TIMEJUMP

"Ten-hut."
 The eight of us,  all lieutenants rise as Colonel Strasser and General Koslov enter.
The general, a hard-bitten blonde of maybe 45 says, "as you were."
We resume our chairs.
She smiles icily, "I understand there are certain problems as to who gets the mission.  Some of you are openly questioning Col Strasser's authority.  Well, deal with me."  She gestures to Ilse, the stunning blonde bombshell.  "Please explain why you feel you deserve it, above all the others.'
Ilse swallows uneasily, "I did get the second best marks.  Strong family military tradition, my mother was commander during the siege of Scoresbysund in Greenland."
Gen Koslov stiffens, "make no mistake, a prize beyond belief. Yes we in Time Corps have done Mickey Mouse jumps, century or so.  Easy.  This is Mount Everest.  Ten thousand years back, pass through the epoch of the World Wide Nuclear War.  All the way back to circa 2000.  First time it's ever been done.  Canada, Calgary of those times."
I stiffen.  I know the exact historical significance.  I did my Master's thesis on circa 2000 Canadian history.  The rest, widely varying topics.  In my heart of hearts, I know I'll get the mission. Despite being a draftee. Despite knowing there's coinflip odds of getting back alive.
The general motions to me,"and you tell me why you declined to volunteer."
Polite,"ma'am I felt myself not worthy of such an honor."
Icy smile, "Col, who had the best marks?"  Pure theatrics, she knows.
Col is quieter than I've ever heard. "Lt Sonali Samar did."
"Now listen," the general asserts, "this is it.  No appeal, no backtalk. Lt Samar goes.  You see, the primary mission is to fit in, to pass as a citizen of the times.  At 5'1", Lt Samar is a bit short, but passable.  Rest of you, 6'6" and up, attract attention, compromise the mission.  Dismiss."
With that, she leaves.  A storm of protest greets Col.  
Wan smile, "you heard the boss. End of story."
As people file out, Col signals me aside, "you know the real why of this?"
"Ye-ah."
"Don't do anything heroic.  Get back alive with the info.  You are an observer, not a participant.  Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"The temptation to kill that one individual would be overpowering.  Don't give in to it.  Just report back."
If you think a mere Time Corps Lt deserves a ride in a Mark IV Gorgon, newest of the new, well forget it.  I report to a Mark I Gorgon, bunch of marines on a training flight.  I'll hitch a ride.
The thing looks like it's held together with the proverbial chicken wire and chewing gum.  A massive 6"11" black corporal grins.  In a Trinny accent, "lemme guess.  They done sent you to find out where the libraries is."  Everyone laughs.
A 6'8" Afghan gives me a condescending look.  With a smirky tone, she says, "you old-fashioned people are disgusting.  Disgrace to modern women. Mother didn't feed you?"
I blush, as everyone roars with laughter.  Pilot orders us to board and buckle.
Once we're aloft, no-smoking light goes out.  Everyone is lighting Top Cat.  One-quarter marijuana, three-quarters tobacco.  In minutes the cabin air is thick.  I'm totally baked.  Lot smaller than the rest and no experience, thus no tolerance.
The Gorgon hovers over a too-bare terrain.  Copilot says, "get with it kid.  Alberta Foothills."
"No way," I assert "doesn't match the photos or map.  You got the coordinates wrong."
Copilot doesn't bother to argue, turns me over to pilot,  a major, "out the hatch, kid."
I'm too stoned to go anywhere, take a few hours to sleep it off.  As I awake, I realize the problem.  Beacon on me has fifty kilometer range.  If I don't get within 50 klicks of my rendezvous by end of mission, I'm stranded in time.
After a short walk, I run into a little girl fetching water.  Politely she tells me I am only a short walk out of Jalalabad.  This cheers me up.  When I arrive, I check a newspaper kiosk.  Ouch, ten years out of time sync.  Try using money and ID supposedly printed in 2005, when it is really 1995.  Also, my beacon is worthless, once I am out of time sync.
So-oo what skills do I have?  Thank the heavens mother was strict, insist I  learn Dari and Pashtu.  Looks like I'm gonna be a letter writer in the market.