, why not, food'll be good there. Anyhow, I ended up with the real hardcore drinker. She was drinking too much red wine. Ended up throwing up all over me."
Howls of laughter.
"It got worse. She fell onto the buffet table, rolled around in the food and vomit."
Laughter went up ten decibels.
As people whooped, cheered, punched his arm in fun, he knew he had passed the test.
Waheeda grinned, "your clothes? Cleaners get the stain out?"
"Yeah."
"Consider yourself the winner. I don't suppose this helped her career prospects any."
More laughter.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 12:08 PM
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