Field Commission 7

Not two minutes later, Capt Simpson, Intel, appears magically at my side, "come on, let's find a coffee and a quiet corner."
We pour, I add a flavored creamer.
Gentle smile, "whenever there is contact that close, we wanna talk as soon as possible, before it fades, while it's still fresh."
I nod.
"Ok, let's review your impressions of the neoSoviets one-by-one."
"All male unit."
"Do you consider that remarkable?"
"Not really, they are segregated, same as we are. Only real difference is what their High Command and ours view as proper roles. Our male units tend to be along the Mex border, watching for drugs and such. They'd use female units for such as that."
"Would you guess why?"
"Not really, every society is different, changes over time. Nother century, maybe they and us have reversed the roles, again."
She laughs easily, "quite so. Other impressions?"
"Had a good hard look at the faces. Now I thought my unit was hard core drunks. They are nothing, penny ante compared to these. I'm guessing three to four times the amount of alcohol consumed per capita in their forces."
She chuckles, "that is usually one of the first things our officers spot. Do carry on."
"I have no health care training, yet I can still spot the signs, the sores on the faces. They're living mostly on bread, meat and vodka. I'm guessing fresh fruit, dairy products and vitamin tablets are rarities over there. Ours may grumble about lousy chow, but you can see the good health in our faces. They get bad food for real, but apparently in sufficient quantity at least."
She nods.
"Compare the state of our uniforms to theirs. No contest. We replace everything faster, including boots."
She nods.
"Entire platoon, one com device. Not like us, one per person."
She nods.
"Those carbines could use a good cleaning. I would hazard a guess they sleep in the same clothes. Laundry - no reason on earth you should be that dirty unless you are fighting a total war. Ordinary patrol - should be lots cleaner."
She chuckles.
"Still, that's men, I guess, pigs."
"Hold on a minute, let's keep your sexist views outa this and get back to topic. Impressions."
"None of what I said really impacts much on what they'd actually fight like. Scruffy or not, still wouldn't wanna fight them."
Smile, "shows good sense, they do look mean. Their cigs any good?"
"Mix a firecracker with sawdust. We definitely lost on that exchange."
She breaks into laughter, "ok now, the $64 question. Your guess, why was that particular officer friendly?"
"He had a new looking decoration sitting right next to the Dagestan ribbon. No doubt our summer in Ulster helped him earn it. To at least some degree, he felt grateful to us."
"Think you could draw the decoration?"
Very slowly and carefully, I do.
She whistles softly, "holy dying sheep sh**, now wonder he liked you. Can I keep this for the file?"
"Sure."
"If you think of anything later, let me know."
"You can tell his are afraid of him. Not at all like our units, mostly informal, laughing and joking with officers."
"Just one thing, if you would be so kind as to keep our little chat private."
"Sure."
"You see Lily, you weren't talking to ordinary infantry, but to Spetsnasz masquerading as infantry."
I gasp.
"Yep by now bet they are eyeballing a hundred photos of your group."
The irony hits me, "well turnabout is fair play. Us, draftees masquerading as regulars. Wonder if they'll figger that?"
She laughs, "probably one of those decorations awarded every three years on average, real scarcity value."
I return to find my platoon in semi-serious philosophical debate. One side is mooting that the neoSoviets are bad drinkers merely because they are men. The other, just as vigorously asserts it would be the stultifying atmosphere over there; that neoSoviet women would be just as bad.
They ask my opinion, but I decline to give. As they push, I wave a hand casually in dismissal, "ever think the truth might be half way between those two points? Our just maybe, it's because booze is the only thing they can buy that isn't in perpetual shortage."
Parvana grins, "yeah, guess you're right. Look at us, spend money on music albums, literature, clothes, restaurants, off duty travel. If there weren't all that stuff, we'd probably drink more."
Nods all around.
Pensive mood, a Pvt starts, "you know, we complain a lot. Yet after today, maybe not so much. Yeah ok, we didn't choose this, but it ain't all that bad."
Two days after maneuvers, I arrive early as usual to do paper.
Capt Simpson, normally a later riser, picks today to show early, quiet tone, "we ran your drawing through HQ. Most interested. They have a few photos for you to look at."
"Well that one there, definitely the officer in charge." I then ID a half dozen others.
"Very good Lily. Didn't have a camera yet you still came up huge. Picked up six times the detail most do in such an encounter. Your troops get much?"
"Sad to say, little beyond the booze and scruffiness."
"Don't feel bad. Always that way, usually only one eagle eye in a group."