First Mission 1

"Ten hut," the General and Colonel enter the room. The eight of us, all Lieutenants, come to attention.
"As you were," Gen Federov says. We resume our seats. The Gen, a good-looking blonde of maybe forty, glances at each of us individually. "Right, only one volunteered for the mission. Six are dead-set against going," glances at me, "and one declined to offer an opinion."
Lighten up Gen, I think, we's all draftees, what y'all expect?
"Should be easy, choose the volunteer, right? Not on your life. Mission requires stealth, invisibility. A gung ho volunteer would draw attention, compromise the mission."
Elke, all 6'4" stunning Nordic goddess of her, blushes furiously.
"Other considerations abound. Height, we're going back in time to circa 2000. Now if y'all were men, a 6'4" and a 6'3" one would pass. Women, too noticeable. And one," glances at me, "too short, at 4' 11 1/4". Now if she were white, too conspicuous. But being Indian, she'd pass."
Lucky me, I think sarcastically.
"In this era, we're totally non-racial. Circa 2000 wasn't. So, take 7 whites and 1 Indian. We are trying to infiltrate Canada. A white person with an accent would draw far more attention than an Indian."
Oy, I groan inwardly.
"We're trying to plant our observer in the lower echelons of Canadian society, places where references won't be checked. Does this not point to a visible minority?"
I see the others nod.
"Each of you has a degree in Classical History, that is pre-World Wide Nuclear War, ten thousand years ago," pause for effect, "only one wrote her thesis on circa 2000 Canada."
Me, oy, this is a kangaroo court.
She catches my eye, "so Lt Persaud, like to volunteer?"
Stiffly, "Gen, with all due respect, I shall obey orders, but decline to volunteer."
"Very well, let's check peer opinion. Lt Reinprecht, do you think you should go or Lt Persaud?"
Elke smiles wanly, "Gen, I believe I am more qualified."
Gen asks everyone else. All endorse me. Mona smiles, "Gen, obvious, Lt Persaud knows more of circa 2000 Canada than the rest of us combined."
Gen turns, "Col Steinbrenner, may I ask who had the best marks of this class?"
"Lt Persaud, by a large margin."
"And why do you think this is so?"
"It is not politically correct to say anything racial, but it's a well-known fact that Indian parents are exceptionally demanding, produce good study habits in their children."
Gen's eyes rest on me, "and of course, we need plain-looking, average, even mousy. Too beautiful and it draws attention."
Thank you, you horse's patoot, and may the bird of paradise crap all over your toast.
"Lt Persaud, look on this as a great glorious opportunity. With this experience, you'll get enough material for a Master's thesis, all on our time."
If I am lucky enough to return alive.
Gen sees the smug looks on the others, "Lt Persaud will miss our adventures in New Guinea." They try to look contrite, except Elke who looks disappointed.

Later in the mess, Mona asks, "think she really meant New Guinea?"
Elke laughs, "don't be a moron. What does anyone there know that the Empire wants to? Said that cuz y'all looked too smug."
Claudette grins, "why us? Saw on TV, only one in 386 drafted."
Elke guffaws, "use your noodle. We all have I+ blood. Totally immune to any disease, past or present. Only one in ten thousand has I+."
I snort, "totally unfair. Under 5'4" you're exempt combat duty. Why not exempt this crap?"
Elke pastes on a way too superior smile, "shows what you know Indira. Through most of human history, 5'0" was the norm. Only last five or so generations prior to the World Wide Nuclear War were taller. Now you Indira, got us all beat. You can travel to far more times and places than the resta us combined. See that light skin of hers? Could pass as sort of white. Indians and Hispanics have similar features. Indira could be white or Indian at almost any epoch in history, right?"
Resounding chorus of yesses.
Mona laughs, "so maybe the Gen ain't so stupid. Just a minute, why Canada? A backwater. Military an underfunded clown show, back of the pack with NATO, North Atlantic Treaty Organization. Near bottom rung with the OECD, Organization for Economic Cooperation and Develoment. Absolute back of the pack in Research and Development spending."
Elke grins at me, "you clue her in Indira or I will."
I defer.
Elke speaks in professorial tone, "this mission is to Calgary Canada. Now go back to history lessons. What famous, I mean infamous person grew up in Calgary, became more well-known after moving Stateside?"
Claudette gasps, "Heinrich Strasser of course."
"Bingo, so this mission is just recon, suitable for rookies like us. Who goes in next?"
"An assassin of course. But that's against rules, altering history."
Elke grins, "take a vote. Who here says Strasser should die?"
Unanimous.
Claudette smiles wanly, "but that makes our history degrees worthless. Everything changes."
Elke laughs, "so look on the bright side, we all get to go home."
Cheers.

Next morning, I'm in Col Steinbrenner's office, going over details. Deadpan she asks, "so, what you think of yesterday's meeting?"
"Col, you should know by now, I simply do not offer opinions."
"Off the record, you feel the Gen was fair or unfair?"
"Col, off the record, life itself is unfair."
She laughs easily, "how very Indian of you. So why didn't you just volunteer? Surely you could see it was inevitable?"
I don't reply.
"Just go, do it, very career enhancing mission."
"Col, I am a draftee, not a career officer."
"Go on, a history degree is worthless in the job market. Once you get out there, experience the sheer intoxication of time travel, there's no going back."
"Col, what are the mathematical odds I won't return from this routine mission?"
"Lt, your odds stand head and shoulders above anyone else's odds in that class. More knowledge of time and place. You have more ability to improvise than the rest of them combined. Look I won't insult your intelligence. You are a way too smart to not understand the real why of this mission."
"We-ell Col, Calgary was a clue."

A Mark I Dragon is totally obsolete, suitable for training only, parts unavailable, must be cannibalized. It carries thirty passengers, equivalent to a Marine platoon, plus pilot and copilot. I join 1st Platoon, B Company, 1st Battalion, 2nd Regiment on a training exercise. They are all macho-looking women, "real Marines", 6'2" and up.
A 6'6" Nordic goddess Sgt grins, "hey kid, don't look old enough to join. Don't even look old enough to bleed. Draft board musta made a mistake on your file."
A 6'4' massive black Cpl guffaws, "lemme guess pint size, they done sent you to find out where the libraries is."
An Indian Cpl sniffs, "I just hate seeing people like you. See nine tenths of Indians are real women now. You, go back to elementary school."
It hurts more coming from a fellow Indian, I start to cry, but it's drowned out by the roaring of the twin Maybach motors.
A minute after takeoff, the no-smoking lights go out. Everyone is lighting up Top Cat - 10% marijuana and 90% tobacco. Top Cat is legal, but pure marijuana isn't. Even the pilot and copilot are smoking up. Oy vay, doesn't bode well.
The Indian, strapped in next to me, offers me a Top Cat. To be polite, I take, but puff very lightly. Still, with all that second hand smoke in a sealed cabin, I'm high as a kite.
The Dragon stops, hovers a few feet above surface. The copilot, glassy eyed, orders me to dismount, arrived at my coordinates.
I'm so totally baked, I simply curl up in a blanket for a short nap. Awake, clear eyed.
Now they say this is the Alberta Foothills, but I'm guessing nav error. Too bare, gray, craggy, no powerlines, buildings, farms, roads or other evidence of humans.
I spot the jeep coming, four Arabic-looking women in blue and white naval-type uniforms. Classical era hydrocarbon vehicle, classical era Kalishnikovs, not modern blasters.
The driver remains in her seat. A young Lt, a midage Sgt with the hardest onyx eyes I've seen on this planet and a 17 year old Pvt dismount.
Lt leads, "near every Indian knows English. Do you?"
"Yes ma'am."
Lt orders Sgt to search me. No weapons of course. Some phony Canadian ID and $2,000 in small Canadian bills.
"Long ways from home, "Lt drawls, "twelve thousand miles from Canada. So what you doing on our island?"
News to me, an island. "Ma'am, I'm afraid my ride dropped me in the wrong place."