Futuristic Infantry 2

I emerge from the meeting to discover a corporal-courier waiting, "you Major Zamani?"
"Yes."
"ID please."
I produce.
She takes out an 8 1/2 by 11 thick sealed envelope and I sign. My heart drops seeing the label, "don't run away just yet Cpl."
I tear it open. Sweet - an operational tour. My joy lasts all of 3 seconds, "Cpl, have to take it back. You're my witness I saw the cover page only."
"Why ma'am?"
"For Maj Arezou Zamani, Dunvegan Dragoons. I'm Maj Zohra Zamani, 3rd Battalion, Torngat Highlanders."
Instant suspicion, "you don't look like a Newfy to me."
"Cpl, if you bothered to read the newspaper even thrice per year, you'd know no one in Newfyjohn joins anymore. All that offshore oil, big bucks, why bother with the army?'
"Oh, sign here and I'll witness."
"6 miles up that road, on your right, lotta armored cars parked."
Morosely I watch as she mounts her scooter, heads north. Too late for paper now, I head for supper, choose a window seat. As I watch, 3 obviously drunk soldiers and 2 MP's get into a fist fight.
My friend Meena, who commands A Company, joins me.
"Those yours?" I ask, pointing.
"Oh no, 3rd time this month for them. Gonna read them the Riot Act, send them to you."
Just exactly what I need, I think acidly.
"Forget all that crap, Zohra. It'll keep. Serious stuff to talk bout. See my girlfriend is getting to be a problem. Things started out equal, now she's pushing, wants me to do all the work."
So goes my evening. I get back late, feeling utterly wiped and crash. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
I'm soon disabused of this notion. Newly minted Lieutenant Duncan shows, "ma'am, nothing personal, nothing against you, but I'm requesting a transfer outa this battalion."
"May I ask why?"
"Ma'am, I was defrauded, told this was the Newfoundland and Labrador unit. It ain't, I'm the only Newfy in the whole place."
"So where is it you want to go? It's not like there are other Newfoundland and Labrador groups."
She pauses, stares out the window a moment, blushes, "I ah never thought of that. So I guess I'm the only Newfy in the whole army."
"I would imagine so."
"And from what I hear, every place is as screwed up as this or worse."
I nod.
"Well then, pointless to move."
"Lt perhaps you could look upon it as a cultural mission. Help introduce people to literature from there. Lotta good authors over the years."
"No one has written anything but crap for the last 50 years."
I nod.
"But I do like the Classics. Yes Maj, I'll take you up on that suggestion." She leaves, looking cheerful. I'm relieved. Any idea how hard it would be to replace her?
The phone rings, the other Maj Zamani. Does she waste one nanosecond on courtesy? On hello fellow Afghan? Not on your life, rude as all get out, "so when are you sending A Co?"
"And why would I do that?"
"You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Hey sorry if I seemed a bit ah abrupt. My ground support was taken away, to aid some other unit in New Guinea. Now, Ulster tour coming up for us. Time to rob Peter to pay Paul."
I hang up, chuckling. If orders really do come through, she's the loser. A Co is down to 20 now. So where are the rest? Stockade, brig, civvy jail, sick bay, hospital, rehab center and detox. So there!
My frivolity is short-lived. The same courier shows. I am to render B Co, which costs me 45, instead of 20. I mean how sadistic can you get? They coulda chosen C Co, would only cost 30.
So there you have it, a whole battalion. On paper we are 550. Two days from now, we are 20 plus 30.
It goes downhill from there. Salima, company sgt-maj for A Co shows. She's finished the 20 years today, earliest you can go on early pension. Had enough, can't put up with another day. I really do not blame her.
Next the civvy cops show, arrest a dozen from B Co for the breakin at the local Food Bank. I chuckle, the other Maj Z's loss, not mine.
Lunch is sub-par, our best cook among those arrested. After lunch I settle in to do the paper to render up B Co to the Dragoons.
Just before supper, the courier shows. The order to send B is cancelled. No explanation given. Perhaps the Dragoon tour is cancelled.
Well, good news and bad. Good, least I keep B Co. Bad, wasted an afternoon of this nonsense when I could have done real paper.

That evening, I head for another public lecture, end up in the same coffee house. The 4 lads see me, call me over, want to show me what they've written so far.
I react to this on 2 levels. As a mil, I can offer a suggestion or 2. As a woman, I'm impressed; most positive things I've seen written about women in general for years. Maybe there is hope for the younger generation.
"So ma'am, whaddya think?"
"Lads, I'd focus just a little more on overseas peacekeeping. Most important job done."
"How did women get these roles? Centuries ago, was all men."
"Go back to the dawn of Womens Lib, 500 years ago. Started showing up in frontline jobs. Authorities soon discovered men make the best warriors; women the best peacekeepers. Nowadays, there are 8,000 warriors and 26,000,000 peacekeepers."
"Why do you suppose that is ma'am?"
"Patience. Men get bored, do something, upsets the balance. Next thing you know, the shooting starts up again."
One guffaws, "looking at nowadays, that's hard to believe. Who is fighting in every alley?"
I grin broadly, "men, they misbehave on the front and in garrison. Women, yeah they go crazy on garrison duty. On the front, where it counts, they behave."
"How many tours have you done ma'am?"
"6 in Ulster, 2 in Belize, 1 in Guyane, 2 in Cyprus, 1 in New Guinea, 2 in Sudan. So I speak from experience."
I cheerfully go on my way. Maybe life is ok or sort of.
Today's lecture is on how internet radically altered fiction publishing over the centuries. As in ease of typeset, making smaller printing runs profitable and allowing smaller publishing houses to survive and compete.
Tonight's BOQ debate is bestiality. Ufff. I'm tired, straight to bed.