SOAP 15

Violet soon found out counselling was free here. From mess conversations, she had a good feel about Nooria. She did have a number of grief issues, most very recent:
- loss of son
- loss of what had originally been a good marriage
- loss of farm, in the family 4 generations
- loss of friends in the farming community
- loss of everything her father had worked all his life for.
She was hugely impressed with Nooria's gentle ways during the first appointment, yes things will be ok.
As she joined her circle of by-now good friends, she wondered why on earth she'd ever want to go back to the city.

Salma finished her Intel correspondence course ahead of schedule. She and Kadija were still very happily together, so both went to HQ. Left 2 gaps, math teacher and English teacher.

Bill returned from a long walk, switched on the TV hockey. Originally a Saskatchewan farm boy, he'd joined the army at age 17. Took the 25 year pension. Entire career artillery due to his excellent math. Bored to death now, he'd tried being a parttime commissionaire, but it was as bad as the living dead. Tried different volunteer work, never fit. Most groups were either young or retirees, people his age were mostly too busy.
Funds adequate, decent pension and portfolio, never married, superlative health.
Tomorrow, library, liked reading the Brit papers, saucy ones.
Usually walked all the way. This time he decided to stop at the supermarket. Threw in a loonie and got a French Vanilla from the coffee machine. Sitting cup in hand, he felt dizzy, wondered if it was a stroke.
When his head cleared, he was sitting on a rock overlooking a gray ocean. Knowing he wouldn't get far without spilling, he sipped and studied the terrain. Set off along the coast.
He saw the uniforms a long ways off. Saw Charlie, "I remember you. Siege of Sarajevo. You're Devon and Dorsets."
Charlie grinned, "yeah. And you the artilleryman, your government was so short of soldiers they had you guys pretending to be infantry."
Both shook hands warmly, settled in to talk. After several hours of pleasant and not-so-pleasant recollections, Bill asked, "so what is it you people do here?"
"School, we educate Afghan refugees."
"Here? This is the end of the earth."
"Long story, tell you some time. Stay with us a bit, we'll put you in BOQ."

Bill and Charlie had just come through the food line. Violet stood, "aren't you Bill Patterson from Ponteix?"
"Yes ma'am," smile, "and you're Violet Jones."
"First Jones, then Simpson, now Jones again, my

husband died."
They settled in for an update.

Charlie quietly told Sonali, "career artillery, meaning good math."

Charlie was now in seventh heaven, a real friend, another career mil to share anecdotes.
In a few days, Bill was in uniform getting ready to teach.
Charlie sat through several of his classes. Bill was kind, patient, gave clear instruction, threw in little jokes to help students remember.
Exiting one class, Bill grinned, "glad I'm here. Good cigarette prices too."

With the departure of Salma, HQ was prodding Charlie to recommend an interim successor.
He convened another Council of War. He was recommending Saras, what did people think?
A consensus emerged, SS background is irrelevent, after all Indira had been a success. Based on merit, yes Saras was the choice.
Saras was stunned. "You did what? You know who I am."
"Were, Saras. You're different now. Indira was a darn good 2-i-c. Ain't my decision, Council of War, all my former troops."
She cried.

Bill ended up with one tough-looking chaperone. Didn't bother him, a career mil, he was used to unusual stuff. The chaperone knew not a word of English, so he did have total privacy of speech. There were compensations - any cleaning was the chaperone's job. He chuckled - guess how rich I'd hafta be in Canada to afford a live-in servant.

Bill and Charlie ran out of army stories. So they tested the waters for other topics. Charlie soon saw Bill to be very narrow-minded. Here's the acid test, Charlie asked Bill what he thought of reincarnation. Bill had never heard the word before. Charlie casually told of just having accidentally read a book on it, explained the concept.
Bill snorted, "come on now, don't you believe that hogwash. Guy just wrote it to get on Oprah's list - make lotsa money."
Well, thought Charlie, explains why Bill doesn't spot the undercurrents here.
They never fought or fell out. Just drifted apart. Charlie was used to open-minded, multi-dimensional people. He found most one-lifetime-believers shallow, lacking any sophistication.
Bill never did find a partner here. Girls had a good read on him, physical abuse.

Gradually Bill grew tired of 3 Kabul. Seeing a note appear on his table, offering a return trip to Canada at the exact time he left, he accepted. He was back at the supermarket, coffee in hand. Strangest daydream he thought. Minutes later, reached in his pocket, discovered a strange brand of cigarettes.
The MP of course found the letter, showed it to Charlie. Charlie shrugged, fun while the mil stories lasted, after that, well...

Captain Robert E Lee Guidry was already tired - August 1, 1943 the B24's were sneaking in low-level to bomb the refinery complex at Ploesti, Romania. Up ahead was Astra Romana, Ploesti's largest refinery - his group's target. His plane was assigned one specific building.
He stared in horror at the Dantesque vision. Another group had already been there, attacking this one in error. Now he had to fly through all that soup, find his building.
Flames danced hundreds of feet into the air. Many massive columns of thick black smoke. Groundfire so thick you could walk on it - Jerry must have a division down there.
A chunk of flak decapitated his friend and copilot Lt Kirby. Blood spattered all over him.
No time to worry about that, checked the altimeter one last time, plunged blind into a massive smoke column, if I'm right, clear the smokestack with a few feet to spare.
The loud explosion on his starboard side told him his friend Captain Hunnicut had collided a smokestack. He cleared the smoke, whistled softly. Right on course, his target building undamaged, naked to the bombsight.
The bombardier dropped the delayed-action bombs picture-perfect. Yes!
Home now.
German fighters met those leaving the target. Your only hope, ultra-low-level flying, making it harder for them to swoop on you accurately.
Captain Guidry arrived back in North Africa with only 3 of his 10 man crew left alive, 2 of his 4 engines still working, nose cone totally blown away, cornstalks stuck in his bomb bay doors and damaged landing gear.
Utterly exhausted, after the worst landing of his career, he switched off the engines.
The navigator, brand-new, first mission ever, was now in a state of shock. He shot the mid-fuselage gunner in the back several times with his pistol. Then before Captain Guidry's very eyes, the navigator vanished into thin air.
For the first time in his career, he cried, sobbing uncontrollably.
The MP's questioned him for days. He knew better than to lie, stayed with the story.
Since all the cartridges were still in his pistol, and all cartridges were still in pistols of all the dead men, it remains the great unsolved mystery of the Ploesti Odyssey.
Captain Guidry, exonerated of any wrongdoing, was decorated. After all, despite everything, he'd still hit his target.

Now was this murder or battle shock? Circa 2000, a lot of research has been done, most would say battle shock. In 1943, not a lot was known, most would say murder.
The navigator materialized on a rocky beach, pistol still in hand. Seeing what he believed to be MP's, he shot himself.
The quiet enjoyment of 3 Kabul's picnic was over. Charlie sent the lot home - he and the MP staying to investigate. This wasn't a modern USAF uniform, but an World War 2 one. Same as style of watch, the man's ID.
First, why was he here? Second, why did he shoot himself?
Documents on the body confirmed it was the Ploesti raid.
Then it hit Charlie, navigator=good math. This was a gift from the gods.
So why did he shoot himself? All bullets used except this last one. Of course, shot a fellow crewman, mistook us for MP's.
"Feed this one to the fish," he told the MP, "doesn't deserve proper burial."
They threw the body off a cliff.

Independent confirmation of Charlie's conclusion was quick. One of Pamela's history books had several paragraphs describing the incident, the name matching.
Charlie mused, better he shot himself, woulda hired him.

So why was Charlie cool with Indira who had done 210,000 murders and uncool with a man who had done one? Indira had been obeying orders. Maybe it's just as well Charlie wasn't a Nuremberg judge.