Futuristic Infantry 19

Arezou's sequel is out. There are 4 ratings for movies:
G - no sex, but can allude to it in conversation
14+ - softcore porn
16+ - mediumcore porn
18+ - hardcore porn
The original was 14+; the sequel 18+. I only go because Meena insists.
I feel morose on the ride back.
Meena asks quietly, "you ok?"
"That stuff is beyond disgusting. Hollywood always goes too far."
She nods, "one thing I don't get. How is it guys are grossed out by the mere thought of sex with a woman? Come on, surely guy-guy is just as messy."
"I would think so."
Wicked smile, "but I just loved the scene with the daisy chain."
"You are sick, demented."
"Nuff of that," she replies, "do tell what you read on Portadown."
"Terrs have a code of honor. They happily butcher men and women civilians equally; but resolutely refuse to attack if there are children. It's said they'll delay an op if it would lead to one child's death."
"Admirable."
I continue, "that's how they deal with each other. Dealing with us, same code as the XMG Ra, both sides refuse to attack female army units. Male units, more the merrier."
"So we get a free ride but the Ulster women do not. Seems unfair."
"You aren't paying attention, life itself is unfair."
We both laugh.

I get a call from the front gate, "Maj, gotta Mr Smallwood here. Can't find Col Pearson around."
"Be right there."
Soon as I arrive, I recognize, Premier of Newfoundland, "good day, sir, came to visit a Newfoundland and Labrador unit?"
"Oh yes, not ah meaning to be rude, but you don't look like a Newfy to me."
I laugh easily, "I've heard that before. Come, let's have chow in the mess, give you the tour. Is it true you are a direct descendant of Joey?"
Proud smile, "oh yes."
Once in the mess, I phone Lt Duncan, tell her to join us. After a pleasant afternoon, he asks quietly, "so, the truth, how many real Newfies are here?"
Lt Duncan smiles proudly, "actually sir, I'm the only one. But I view it as an important cultural mission. At this point, over 50 of the girls are now reading Newfoundland Literature, that includes our CO."
"Wow," he says, "fabulous, keep up the good work. I'm a fan myself. Let me give you some good websites."
"Thank you sir."
"You know Maj, truth is we Newfs are falling down in our patriotic duties, big money and all. Time we made some amends. When you next tour, I'll start a program in the schools, children sending postcards. Help them to understand what the world is like, what you people are doing on our behalf."
"Sir in our profession, recognition is scant, we would love every single postcard."
"You see," he says, "the feds allow us to save face, by keeping the Newfoundland and Labrador unit alive. Time to show some appreciation."

Meena sits, grinning like the cat who swallowed the canary, "guess how you die? I mean in the story."
"I trust it will be sufficiently gruesome."
"Your head is blown off by an RPG (rocket propelled grenade) in flight, one of ours. After an exhaustive investigation, MP's conclude it was a fragging, not an accident."
"Leaving a lot of suspects, no doubt."
"Oh yes, I'll keep you in suspense. You'll be shocked when you find out who and why."
I don't care. First, it keeps her cheerful. Second, even if it gives people ideas, so what? Life is already considerably subpar. A premature exit would not overconcern me.
I stare out the window, yeah bring it on, maybe this tour.
"Earth calling Zohra, come in please."
I look at her.
"Hey look, I'm sorry. Don't go thinking stuff like that."
"How'd you know?"
"Silly question. We've been together forever. Now you forget all that and just concentrate on bringing everyone back alive," absolutely wicked smile, "besides, it wouldn't be published til after our tour. So how would it give people ideas?"
Logical point.
She continues, "you should write something, sop up some downtime."
"What could I write? Romance, don't know about that. Mystery, too sordid, enough killing already in the world. Western, don't know about horses and cattle. War, maybe, but they're such poor sellers, publishers mostly avoid them."
"So write sci fi. A disgruntled officer vanishes into a time warp, purely by accident. Ends up in circa 2000. Be dead easy for you, know all that stuff from your university thesis days."
"You know, maybe I could, got a soft spot for circa 2000 Canada, main theme of my thesis."
"Throw in enough real history and then you don't hafta use gimmicks like sex and blood and gore."
She triggers the creative impluse. That night I don't sleep. By morning, I've decided on the heroine's circa 2000 occupation, city of residence, how she covers up for faux pas and the like.
As I head for breakfast, I decide to drag Meena into the warp. Lotta comic relief as I cover up for her antics and foibles, just as I do now.
She brings her tray, "look tired, thinking on the manuscript?"
"I hope you don't mind, gonna drag you into the warp, misery loves company."
She laughs, "seems fair enough, repayment for your literary death at my hands. If your heroine finds sex, better ask me for advice, your scenes would be ridiculous."
"I'll keep the heroine chaste, but not her sidekick. Come on, I don't want porn, already too much of it. I want child-friendly stories."
"Tell me, these 2 ever get back? Or stuck there?"
"What is to come back to?"
"Come on, surely this beats being a circa 2000 dishwasher."
"Yes but not by much."
We both laugh.
She grins, "hot stuff, you got any idea how many guys I'd snag in that epoch?"
"Probably in scientific notation."
"Oh you bet, I can assure you, I'd live each day to the fullest. Afraid I'd vanish into the warp, end up back here."
"Would it not get boring over time? Surely there are only so many things one can do."
She snorts with derision, "ever read The Perversion Chronicles written in the 23rd century? You could do something different each night, still die of old age before the end of that book."
"Oh."
"So be a good sport and let the sidekick just happen to have that book in her bag when they vanish into the warp."
We laugh.

The legal case against the cocaine possessing journalists is resolved. For all but one, stiff prison sentence. For one, insuffient evidence, charge reduced to simple possession. Having served remand time, he is released.
The newspaper has very elastic moral standards. They justify keeping him on grounds he's best qualified to cover the drug beat.
Meena bags the journalist, who uses his influence to get her a proof reading job. Pays better than the army, she takes leave of abscence without pay, will miss our Ulster tour.
By now, I have considerably more respect for A/Capt Duncan. She produces, sets a good example. Her calm quiet leadership goes well. I look forward to touring with her as one of my Co Cmdr's. Besides, our literary discussions are a higher tone than most of my conversations with Meena.
Alas, one morning Meena shows in the mess, lotta bruises on her face. Eating gingerly, she tells me the story, then, "can you fix the paper so I start back today?"
What else can I do? Long term friend and fellow Afghan.
By lunch, it's done, she's legally started this morning.