SQUADRON

Sergeant Elke Althaus removes the cigarette from her mouth.  Theatric sip, grin, "Meena, if you were a guy I'd marry you."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Best darn field coffee in the whole army.  Don't you Afghans usually do tea?"
"I's one of those dis-graces, a westernized one."
She laughs easily, "I knew for a goldplated fact the Draft Board was insane when I first met you.  Why else send a 4'11" history grad to command an armored car squadron with UNPROFOR in New Guinea."
I laugh, don't reply.
"Meena, we gotta keep an eye on Private Sanderson."
"How so?"
"Normal around here is to arrive mad as blazes, endless hate mail to the Draft Board, your Member of Legislature and the Empress herself.  It just ain't normal to arrive with that quiet crushed look like her."
"Meaning ah well .."
"You got it, one fine day step behind a tree, use your blaster." Grin "well nuff chitchat, let's tour."
We hop in a blue UN jeep, head down the washboard road to the location of Pluto 5, an armored personnel carrier.  As we arrive, Master Corporal is regaling the girls with stories I rather suspect are anatomically impossible.  Still wouldn't want to call her on it, my knowledge of kink is sub-par.  I don't want to interrupt so we let the story go on.
"Lieutenant," M/Cpl grins, "starboard engine, still overheating."
"Overheating the same amount?  Or more?"
"Same.  Useless motor pool lunkheads, seen this baby a sixpack of times.  They do dick.  That Lt Guidry in charge, spends all day staring glassy eyed at porn on her handheld."
Everyone laughs.
"What you need to do Lt," M/Cpl grins, "go up to her in the mess, hug her, start French-kissing."
Drily I reply, "never work.  First, I'm straight."  Loud chorus of remarks doubting this.  "Second, I've heard how she describes me.  I quote 'little matchstick girl who belongs in junior high.'  So, gotta Plan B?"
"Yeah, steal her handheld, ransom is the repair job."
Loud howls of laughter.
"Any other problems, M/Cpl?"
"Yeah, look at the 88 mm cannon mountings.  These insane roads are fracturing them.  Need an appointment with the armorer."
"We-ell, should be easier than the engine repair, but not much."
Our next visit is Pluto 2, an armored car.  The girls are watching a horse race on the handheld.  Loud cheering as their bet comes up a winner.
M/Cpl grins, "won a hundred, finance a weekend of dope.  How's your day, Lt?"
"Average.  Problems with the beasty?"
"Only a shot muffler.  Every headhunter within 50 klicks can hear as we change location."
smile, "think you could exert a little influence with the motor pool Lt?"
"Not a chance, she looks at me like I'm a dis-grace to all of womankind.  Still I'll try."
At the next armored car, Pluto 3, there's a huge oil leak.  They hafta do an improv welding job, refill oil.
After our day's patrol Elke and I head for supper in the officer and sgt mess.  On our way in, we pick up mail.  I tuck mine in my pocket.  One from my brother, back home in Stornoway, Hebrides Islands, Britain.  Other is Stornoway Library Board.  In the rush of conversation and general hectic life, I forget about the letters a bit.
Next day, out on patrol, Elke and I are having a field coffee, when I remember.  Rip them open and read.  I'm aware she's talking to me, like from a distance.  Finally I hear, "Meena, you ok?"
Wordless I pass them to her.  The brother informs me my parents are divorcing, selling the business and house, leaving Stornoway.  Just can't manage socially with the other Afghans there now.  Library Board legally has to hold open my job until end of draft hitch.   But now they can't, bankrupt, shutting down.
"Bad news, Meena" Elke asserts, "maybe hafta be a career officer now."
"Oh go soak your head."
Gently, "come on, little one, don't pretend to be brave, just cry, you'll feel better."
I do, it works.  Few minutes later, we pull up at Pluto 5, hear M/Cpl telling of interspecies sex.  Uff.