Time Corps 21

It's a lonely time, everyone else from the class is out on traditional-length tours, that is a year away. Like living in a tomb, the wing is so quiet.
Evenings take all eternity passing. Amount of paperwork I do, (oy, ask any young Lieutenant), is such I don't have energy for TV or reading evenings, or much anyway.
And so, I find myself looking forward to my next tour, itching to go, in fact.
The only bright spot is the month with my Reserve platoon. Again, it is an absolute blast. I'm actually on the edge of tears coming back with Nilofar in the mini-jeep.

And finally, I'm called to the big powwow. Mr Sanderson is there representing history TV, a jaunty octogenarian with the air of a retired naval officer. Ms Cohen is there, CEO of Eskimo Frozen Foods, one of the biggest sponsors of history TV. Six different brand names, all the way from ultra-discount to Cordon Bleu cuisine. Myself and Col Khan, no secretary, no minutes taken.
Obvious who's in charge here, Ms Cohen smiles at me, "Lt, my hearty congratulations on an ultra-successful tour, best history TV ratings in over 2 decades."
"Thank you ma'am."
"Everything I've seen of you, you strike me as no-nonsense, no-BS. So, to the point. Think you could handle playing Eskimo again?"
"Yes ma'am."
"There is something about Eskimos, that touches the viewers' hearts. Yeah, I grant you there are none left up there anymore. They're all stockbrokers, bankers, automechanics and computer programmers in more temperate climes. But it is one mega attention grabber. So, Greenland being totally uninhabited, here's what I propose. Same epoch as before, that is year 2100, land on Cape Desolation on the southwest coast, walk to Scoresbysund, 1/3 of the way up the east coast. Something over 2,000 miles. Your thoughts please?"
"Meaning no disrespect ma'am, aren't you tempting fate? Going back to the same well one more time?"
Mr Sanderson smiles gently, "ah Lt, we've had over 8 million emails requesting an encore. People love the Eskimo genre."
Ms Cohen continues, "look at it this way. You've firmly established yourself as an Eskimo already. This trip would carve it in stone. Any tour you make after that, wherever it is, you will get very positive reception from viewers. People just plain like Eskimos, so a mediocre story could be a good one, you get the point, positive spin. But surely you are right, a third Arctic trip would be foolhardy."
I shrug, "well ma'am, why not then?"
She smiles, "now, let's talk photography. Your training here was more for portraits. No training on landscape, yet you still shot good film, for an amateur that is. Mr Sanderson will arrange training with a landscape pro."

And so I spend a month tagging around behind a world-famous landscape photographer. He produces high-end coffee table photo books and postcards. I learn an assortment of tricks of light and shadow, of angles.
And then, back to the gym and study maps. It looks very demanding, but I'm not afraid.
I think back to Guyana days. Everyone admired pictures of winter, of Christmas. Yep, winter is one huge status symbol there. Means you've been away, Outside, faced cold. And who more than me?

As we lift off, my ear picks up an irregular rhythm in the starboard engine. I push it out of mind, surely pilot and co-pilot know what they're doing.
We head up the east coast of the USA, cross eastern Canada, out over the Labrador Sea on an approximate northeast course to Cape Desolation.
We're halfway across Iceberg Alley, me snapping lotsa photos of the sheer glittering awe, when the starboard engine explodes. One wing almost totally destroyed, we're now spiralling down with mega G force, starting at Mach 4 speed.
I black out before we ditch.