Time Corps 13
My Cape Gloucester book isn't available yet, but I decide to be a good sport, return the Guadalcanal book in case any others are interested.
As I walk in, I see Nilofar checking out a half-dozen softcore porn. She looks with sheer amusement at the book in my hand.
"So, got those water proof socks packed?"
"I ah well ah."
"Come on, let's go to the coffee house, still daylight, your pass allows it."
Once settled, I pour out my story, all except for my findings on page 362.
"Indira, first of all, rumor has it they're going with 50,000, show of strength, make the tribals behave. So odds of climbing on a plane are slim. Second, disabuse yourself of any pseudo-romantic nonsense of leading a patrol down a jungle track. Ain't gonna happen."
"Why not?"
"Indira, use that brain for one minute. Why do you suppose we practised with a mock airport?"
The light dawns, "ah, that's what we'll do. No training or equipment for real jungle combat, we'll guard base or airport."
"Bingo, now wanna hear your real duties?"
"I'm all ears."
"Make double-dog sure the girls all take those malaria tablets properly. Be an absolute stickler, showers and clean clothes. Danger ain't a bullet, it's tropical skin ulcers and jungle rot."
"Why on earth even bother? Why not let the tribals have their fun?"
"You of all people, a history grad, should know better. Let them, everyone else wants to, soon there are 2 dozen mini-wars."
"Oh."
"Drink up and let's go before you run out of pass time."
After supper, I sit, stare vacantly at the greatly increased jeep traffic. Was Col Khan playing head games with me? No, just making sure I understand how important my duties are, even if they lack glamor, in some poor-cousin outfit. In fact, be a lot harder to keep any level of discipline in something like that, as opposed to a real patrol, with imminent danger.
Clean clothes, showers, malaria tablets, now I know.
A few days later, email announces the availability of my Cape Gloucester book. It's an anti-climax, but now I truly understand. See Guadalcanal, the enemy was disease and first-class Japanese troops. Cape Gloucester, the rain forest provided the main opposition, the Japanese being rear-echelon clerical and supply types. Fitting analogy for me!
"Roll em," the TV camerawoman says.
The TV presenter starts, "we're now visiting Reservists, seeing them prepare. Say hello to Lieutenant Indira Ramyar. Tell us Lt Ramyar, what is it you do when not a Reservist?"
As if she doesn't know, it's a script. "Student at Time Corps Academy."
"Now I know where your name rings a bell, you wrote the Irish travelogue."
"Yes, is I."
"Briefly tell the viewers your background time and place in history."
"I was born and raised in Guyana. Adult, a librarian, in circa 2000 Canada."
"Ancient history now, you look loads tougher than a librarian."
"It's well-known that Time Corps has a demanding phys ed course."
"Quite so. Now these troops of yours will be doing target practice. As well, everyone will take that first malaria tablet. So, you're almost ready to climb onto those flying boxcars."
"She's playing to the tribals in New Guinea, all of whom possess satellite TV. Way of showing resolve, the callup of the Reserves.)
The camera zooms to a line of 5 doing target practice, focuses on the immense muscular bulk of Nilofar. As they pick up completed targets, the camera does closeup on Nilofar's, score 100. The rest, best left unshown. Each line of 5, they focus on the best shooter.
Then we theatrically take tablets, me a placebo, the rest the real thing.
The TV presenter sums up, "there you have it. Any rumor we don't have the 100,000 is laid to rest. All it takes is an order and this platoon boards the plane. But really, our preference is a peaceful solution, no more loss of life in New Guinea."
Camera is shut off, pizza party starts. It's a riot, everyone devouring pizza, sharing stories.
By this time, over half the 50,000 are already aloft. With saturation TV coverage, it's like the Berlin Airlift, one behemoth after another every 2 minutes lifting off.
It works, tribal chiefs agree to UN-mediated peace talks at a neutral location, a luxury resort in the Swiss Alps. The 50,000 will remain for awhile, until things are properly cooled off.
I should be famous, TV ratings say over 2.8 billion people saw my smiling face. Yet at the newstand, the clerk says, "dear, wish my daughter were more like you, reading instead of smoking dope."
I blush hotly, pay for Le Monde.
I ponder that, what did the viewers actually see? Oversize helmet, camo face paint, they didn't see me the person, but an archetypal young Lt, of any Indo-European background.
I don't totally lack fame. The counterwoman grins, "on the house Indira, you and your friends, that was a contribution to world peace."
As I walk in, I see Nilofar checking out a half-dozen softcore porn. She looks with sheer amusement at the book in my hand.
"So, got those water proof socks packed?"
"I ah well ah."
"Come on, let's go to the coffee house, still daylight, your pass allows it."
Once settled, I pour out my story, all except for my findings on page 362.
"Indira, first of all, rumor has it they're going with 50,000, show of strength, make the tribals behave. So odds of climbing on a plane are slim. Second, disabuse yourself of any pseudo-romantic nonsense of leading a patrol down a jungle track. Ain't gonna happen."
"Why not?"
"Indira, use that brain for one minute. Why do you suppose we practised with a mock airport?"
The light dawns, "ah, that's what we'll do. No training or equipment for real jungle combat, we'll guard base or airport."
"Bingo, now wanna hear your real duties?"
"I'm all ears."
"Make double-dog sure the girls all take those malaria tablets properly. Be an absolute stickler, showers and clean clothes. Danger ain't a bullet, it's tropical skin ulcers and jungle rot."
"Why on earth even bother? Why not let the tribals have their fun?"
"You of all people, a history grad, should know better. Let them, everyone else wants to, soon there are 2 dozen mini-wars."
"Oh."
"Drink up and let's go before you run out of pass time."
After supper, I sit, stare vacantly at the greatly increased jeep traffic. Was Col Khan playing head games with me? No, just making sure I understand how important my duties are, even if they lack glamor, in some poor-cousin outfit. In fact, be a lot harder to keep any level of discipline in something like that, as opposed to a real patrol, with imminent danger.
Clean clothes, showers, malaria tablets, now I know.
A few days later, email announces the availability of my Cape Gloucester book. It's an anti-climax, but now I truly understand. See Guadalcanal, the enemy was disease and first-class Japanese troops. Cape Gloucester, the rain forest provided the main opposition, the Japanese being rear-echelon clerical and supply types. Fitting analogy for me!
"Roll em," the TV camerawoman says.
The TV presenter starts, "we're now visiting Reservists, seeing them prepare. Say hello to Lieutenant Indira Ramyar. Tell us Lt Ramyar, what is it you do when not a Reservist?"
As if she doesn't know, it's a script. "Student at Time Corps Academy."
"Now I know where your name rings a bell, you wrote the Irish travelogue."
"Yes, is I."
"Briefly tell the viewers your background time and place in history."
"I was born and raised in Guyana. Adult, a librarian, in circa 2000 Canada."
"Ancient history now, you look loads tougher than a librarian."
"It's well-known that Time Corps has a demanding phys ed course."
"Quite so. Now these troops of yours will be doing target practice. As well, everyone will take that first malaria tablet. So, you're almost ready to climb onto those flying boxcars."
"She's playing to the tribals in New Guinea, all of whom possess satellite TV. Way of showing resolve, the callup of the Reserves.)
The camera zooms to a line of 5 doing target practice, focuses on the immense muscular bulk of Nilofar. As they pick up completed targets, the camera does closeup on Nilofar's, score 100. The rest, best left unshown. Each line of 5, they focus on the best shooter.
Then we theatrically take tablets, me a placebo, the rest the real thing.
The TV presenter sums up, "there you have it. Any rumor we don't have the 100,000 is laid to rest. All it takes is an order and this platoon boards the plane. But really, our preference is a peaceful solution, no more loss of life in New Guinea."
Camera is shut off, pizza party starts. It's a riot, everyone devouring pizza, sharing stories.
By this time, over half the 50,000 are already aloft. With saturation TV coverage, it's like the Berlin Airlift, one behemoth after another every 2 minutes lifting off.
It works, tribal chiefs agree to UN-mediated peace talks at a neutral location, a luxury resort in the Swiss Alps. The 50,000 will remain for awhile, until things are properly cooled off.
I should be famous, TV ratings say over 2.8 billion people saw my smiling face. Yet at the newstand, the clerk says, "dear, wish my daughter were more like you, reading instead of smoking dope."
I blush hotly, pay for Le Monde.
I ponder that, what did the viewers actually see? Oversize helmet, camo face paint, they didn't see me the person, but an archetypal young Lt, of any Indo-European background.
I don't totally lack fame. The counterwoman grins, "on the house Indira, you and your friends, that was a contribution to world peace."
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 9:15 AM
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