First Mission 3

Malali and I join Sonali, Arezou and Gulazar, it being an all-ranks mess, field op.
Arezou smiles, "how'd it go? Hire you?"
I groan, "your CO came close to shooting me as a Russian spy. Once she was disabused of this notion, hired me as a math teacher."
Malali remarks, "now someone hasta teach her Dari first."
Arezou's eyes light up, "anyone volunteered for that yet?"
Malali drawls, "not to my knowledge. If you're interested I will pass your name to Fereshta, her choice."
Arezou drapes her arm around me in very proprietorial fashion, "of course I'm interested you moron. Now I ask y'all, ain't she just the prettiest face?"
Gulazar guffaws, "go on with you. Nothing special. All them Indian girls have that exotic look, that's why we like Bollywood movies."
I gasp, "you actually have Bollywood movies here?"
Arezou hugs me tight, "twice a week, in the mess, come with me tonight."
"Thought you'd never ask."
Malali asks the obvious, "you ever seen one? I mean one from our era."
"Heavens yes, at the university they had a dozen that had been preserved over the centuries. Miles better than the modern crap. Our moviemakers were only interested in making money."
Malali protests, "but Indira, Bollywood is a business, into making money."
"Maybe so, but at least they give good value for money."
Gulazar laughs, "see girls, told you so. Ain't an Indian alive who isn't either enthusiastic about Bollywood or dead against, thinking it a blight on Indian culture. No such thing as neutral."

Beefy Farzana the Supply Sgt looks at the uniform chit Malali proffers. "Go on with you. Nother of that stupid Fereshta's practical jokes. Take the chit back to her. You kid, haul ass, back to class before you're marked truant."
The same amused look flashes over Malali's face, same as when Fereshta was holding my wrists for dear life.
Farzana snorts, "and Sgt stripes on everything? Too much! Come on, think I was born yesterday?"
Quietly Malali replies, "you do read Russian."
"What of it?"
"Indira show her the tag."
Farzana stares in awe, "some of the letters a bit different, but holy sh**. A Lt, 3rd Batt, 5th Reg, Imperial Marines," recovers quickly, "as I was saying, get my measuring tape, be right with you."
She leaves for it and Malali winks.
She fusses all over me. In the guise of measuring, she does a lot of feeling up, "kid, ain't good news. Bra, can't issue, no size that small, don't need one anyhow. Shoes, socks, panties, can't have adult size. But it's same stuff we give the refugee girls in school, so you can get kid size. Uniform uff, massive alterations, two days wait."
She pauses, looks at Malali, "always tricky with new recruits, mosta them been living on bread and tea. Put on 20 pounds the first 6 months. Always hard to alter."
Casually Malali replies, "Indira, you answer that."
"Forget bread and tea. Only child in a middle class house, good food all the way. Two years in the Marines, French chefs, fabulous scoff, this is my size."
"What job will you do?"
"Math teacher."
"Inactive, you'll put on ten, I'll cut according."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Look kid, best to err on the side of caution. Easier to take in again than let out."
"Oh sorry."

Next stop, accommodation. A single Sgt gets a single room, 6 feet by 9, bed, chair, wardrobe, one foot square window.
Malali and I head for supper. I take half as much as the rest.
Sonali asks, "you sick?"
I blush, "only eat lots on field maneuvers. Garrison duty, eat like this."
Sonali grins, "that uh vehicle we saw, very futuristic, sleek."
I snort, "go on, ancient Mark I Dragon, only suitable for training. Mark IV is for real." I see looks of total disbelief, "Mark I, can't even buy parts anymore, gotta cannibalize."
Gulazar asks, "that pot smell, legal?"
I blush, "pure marijuana is forbidden, drastic penalties. Top Cat is legal, 10% maryjane and 90% tobacco. I wasn't smoking. Cabin air was pretty intense, whole platoon smoking up."
"Su-ure," Sonali flashes a wicked smile, "what they all say, right girls?"
Loud chorus of laughter.
Sonali continues, "tell me, pilot smoking too?"
"Yeah."
"Ever see figgers, how much it costs, train a Lt to standard?"
"Million and a half dollars over two years."
"Unf***ing real," Sonali spits out, "a pilot smokes pot, perfectly legal and a mil and a half flushes down the drain." Hard stare at me, "so pint size, you got any idea just how far that would go here?"
"How far?" I ask innocently.
From a distance of less than a foot, those hard onyx eyes stare into mine, "you and me, Sgt's. $30 a month. You got the expensive officer education, you do the math."
I gasp, "over 4,000 person-years of salary."
Malali shakes her head, "Indira, you need an attitude adjustment bigtime. They spend more on you than our entire contingent budget for a year - members and refugees. And still you have this silly misguided view that life is a bummer. French chefs no less! Now grow up!!"
This hurts, stings. I shout, "shows what you know, is a twelve year draft."
Malali gets the groggy look of a quarterback who's just been tackled by 392 pounds of screaming linebacker. "Twelve years?" she asks weakly.
"Yes!!"
She recovers fast, "still, sounds like you are making excuses. I'd bet money you had this very same attitude long before you were ever drafted. Well! Am I right?"
My hot blush says it all. By now, I'm crying. The whole thing seems so unfair.