Field Commission 3

Friday lunch we've finished re-calibrating everything the Black Watch owns. We're ready to roll, if and when maneuvers are declared. Officially not a word is said. The rumor mill, as always, has a story. These babies gulp so much fuel we will be rationed to one week of maneuvers every three months.
And so it is Brenda and I climb into car after car looking important. Once inside I take out a novella and she looks at porn on her handheld.
As weeks slide by with nothing ever happening, I quietly watch all around me. Soon I spot the patterns. Everyone below the rank of Sgt has an idyllic life, a life of total indolence. Sgts and officers are completely bogged down with paper.
I make a mental note to never rush for advancement. When it comes, guess you gotta live with it. Meantime, they have a wonderful library for such a small base. Also I subscribe to a sci fi monthly and a mystery monthly. When done, I pass em on to my infantry buddies.
The foreign tour pay turns out to be a little more than I thought. So every fortnight I take the gang for beer.
Gradually I notice the draftees change. See they get tour pay too, not as much as us, but lots better than draftees back home.
Their resentment fades, not totally vanishing. They almost like the army, but would punch out your lights if you were absurd enough to vocalize that thought.
One tiny notice on the board dispirits everyone. Maneuvers are cancelled, fuel needed elsewhere, no further explanation given.
It takes its toll. About 200 of the girls hang around a big beer hall in Ulm weekends. That Saturday they get into a mega rumble with a nearby Brit unit, also grounded for lack of fuel.
In the end the CO sentences each to a day of KP. Why not more? There is only so much room in the kitchen.
The Brit CO sentences her offenders to two additional PT sessions.
But a change has come over things. Indolent laid back is gone; replaced by bored and pi**ed off.
Finally, maneuvers, the very week after Brenda departs. So here's hoping that I the only elec tech don't get swamped.
I need not have worried. Sum total of 20 minutes mobile repair, mostly stuff shaken loose. Resta the week just ride around and enjoy the scenery.
Our very last day the CO's jeep driver is suffering cramps, gets Parvana to replace her. I'm sunning myself during a halt when they pull up. Pleasant tone the CO says, "come with me. Red Four is getting real wonky GPS readings."
Finally something to do; joyfully I climb aboard.
Fifty yards later, we hit a land mine. Loud explosion. When the smoke clears, CO is nowhere to be seen. Parvana is very much alive but the jeep motor ain't.
Absolutely nothing looks familiar. No roads, powerlines, any of what modern people are used to seeing.
"Bet the ****ing blasters don't work," Parvana says uneasily.
I withdraw from holster, set low, aim for a nearby tree trunk. Nada, not even an on light. Both our watches have stopped, GPS is blank.
Uneasily I start, "reckon it was neoSoviet incoming? Start of an invasion?"
"Nope, woulda had that trademark whistle sound. Ain't them. You're the high priced help, you guess."
To stall for time, I take out a cig pack, "let's share one. Might be awhile."
"You don't ****ing know! They spend half a zillion dollars training you and you don't ****ing know!!!!"
"Chill. Ain't gonna help, getting all uptight."
"You're in charge, you decide."
"Go uphill odds are you find zilch, if you're lucky a shepherd. Downhill, better odds, connect with a road, river, railroad or coast."
Sarcastic tone, "well I am delighted to see the army is getting good value for that Spec 4 salary and tour pay. Not just another pretty face, a brain lurks behind there. Lead on oh great Einstein."
"Blow it out your ass. Just you and me, we gotta survie, stay friends, stay together. So forget rank."
She looks at me, smiles, "ok I agree. Downhill makes sense. As your pardner, not your subordinate."
I put out my hand to shake, she takes it warmly, then we start to walk.
After fifty yards the illusion simply vanishes. We're back on the same road in Germany.
CO grins, "come on, pour coffee, we'll talk."
So it was only virtual reality. I add a flavored creamer, wait for her to start.
"First I was the only witness to what happened, I waited til we were around the bend. Either of you ever hear the term Thunderflash?"
I reply, " ma'am in Antiquity, Canadian Army term or slang - I don't know which - for a training grenade, not a real one."
She chuckles, "I'm guessing you're the only one in the entire Black Watch who reads the historical column in Stars and Stripes."
We all laugh.
"The important thing is not what really happened, but the perception. If you'd seen through the virtch, it wouldn't be a valid test. But you bought the illusion, could have been anywhere, cave man days, ancient Rome, World War 2 Germany. So you passed, and with flying colors. Did what was necessary, with far less BS than most, did it fast, started right away."
Parvana and I look at each other, it starts to sink in.
"There will never ever be another fake, you are only tested once. So next time, could be a land mine left over from WW6 or neoSoviet incoming. You are outa date in your beliefs. They've engineered it silent now, the whistle sound is obsolete."
Parvana blushes.
"When we test, it is never outa idle curiosity but need. Parvana we are short one section commander, that's you Cpl now. Lily, I just never know what to make of you. You have an absolute talent. Just never seen a regular that draftees have an ounce of respect for. And since our platoon commander was sent home medically, that's you. Lt in charge of ground support, starting right now."
Politely I reply, "thank you ma'am." Inwardly I groan, talk about deja vu. The wholesaler scenario all over again.
"So party is over Lily. I understand the previous Lt left rather a lot of undone paper. There are no fewer than a dozen pieces of HQ hate mail on my desk, undone paper in that area."
I raise an eyebrow.
"To help the process along, I have taken the liberty of numbering then in order of priority. Now drink up, Red Four really does have wonky GPS."
What an anticlimax! Loose connection, spot in in five seconds.
Payday comes. I'm morose as I sit in my tiny cubicle. I am in the throes of battle with what the CO labelled #4 hate mail. But in the meantime three more arrived. We-ell least I'm breaking even, not giving up ground to the enemy.
From a distance I see the swagger in Parvana's step, ridiculous, like an old time cop movie. So lemme guess, she either got laid or killed someone. Maybe both.
She stops at my cubicle, sees no spare chair, simply helps herself to the next cubicle chair and plants her butt, "so y'all see what the mess is serving tonight?"
"Bet that stuff has been in a warehouse since days of Custer."
She laughs, "get the history right. Freeze-dry hadn't been invented then. Still I'm guessing some of that stuff has been round since Westmoreland."
I laugh.