Field Commission 6

I'm summoned to the CO's office. She starts quietly, "are you much into following the news?"
"Not really ma'am."
"May I ask why?"
"Pretty much the same stuff again and again ma'am. Enough of that already in life."
She chuckles, "quite so. But you are aware, perhaps of the significance of a year ending in 90?"
"Ma'am let me guess, Battle of the Boyne is to be re-enacted."
She frowns, making her look ten years older, "what I say goes no further, understood?"
I nod.
"Brit Intel has picked up some heavy vibes, handheld neutron bombs. Now if the Unionists were boasting about anything at this point, it could all be seen as bluster. But they aren't. In fact, they are abnormally quiet. Not even a hint of the usual annual sabre rattling leading up to the glorious Twelfth of July."
I groan aloud.
She drops her voice, though not necessary, "we even have an understanding with the neoSoviets."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Their recent Dagestan and Chechnya re-flare-ups are hurting. The Kremlin itself made the offer, a summer of mutual peace, complete with a small number of observers for verification."
"Which means ma'am, both sides are free to flood their trouble zones, assuming they trust the level of mutual verification."
"The decision is no American armor in Ulster, simply too big for those narrow streets. We're scraping together all the infantry we can to help."
"What duties could we expect ma'am?"
"Nothing hardcore, Brit Paras and SAS (Special Air Service) will do things like raiding suspected locations. Americans would be used on things like VCP's (Vehicle Check Points.) To sweeten the offer, they are offering free cigarettes for the duration."
I grin, "talk about an offer you can't refuse ma'am. Everyone prefers Brit and German cigs to the 'camel poop' they get."
She laughs, "ok, free to tell the troops it's Ulster. Free to point out the historical significance of a centenary, especially powerful among those trapped in the past. But the rest, the neutron bombs and the neoSoviet agreement, not a breath."
"Yes ma'am."
A hearty cheer goes up. One sums it up best, "thank Bloody Christ we finally get something to do. And Brit ciggys - a sweet bonus."
"Ok gang, now target practise, this time some of it with rubber bullets."
We spend two months in Belfast, on VCP's. Nothing happens, nada. Two possible reasons: the Brits found the bombs, or the huge troop presence intimidated Unionist extremists, or both.
Still it is not a waste. Good practise and developed good friendships with the nearby Brit unit.
Our fall maneuvers, a surprise, friendly waves from our colleagues across the Iron Curtain. From a short distance, a Russian officer tosses a pack of cigs to me, over the wire.
I reach in my pocket, take out a pack and throw it back.
"Ok gang," as I pass em around, "let's see how the enemy lives."
He too distributes them around, in good English, "see you next time Yankee."
"I'm definitely not a Yankee sir."
He laughs easily, "quite so. Robert E Lee would turn over in his grave if he heard what I just called you. Please forgive me."
We both laugh and turn away.