Alien 7

The pilot insists I join them. I've noticed a rule with Earthling men, when not wearing a tie, can really only leave the top button open. Her new squeeze has 3 undone, the better to show off his slave collar. Still, they are consenting adults, so it's not my place to dictate. Still, that doesn't mean I hafta be friends, so I finish my coffee quick, vanish.
As always, management has other views, "shoulda hung around, maybe he has a coworker."
"Go on."
"If you ain't tried it, don't knock it."
"And you have?"
Chuckle, "take the Lt, how frantic he was. Paddle him, you'd get double, triple the energy."
"Sure and die of a heart attack or blown veins, take you with me."

My hand shakes as I open the mailbox. What business does Defence have with a Corporal Shauzia Khan?
I rip it open, under supplementary reserve regulations, I am commanded to show for a meeting Saturday, 9:00 am, at the Armory.
"So, what's this all about? How come you never told me?"
"News to me," the Afghan replies, "almost 20 years ago, reservist hitch to finance college."
"Specialty?"
"Tank Corps driver. Still alla them old wrecks are long since cut down for scrap metal."
"So why do they bother? How much time and money would it take to train up to snuff on modern tanks?"
"Got it wrong. They can't afford to field more than about a squadron these days. Regulars, besta the best. This would be an infantry gig."
"You gotta be joking. Since when are 40 year old women infantry?"
"Not crawl down jungle tracks in New Guinea style of infantry, more guard base style."
"I could handle that, 3 summer camps in the reserves back home."

It is none other than my Lt friend at the door at a card table. He checks my name off, "take a chair, you's about to be a tourist. Maybe."
I'm in shock. Surely this is one ill-fated venture. I'm definitely in the top 10% when it comes to looking soldierly. We got 80 pound overweight people here, male and female.
The Major turns on the mike, "testing," goofy grin, "you simply cannot keep secrets such as this, everyone hears anyway. So this is it, today anyhow, who knows, tomorrow maybe a different idea. Tropical tour, Republic of Guyana, naval station, Skeldon, near the Suriname border. We gotta field one company. So look around, means 9/10 of you climb on the plane. Got medical excuses, you won't talk to your Doctor, you'll talk to ours. Monday to Saturday, next 2 weeks, y'all show for refresher courses. Rifle range in the basement, as you recall. The rest as they say is details. Lt, if you would please."
Lt smiles, "before my time. One person here holds the alltime unit record score, won the gold in the big shootout in Ottawa. Well we're short, so she's our instructor. Cpl Khan, step forward please."
It's a shock, but doable, I took the silver for our regiment. Just gotta scope the Earthling rifle.
"Ah sir, I'm a bit rusty. Perhaps a few practice rounds myself."
A private takes me to the basement. After 10 shots, got er aced. These Earthling contraptions are dead simple. I fire off 100 shots from each of prone, sitting, kneeling, standing. Then the private takes the gauge, does my scores and signs as witness.
Soft whistle, "ain't never seen this. Ain't never even heard of this."
Lt drops in, feasts his eyes on my targets, "Monday 0900, you start pumping them through in groups of 5. Can't afford to waste your time, so I'll walk you through the lines."
I'm breezed in to see the Doctor, uniform supply and such.
After, Lt and I sit over coffee. "Wanna thank you for what you did. Things are great now."
"I'm pleased."
"You were pretty darn generous. I realized after, was about one nanosecond from falling for you. Would have taken just one word from you, but you didn't. Decent, honorable, women don't usually behave so."
"I should feel insulted, but I do get your meaning."
"So, friends but no more?"
"Deal."

It all falls into place. Summer 2 and 3 back home, I was a riflery instructor. Same groups of 5, so you can spot flaws quickly.
"#1, don't pull that trigger, squeeze. #3, restart that breathing drill. #5, check that left foot."
It's tedious, but good tedious, not bad tedious like Revenue. I do better even than the Doctor. 93% get qualifying scores. Doctor passed 52% as okay for an overseas trip, 71% if in Canada.
They take phone numbers, email addresses and such and we go home to wait, but be ready to show up next day.
Then we are to show Saturday 9:00. Not definite, just in case.
The day drags out to all eternity, novels, card games, computer handheld games, chat.
At 3:00 the Major, "well ladies and gentlemen, home time, but be ready."
The Lt comes on the run, paper in hand.
"Belay that last order, we roll," wild grin of joy, must be bored to death with his civvy job, "y'all should consider yourselves lucky, limo ride to the airport is free, don't even hafta tip."
Everyone laughs.
The Major signals, waves me over, "one of our Lt's is scrubbed, appendectomy. Here, put em on, you're a platoon commander."
And so 40 Earthlings fall in under the leadership of a space alien, unbeknowst to them.
As I climb into the truck, the Afghan chuckles, "hey, you're acting like this is an adventure. Ain't. Month and they'll be bored to death. Your job, make sure they take those malaria tablets, keep everyone clean, especially feet."
"That bad?"
"Been there, small groupa us accompanied a British unit in Belize a bit. Same climate. Lotta footrot, tropical ulcers. Gotta be strict."

We watch for terrs to show but they never do. Not likely they're afraid of us, more likely they got better things to do with their terr time. This place ain't worth the dynamite cost.
So why are we really here? Low cost way of appeasing our allies, meeting our numerical commitments.
Life is the same as the Saturday in the Armory, endless chat and games.
At first, I get ribbed a lot over my foot obsession. This soon disappears when tropical sores show up everywhere but my platoon.
The Major even recommends me for a Regular Force commission, but could take forever hearing from the Crystal Palace, National Defence HQ.
The Major's place on the surgery waiting list comes up. As he leaves, he names me.
Pronto, I've got 235 Earthlings lined up on parade.
"Tired of the lotta you. Had enough with all this slipshod sanitation. Here on in, Stickler City all the way. Now, everybody, boots and socks off and I mean now."
I walk up and down rows, making notes on my palm pilot.
I overhear griping at first, women go berserk in positions of power. As the feet start to improve then this vanishes and I start to get respect.
Sitting over coffee, Lt grins, "you are the absolute first I've ever seen do that. Reservists are notoriously lax, hating discipline, regimentation. Yet you did it, made it stick. I couldn't do that. Even the Major couldn't. So, how'd you manage?"
"Never underestimate a woman Lt."
"I been watching you a lot. Whole lotta stuff does not add up. Finally figgered, you're an alien."
I gasp, spill coffee.
"Don't worry, secret is safe with me. You're a hero, for bringing these people back home healthy. You must have mil experience back home."
"3 summers reserves, corporal."
He laughs happily, "all the more remarkable. If you were a 20 year vet, a Col, I'd understand. But that's one heck of an achievement for you."
"Thank you."
"Nother thing I spotted, back home you're a guy."
"I was double-crossed. Meant to be a US Army sgt, a man. Techie switched it."
"And you're still less than thrilled?"
I nod.
"Ever going back?"
"Nope, in exile."
"Criminal?"
"Nothing that's a crime here. Lack of sufficient social interaction. Genuine black-badge asocial, one in 10 million."
"Bad luck."
"Not really, I admire Earthlings. Though poorer, there is far more freedom."
"So what exactly qualifies one as asocial?"
"Persistent refusal, after attaining age 19, to live with a registered girlfriend."
"Not gay?"
"Nope."
"Just a loner?"
"Yep."

The health demon whipped, it becomes a magical time. Endless bull sessions, I feel so alive, so accepted.
After 6 months, we turn over to another Canadian unit, come home. I turn over command to the Old Man, turn over the platoon to the now-recuperated appendectomy and walk out as what I started.
Absolutely nothing comes back from stuff the Old Man recommended, not yes, not no, not even receipt acknowledgement.
The loneliness is crashing. The contrast throws my civvy like into stark relief.
During the tour, the Afghan confined herself to the practical, well aware of rules on fraternization. Now, she's back to her old ways, demanding. Oy!