Next Project

In Canada, the Royal 22nd Regiment (French-speaking) is famous; has a long and excellent tradition. One can only assume this will carry forward into the world of the future, sci fi. You will meet one of the members of this illustrious force. Another war story? No, not actually, a romance.

Table of Contents

1. Field Commission - book length - entered October 11 to November 15, 2005
A poor white and her Afghan friend experience a series of misadventures during a tour of duty in Germany, then a week of total war.

2. Lucky - novella - July 2 to 7, 2005
Time Corp adventures of a Guyanese and her Afghan friend.

3. First Mission - short story - June 20 to 23, 2005
A Lieutenant on her first operational mission falls prey to a navigation error, stranded in time. It goes from bad to worse when she is mistaken for a Russian spy.

4. Futuristic Infantry - book - May 26 to June 18, 2005
Major Zohra Zamani is an infantry battalion commander 500 years in the future. Join her for 3 Ulster tours. Between tours, experience her difficult way of life.

5. Alien - book - January 8 to 24, 2005
A space alien is exiled to Earth, taking over the body of an Afghan-Canadian woman in a state of clinically dead. The two sides of the personality, Afghan and Alien, then proceed to duke it out for dominance.

6. Green Lake - novella - December 2 to 11, 2004
Adventures of an Afghan-American US Air Force officer 1,000 years in the future. She goes from obscurity to fame by leading a derring-do mission.

7. Time Corps - book - October 27 to November 22, 2004
A woman of today is thrust 10,000 years into the future. A plane crash dramatically changes her life.

8. Romance - short story - October 13 to 16, 2004
Double romance, set aboard a space ship.

9. Jamila - novella - October 1 to 9, 2004
A total outcast decides to end it all. Two surprise visitors, one Afghan, change all that.

10. Dark Chronicles of Nooria - book - August 30 to September 29, 2004
A ten-year-old girl is plunged into a chilling nightmare, a surreal Dantesque horror.

11. Iris - short story - August 26 to 28, 2004
An Irishwoman joins a contingent of Afghans.

12. Farzana - novella - August 11 to 25, 2004
A ten-year-old white Canadian girl freezes to death in a savage blizzard, gets a second chance at life as an Afghan.

13. Soap (Opera) - book - July 26 to August 10, 2004
An assortment of eccentric foreigners joins an Afghan contingent.

14. Vignettes - short short stories - mostly published July 25, 2004 and prior
Mostly under 1,500 words.

Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Certain historical events did occur, similar to how described here but not identical, but not with the characters used herein.
Profanity - stars **** used
Violence - the minimal amount which will support the story line
Sex - adult relationships alluded to, some pickup activity, no sex scenes

This blog is neither for nor against any political organization, religion or ethnic group. Goal is to celebrate Afghan culture, while keeping stories suitable for children.

Field Commission 24

After what seems forever, I awake, feeling sick and feverish. Taking in my surroundings, I'm in none other that my erstwhile bedroom at Franny's. I stand to look in the mirror, feel dizzy, lie back down. But it's enough to know I got the 1/10 of 1% variant - back to being a kid.
Franny appears, "you ok dear?"
"Feel awful, maybe some water please."
I go back to sleep and when I awake, doubt is already starting to form. There is nothing concrete to prove what I went through - probably only a dream.
I mope around for several hours til I discover the paper Parvana gave me. Now I'm wild with frustration. All day Saturday, even after supper time, get nothing but a busy signal.
Just after lunch Sunday, no further ahead, I decide to walk there. Hmm house seems exactly as Parvana described - maybe I'm in luck.
I ring the doorbell. A woman appears, midage, Afghan, looks kind, resembles Parvana, "yes dear?"
"Ma'am I've tried phoning and get nothing but busy signals."
She chuckles.
"I'd like to see Parvana."
"She's not feeling well, but a visitor might cheer her up. Come right in dear."
She knocks at a bedroom door, "Parvana honey, school friend to see you."
"Go away."
"Come on honey, open up. She'll just stay a minute, then go."
Sharper tone, "I said go away."
For the first time I speak, "it's Lily."
I hear bed springs, the door opens just a crack. She grabs my arm, pulls me in, hugs me, "thank heavens you came."
We chat all afternoon, before she gets to the real point, "you see, look at the map. I'm in the zone where I have no choice of school. You're right on the border line, could choose either. So, if it's really true you don't have friends there, if you really like me, would you switch schools?"
"Sure, I'll go in first thing tomorrow to fill the form."
This sets her crying. As I wipe her eyes, she says, "you won't get back in time for supper. Just stay here, phone your aunt."
Her big sister has the look of having been on the phone forever. She rolls her eyes, speaks to her friend, "sorry gotta go now. One of Parvana's geeky little friends needs to call home."
As she glares at me, I phone Franny, spend all of 30 seconds assuring her I am ok and will be staying here for supper.
Sis punches speed dial, "why I thought the little geek would just never shut up, yapped forever. So, what you wearing tomorrow?"
I roll my eyes, try not to laugh, so overdone she is ridiculous.
Parvana looks at me quizzically, "you don't hate her?"
"What is to hate? Half them that age are like that; 3/4 probably."
I'm in the same class as Parvana, locker next to hers. As I dig out my history text, I feel an arm wrapped round me, feels so nice, the warmth, "just so you know, might be wise to stay awake in history class. Never know what the future will bring."
"Tell you what, I will if you will."
"Deal," her warm smile tells me all will be ok.

Field Commission 23

Parvana and I are ushered into the office of a Ra general, "pardon my humble quarters, but this is a field office, please have a seat."
We do, folding chairs.
"I understand Americans like gourmet coffee, prepared some vanilla hazelnut."
"Yes please." We pour, add cream and sugar.
"Lt, you strike me as a no-nonsense person, so to the point. You should understand the IRA's position. We have never been anti-American, in fact are solidly pro-American. Almost everyone in our Army has relatives Stateside. This quarrel exists between Britain and Ireland, with absolutely no hard feelings towards the US."
He pauses, as if expecting an answer, so, "sir, you don't have to convince me of that, I've seen adequate evidence during my short time here."
Friendly smile, "good, now this is how far out on a limb we went to save American lives. At noon yesterday, we gave Brit HQ our attack schedule, told them to evac the American units before it started. Took them about an hour to do so, but somehow they forgot the Black Watch. My guess, confusion over the name, as the Brits have a Black Watch too."
I groan inwardly at the sheer irony.
"I called off the attack on the submarine, as our info indicated it was largely Americans aboard. For the record now Lt, just how far out on a limb did I go? Who is aboard the sub?"
"Sir, Royal Navy crew, the number of which I would not know; two Royal Marines who used the rubber raft; three Brit stragglers; 42 members of the Black Watch."
He whistles softly, "so what casualties did you take?"
"Two dead sir, when a field kitchen blew, two missing."
"You mean two missing in addition to you?"
"No sir, we are the two missing."
"I congratulate you on very capable leadership. Nobody in this war did that well, not by a long shot."
"Thank you sir."
He chuckles, "when all is said and done, Ireland and America will get on just fine. Yes there are two dead, but you people have much more losses than that on vehicle training. As well, America gets to pin medals on some heroes."
"Sir, didn't you say everyone was evacuated?"
"Twice now, you've done enough to rate a Silver Star. First, those planes, work of art. Second, that daring escape, got your unit out almost intact under impossible conditions. And now, you'll earn it a third time."
"What did you have in mind sir?"
Leans back in his chair, huge grin, "you are about to make a daring escape, the two of you walking for two days."
"We are?"
"We'll take you down to Crossmaglen, give you a couple days to rest in a bed and breakfast. Make the time come out right, would have taken two days to walk."
"In these uniforms sir?"
"You stole two full length coats. When the time is right, one of our men will take you safely through the minefields into Eire. Now, what money do you have to purchase bus tickets in Eire and ferry fare?"
Parvana and I dig it out.
"Those Brit pounds, keep em, use em when you get back. Don't spend them in Eire or on the ferry or it'll get you surly service. The US $ and euros, you can spend freely. We'll give you some more so you don't run out."
"Thank you sir."
"When you return home, we don't ask you to speak well of the IRA. That could be difficult in a number of situations. But much as possible we wish you to carry the message that Ireland and American are friends, and have been so for many years. Nothing at all has changed in that regard."
"Historical evidence bears that out well sir."
"Now, to show you how important Americans are to the IRA, you don't just ride in some crummy old jeep. No, you fly, in my personal helicopter."
Parvana and I stare at each other. Unreal!
We're given ladies' full length overcoats. Dressed as civvies, we accompany the General to the chopper.
We have not been aloft five minutes when it happens. From nowhere, behind a cloud, emerges a Royal Air Force fighter plane. The Banshee wail is loud as a stream of time scatter devices homes in on the chopper motor.
As for the ride, passing through the tunnels of time, that I won't tell you. Straight out of Dante. I aim to keep this story suitable for children, so that is definitely a no-no.
And after all, how many people can say they took a General with them on an excursion to hell?

Field Commission 22

"Ok gang," I start, spreading the map, "here's where we are. Got say 3/4 mile of Springfield Road to cover. Just after the burnt out RUC station and Dunville Park, it turns into being Grosvenor Road. From there maybe 1 1/2 miles straight east, to catch the bank of the Lagan River."
Parvana asks, "we attempt a crossing?"
"No, both the Albert Bridge in the south and the Queen's Bridge 3/8 mile north will be watched, booby trapped, you can bet on it. We stay on the west bank, work our way north to the west docks."
A Pvt asks, "isn't that taking an awful lot on faith? The main evac hasta be Belfast Harbor Airport, for that you need to cross the river."
I pause, "ok, if I were one of them stick-in-the-mud regular officers, at this point, I'd just pound the table, say 'do it my way'. But I ain't, everyone's life is equal, we vote. My view, crossing the Lagan is tantamount to suicide, I prefer having some faith the authorities will provide some evac in the west. Thompson's view, must go all the way, get to the Airport. Take a few minutes, chat, think, then we vote."
All except Thompson vote for my plan.
Minute late, Thompson asks quietly, "no hard feelings? Not sore at me?"
"Heavens no, but majority rules, whether it is right or wrong."
"Now I've had some time to think, I prefer your plan too. Few ragtag units strung out along various west docks, less bunched up targets. Airport, your perfect killing field, bet the Ra has measured the distances in advance. See I learn stuff, hanging around. Could I ask a personal question?"
"Depends how personal."
"Did you choose this gig or did Fate choose it for you?"
"There are certain things I am not at liberty to discuss. But yes, to oversimplify just a bit, was Fate."
"Still, glad it's you and none of them others in Herrlingen."
"Thank you."
We hear two Brit voices, arguing quietly, "come on take a ****ing rest."
"No, gotta ****ing move."
As they come even with the shop, I invite them in.
"Thank God," one says, "least we found someone." Peers at the badge. "Black Watch huh? Shot down alla them planes?"
"Yep and you are?"
"We's all that's left of Royal Lancashire."
I gasp, "what happened?"
"Me and sunshine there was feeling sick, runs, dismounted, went in an alley. In that time, whole ****ing regiment blew. In each case, first the ****ing motor, then the whole ****ing car. Big ****ing explosions, no survivors."
"We saw the same happen here."
"Ok Lt we's in your command, gotta plan?"
"After dark, head for the west docks."
"Good thinking. Never reach the ****ing Airport. Rumor is both ****ing bridges already ****ing kaput. Can we borrow a ciggy? Bonehead and me left ours on the car."
I take out a full pack, "share it in half."
"Cool, I like Yanks, friendly, informal, generous. Where's your base in Germany?"
"Herrlingen bei Ulm."
"Cool, if we live, buy y'all a round. Real German beer, not the horses' pi** you people get."
Everyone laughs.
Just before dark, one more straggler joins us, lone survivor of the Devon and Dorsets. I don't like her look - 1,000 yard stare. The 2 Lancs don't have that look, are with it.
Same plan as before, stay close to your bud, but leave lotsa room between pairs. Parvana and I will lead, the 3 Brits bring up the rear.
One Brit whispers, "don't ya worry none bout the D&D, took her clip away, we'll keep an eye on her."
"Thanks. You ever seen anything this crazy?"
"Hang round a bit Lt. Everytime the Ra does something, Unionists feel ****ing left out, hafta do ****ing do something too."
I groan.
"Bet you wish you was back home, sipping on a mint julep."
It's raining, clouds seem the height of a two storey building. Dark of the moon. No streetlights, no house lights, nothing left burning.
We slither carefully through a dead city. Yet we encounter no vehicles, no civvies, no Ra, no Brit or American soldiers. Is everyone either dead or in hiding?
We are never in any danger, though always on edge. We arrive at the docks to find what we left behind, absolutely nothing.
Despite the radio silence, I opt to try a short SOS, fast enough Paddy can't get a fix on it. Does not work. My com device is dead, as is everyone else's. No one even gets an on light.
One of the Lancs says, in cheerful tone, "just ain't mathematically possible, all batteries dead at the same time. Come on, they're rated 10,000 hours. Gotta be a jammer. So Lt, your Plan B?"
I gather them for a quick meeting, "one option left. Flashlight with a long sleeve. Every 5 minutes, shine it out to sea for 3 seconds."
Hilz protests, "sounds dangerous, Paddy could be in a boat."
"I got news for you. If the sun comes up and finds us here, we are all dead anyhow. So, a vote, risk the flashlight or not?"
It's unanimous, even Hilz having a change of heart.
To maximize our odds we are at the very furthest tip of Stormont Wharf.
Nothing happens for the first half hour. They're very smooth, very professional, much more so than anything I've seen in the US Army.
I've just turned out the light, when I feel cold steel against the back of my neck.
Cockney accent, "cor, it's Yanks."
Scottish accent, "so what in fekkin hell are you fekkin doing here? Why the fek didn't you fekkin leave earlier?"
For the first time, I speak, "big artillery barrage, danger of spotters, not safe to move out til after dark."
I feel the cold steel remove itself. Scottish accent, "no fekkin Paddy on earth could fekkin fake a Southern accent that good. Gotta be the genuine article. We're Royal Marines."
"We're the Black Watch, American version of it. So, what's the scoop?"
"Rubber raft, sunshine, out to the submarine. We take 3 at a time. Only fair way, Yank, draw names."
"Ok gang, I stay, I'm in charge. Everyone else, drawing of names."
Parvana says, "I stay with you."
I should argue but don't, time is of the essence.
They're fast and paddle quietly, but as I watch my luminous watch dial, I don't like the math.
As the first pre-dawn glimmer of light starts, Parvana and I watch the Marines push off with a load. She and I are all that's left now.
She whispers, "do the ****ing math. They won't be ****ing back. ****ing sub will leave."
"Ok pal, where else do you suggest we go?"
Sheepish, "ok, stick around, hope for the best."
I'm watching landside through night vision binoculars; Parvana seaside.
She gasps, "they got there, loaded up, ****ing sub is diving. Those ****ing morons will kill us."
"Stop, take a deep breath. Ok now, tell me what you hear."
"Chopper whoosh, silent running, so the sub had no choice." Soon the whoosh is a lot louder.
And then a convoy of jeeps rolls onto the wharf. Blinding searchlight, "hands up."
It's the most polite, cursory search possible, these are chivalrous guys.
As we climb into a jeep, it registers no one is pointing anything at us.
A soldier of probably 17 cheerfully hands us each a cig.
We arrive at a field kitchen. Cheerfully a Captain calls us, "come right with me, you must be hungry."
We get our chow, join him and a dozen others at a table. We soon discover we are celebrities. Everyone is talking of the famous Black Watch and their now almost legendary anti aircraft abilities.
After chow, Capt drives us somewhere in a jeep and no, no one is pointing any weapons at us.

Field Commission 21

As Parvana and I watch, a Royal Ulster Constabulary patrol vehicle drives by. No shooting, no whistle sound, but the engine explodes spontaneously. Moment later, the whole vehicle goes up.
I feel an arm on my shoulder, "so that's what woulda happened if we started a fire?"
"Fraid so, you saw it with your own eyes."
"****ing insane place Lt, I wanna go home."
"If you are still alive by morning, you probably will. All or nothing tonight. Ra will throw everything into this one assault. After, take a while to rest, replenish supply. By then we'd be back in Herrlingen."
"No I mean real home."
"Where's that?"
"California. I'm chilled to the ****ing bone, can't handle this sh**."
I have a towel in my pack, take it out, "here, something more to wrap on you."
Hilz addresses me quietly, "so what was that last device? What blew the motor?"
"Darned if I know."
"You were an elec tech and you don't know. Gotta be a new invention. So, your guess?"
"Triggers on heat and/or electrical impluse."
"Meaning the whole ****ing British Army is gonna fry tonight. Only ones left alive will be some of the infantry."
"Sad to say, I would believe that an accurate assessment."
"Once the vehicles are all gone, we're easy pickings. So, what have you decided to do?"
"Sit here, we all die. After dark, slither on back to the docks. Anyone left alive, they'll evac, if they can."
"And if not?"
"You know the answer to that."
"Yep, all dead. Ever read of history of Dunkirk Lt? Maybe this time they'll hafta do it with sailboats only, no motor vessels."
"Could be."
"Well what the hell, if I see you alive in Liverpool, I'll buy you a drink."
"Nothing but the best, I'm not a cheap date."
"Lt if you and me are still alive, I reckon Chivas Regal would be in order."

Field Commission 20

Our turn for a break, Parvana and I slither carefully to the field kitchen. It's hidden inside a disused building, to avoid drawing fire.
Once again she orders Australian breakfast; myself, grilled cheese sandwich and fries.
As she watches incredulously, she gasps, "I don't ****ing believe it, I really don't, how low class can you get?"
I blush.
"Come on, spreading marmelade on your sandwich, for shame."
"Chill, if I'm gonna die, least I get a last taste of Robertson's. If we do make it back, I'm going to the Marks and Spencer in Ulm, buy a dozen jars."
"The dream says you don't die, neither do you get back. Where we're headed, doubt if there is a Marks and Spencer."
"We end up together?"
"Only if you think it worthwhile, struggle a bit. Wanna stay on your own, you'll get the chance."
"Why don't you just tell me, instead of all this childish hinting around?"
"No. No way. If I'm wrong in some detail, you'd laugh at me."
"I would not."
"You ****ing well would. Now shut the **** up before I bop you in the beak."
Oooo touchy, musta hit a raw nerve by accident. As we eat in silence, it starts to focus. Two possible reasons she thinks I'd dump her as a friend after our time travel. First, the regular as opposed to draftee thing. But come on, surely not, not after all we've been through together. Second, a case of honky dumping the token Afghan friend. Ouch, that's saying I'm a racist. I'm not, get on cool with black, native, East Indian, surely she doesn't think I'm a racist. I review her tone, wording. She does, that's exactly what she thinks. Oy!
As Hatfield and partner head for chow, they are either not as careful or just unlucky. A Ra helicopter comes from nowhere, shooting. From the gentle whoosh of engines, as opposed to clatter, it's rigged for "silent" running, well not totally silent.
Within two seconds, everyone on the street has blown most of a clip into it. It splinters into a million pieces, then explodes in a magnificent fireball, as we all cheer.
"You ok Hatfield?"
"I'll ****ing live to kill more ****ing McCoys."
"Save some of that hate for the Ra, try to focus."
She laughs, "blow it out your ass."
"Better get inside that field kitchen right now, before the chopper's buddy shows, if there is one."
Musta been alone, another doesn't show.
Com device, Brit CO, "if you have to do a break and enter, just do it. Get off the street, right now."
Parvana takes a heavy bladed knife, cracks the lock the lad had played with.
"You inside?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Total radio silence, as of now. Think World War One style of barrage. And yes they appear to have a device to locate transmissions accurately."
We look around, former cabinet making shop, lotta scrap wood lying around.
A Pvt smiles hopefully, "we could start a fire."
"Do you recall I used to be elec tech before all this?"
"Oh yes Lt."
"Do you know how infra red works?"
"Targets on heat Lt."
"Very good, still want a fire?"
"Nope."
The nearby explosion sends everyone scurrying to the boarded up windows, staring out through cracks.
"Holy sh**," a Pvt gasps, "that was the field kitchen, so they can target on heat."
As I take a turn standing guard at the windows, I spot two East Indians slithering along, complete with ordnance. I blow both away. After several minutes, we exhale, no one else nearby.
"Very ****ing strange," Parvana says quietly, "all these thousands of years, they've never picked sides. Just run stores, restaurants, stay totally outa the Prod/Catholic thing. So, I ask you, why?"
"Imported talent, extremists from India, working with the Ra."
She gasps, "same crowd as was in Indian Special Forces during Indo Pak 83?"
"No proof, but that's the best guess."
"May God preserve us, what an ugly crowd."

Field Commission 19

Parvana and I see a teenage boy and girl headed toward our position. They don't notice us, the boy playing with a door lock.
I place cold steel against the side of his head, "don't move a muscle." Parvana pats down both, no weapons. "Now, what you doing here?"
"Ma'am this is our building, in a way."
"In what way?"
"I used to work here, til it closed, kept a key."
In a flash, I know what he means, mixed couple, no public place they can meet safely.
I smile, "Romeo and Juliet huh?"
The girl smiles shyly, "I'm Catholic, he's a Prod."
"Let me give you advice, be gone well before dark. Tonight will be big trouble."
"Thank you ma'am," in they go.
As they emerge, the girl says, "ma'am, we want to thank you. Made us stop and look at things. Realize this is an insane place to live. We're on our way to the ferry, lot of jobs in England."
Quietly the boy says, "we're outa cigarettes. Nothing open to buy any. Could you give us a few please?"
I pull out a whole pack, give them a ten, "here, have a drink on the ferry, compliments of the US Army. Best o luck in Blighty."
Away they go, picking their way through the ruins, staying in good cover from spotters.
Quietly Parvana says, "you see how it works. The extremists on both sides have taken over. Anyone who can compromise, meet people half way, is leaving."

Field Commission 18

As we arrive at Springfield Road, I deploy my troops, "now remember, never more than six feet from your buddy. But keep lotsa distance between pairs. No point all getting shot at once."
Hatfield spits, "Y'all gotta die sometime. If it ain't Paddy, just be a Revenooer or McCoy."
Everyone laughs uneasily.
Hatfield again, "better than some ****ing cancer that eats you alive for ten years."
Everyone is now spread out, using cover wisely.
Parvana and I can now speak privately. She starts uneasily, "suppose I'm partly to blame?"
"Whaddya mean?"
"I never came out and told him I'd extended the tour. But he ain't stupid, probably read between the lines."
"Could be."
"Oh **ss on him, I hate him and all men. If it weren't for you the boss watching, next civvy I see I'd blow away."
"Chill friend, gonna be a long night. Save some of that hate for the Ra. Focus."
"Yes Lt."
"Oh eat my shorts. I'm speaking as your friend, not your boss."
"Sorry," awkward smile, "he was a ****ing *** **** anyhow. Talk about unequal. Better off without him."
By now, she's sobbing. I hold her tight with one arm, but the other holds my carbine and my eyes never stop flickering back and forth.
Gentle smile, "I'll be ok now. Won't shoot some poor civvy."
My relief is immense.
Another smile, this one mischievous, "look at the bright side. We get blown away, you don't hafta deal with that tedious counsellor."
Even as I laugh, I pull the trigger on full auto. Two roof top snipers fall to the street.
Moments later a Banshee wail, gotta be at least a dozen time scatter devices. Before my very eyes, the armored car on the corner vanishes. Completely, not a trace of debris. So they've been blown into time.
I sense my force crawl deeper into their hiding spots.
After several minutes we can exhale again. Means it was a spotter a long ways off. Be someone hidden in a high building. Either would not spot infantry or would not waste ammo on pairs. Now a whole platoon, bunched up, well that would be a different story.
We hear the Banshee again. Block away, a civvy coal truck vanishes. I'm puzzled for a moment, then I realize. They aim to starve and freeze the city back into the Stone Age. As well as wipe out the Brits, and us honorary Brits, the Yanks.
The com device beeps. Brit CO wants to know the nature of attack in my area: vehicles only or infantry too?
"So far ma'am, just the one armored car and a civilian coal truck. Nothing at all directed at us."
Laughs mirthlessly, "congratulations on successfully deploying and hiding. 2/3 of infantry groups are under attack. Stay as hidden as you can."
"Roger."
Again the com device, Hatfield's hillbilly accent, "you there Lt?" My first clue something is wrong, usually it's "Lily."
"Yes."
"Two furriners to talk with ye."
"Put em on."
Excellent English, Dutch accent, "we're tourists here. Where is the nearest gay bar?"
"Excuse me sir, could you repeat?"
"We are tourists in your lovely Emerald Isle. Where pray tell could one find a gay bar, preferably nearby?"
I reply in polite tone, "sir, board the ferry to Liverpool."
"That's the nearest one??"
"Sir the Irish are as homophobic as they've ever been. If a gay bar were crazy enough to open, it'd burn down and likely the first night."
Laugh, "very well Lt, I rephrase my question. Where could two eccentric and straight foreigners find a drink?"
"Anywhere, there's a bar every hundred yards."
"We could try the Europa Hotel Lt."
"Sir, this a war zone, now listen up, avoid a mega obvious target like that. Pick some small place, have a fast drink and get to the ferry as soon as you can, before you're dead."
A second voice, "sounds like a plan, I recall the ferry had a nice bar."
As they leave, I hear Hatfield gasp, "hard to ****ing believe Lily. I should blow them away myself."
"Please don't, they don't sound like IRA or Revenooers or McCoys."
"Ain't it sad Lily? Shortage of guys in the world and they hafta do that. And both good looking, go figure."
"They say the best looking ones are always gay."

Field Commission 17

I click off the com device. The poker games are stalled; everyone staring at me.
I rise, "Intel estimates the Official IRA possesses 29,000 neoSoviet time scatter devices. Considering how many troops are in Belfast, that's two devices with each of your names on em."
Absolute breathless pindrop silence.
"Now a short history review. During World War Six, some 18 million people on both sides fell victim to these. In fact the odd old mine lying around still blows away the odd hiker. No one has ever returned from being blasted into time. Not one. I remind you of army thought on this. Don't try to do anything heroic if it happens to you. Just try and stay alive. The biggest single achievement you could ever make is simply coming back. What you learn would help others. Come back alive, almost guaranteed you win the Silver Star."
I pause, look around, "ok here's what I want. In a few minutes we take up position on Springfield Road. Everyone buddy up. Only one thing worse than being stranded in time, that's being stranded alone. As of the point we walk out that door, you stay within six feet of your bud, including breaks til tomorrow morning. Questions?"
Hatfield leads, "remind people of the two variants."
I blush, "sorry, research by physicists has concluded 2 possibilities. In 99.9% of cases, you stay yourself, same you, same age, just different time and place in history. 1/10 of 1%, you age vary, same person, but could be a baby or in a nursing home."
A Pvt grins wickedly, "bout now there be people kicking their own ass for sleeping through history class."
The howls of laughter break the tension.
Parvana wraps an arm round me, "come with me to the dance?"
"I do declare, thought you'd neva ask."
Laughter.
Her nod tells me to step outside. She starts haltingly, "I had a dream, real powerful vision. I know what's gonna happen."
"Do tell."
"Nope, too scary. Just take this paper, memorize in case you lose it. You'll know what it means when the time comes."
It's a phone number and address back home. Still, I memorize, then carefully file it away in a place I won't lose it.
We're ready to leave when the Brit CO shows. Draws me aside, "someone very famous, and I won't say who, thanks you for saving his life. Your insight led us to cancel his trip. But quietly, the assassin will wait in vain for the limo. So how'd your troops take the news?"
"I ordered everyone to pair up ma'am, better to be stranded with someone than alone. Things were pretty grim til the unit clown delivered a prize joke and now everyone is loose and easy."
"I admire Yanks, can even joke about war. Some interesting rumblings on the Eastern Front. Comrade Ivan has gone to max alert. So if the British Army melts down in Ulster, additional units pulled from Germany, we could be facing WW 7. So, if we successfully hold the city, we could be saving millions of lives on both sides."
I nod.
"Also this bag of mail, seems to have been mislaid, sorry."
I quickly hand it out. Nothing personal for me, one letter for Parvana.
She tears it open, blanches, "that dirty rotten low down son of a *****."
By this, I deduce she speaks of boyfriend.
She looks at me with a lost look, "this wasn't part of the dream, I was ripped off."
I nod.
"That low down ****ard said he'd wait til the end of my draftee hitch."
Now this definitely is not the time to remind her, she's the one who extended the hitch.
"Lily," grimace, "watch me careful or I'm likely to blow away some poor innocent ****ard."

Field Commission 16

Evening of December 30, I'm reading a discarded western novella I found in the railcar, when the Brit CO shows, asks to speak privately. We step outside.
"That was some first class shooting Lt, took the pressure off us, pulling down all those planes. I'm recommending you people for a unit citation."
"Thank you ma'am."
"I suppose you are wondering how com devices failed. Seems they had a home made jammer. Totally disorganized us. Anyhow, look what we found in a raid. Read it now, not a word to your people, but start thinking."
I gasp.
Though not necessary, she leans closer, lowers her voice, "first time ever they've had neoSoviet time scatter devices. And look at how many!"
"Look at the date of the document ma'am, would have been easy to scoop, centralized storage. Now probably too late, deployed to units."
"Exactly what the SAS found, empty warehouse."
"Look at the bright side ma'am."
"There is a bright side?"
"Older make ma'am, still have the whistle sound. New ones, silent, would be more dangerous."
"Even then Lt, by the time you've heard the sound, odds are 50/50 it's already too late."
I groan aloud.
Carefully she tucks the document away, "ok Lt, what you just saw, all officers and the RSM will know. So you can speak freely if necessary. About noon tomorrow, you'll get the code word Indigo, means tell your people ASAP."
I nod.
"I'm aware you Yanks have a different Intel network, hear different things. Do I have your word, what comes next, you discuss only with me? No other officers, not the RSM."
"Yes ma'am."
"Read this."
Two Indian extremist organizations have loaned instructors to the Official IRA for the time scatter devices: one from Shiv Sena and six from RSS, Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh.
I read it carefully twice.
"Your take Lt?"
"Want the quick version ma'am or full sermon?"
"Everything you know Lt, our lives are all in serious danger."
"In the view of the US Army ma'am, the Indian government is guilty of a colossal blunder. Like all democracies, they flirted too much with socialism, starved the army below critical mass. This wasn't a problem until IndoPak War Number 83."
She offers a cig, I pause, light, "now you see ma'am, they were so short on expertise they took lotta SS into their special forces, RSS into the regulars. Problem is, now these people are lots better trained than before, chose not to stop shooting just because the Indian government so ordered."
"That much I know. Now the $64 question. What's your take on this document, you the person, not you the US Army?"
"Ma'am suppose you wished to hide one particular elephant. Avoid scrutiny of one particular beast. What would you do?"
"In a herd of other elephants, the zoo."
"Ma'am the SS and RSS are two totally different entities, though they share common goals and a good cooperation level. There is just no way on earth an SS man would train these local yokels. We're talking brilliant, quirky, individualistic, ultra-professional people in the SS. Take decades to train the IRA to that level. So I ask you ma'am, let's say you wished to land a time scatter device on the hood of a moving vehicle 8 miles away, who would you pick?"
She gasps, "of course the SS man is an assassin. But you hide him among other instructors to fool people. Your take on the RSS Lt?"
"Thorough, ponderous, seen pictures of their mass rallies. Akin to the Nuremberg Rallies of Antiquity."
"So they'd train people to do a thunderous artillery barrage, something straight out of World War One."
Morosely I walk back into the railcar. The profanity stops at the poker games as all stare at me.
"I don't like to give orders, tell you what to do with your free time. But, maybe a suggestion, don't play poker half the night. Gonna need all the rest you can get."
Hatfield asks quietly, "we're talking huge, right?"
I nod.
"But you ain't allowed to tell us?"
"As of about noon tomorrow, I am. Til then, it's secret."
Tables finish their hands, head for bed.

Field Commission 15

Wicked smile, RSM says, "party time, youse is all invited."
I raise an eyebrow, "think we're a bit too pooped to party."
"Be over right quick."
In the gathering gloom, we drive to Andy's Town, slang for Andersontown. I'm shocked at the number of bodies on the street.
The force dismounts. RSM takes a mike, "I know we agreed to a lottery draw, but I am suggesting a change. Now I ask you, who other than the Yanks shot down lotsa planes?"
Cries of "nobody."
"I say we give them the honor of leading off. All in favor?"
Cheers.
"Further, there's two Yanks who deserve first and second place. First place goes to the Lt. Who else has ever shot down a plane with a single shot? Don't for even one minute believe it was fluky. Article in Stars and Stripes on her, all time highest score on the hologram range."
Cheers.
"Second place, and not far behind, Corp here drew first blood, downed one all by herself. One of the choppers got that on vid."
More cheers.
We hear choppers, rapidly getting louder. No one has to explain, I know exactly what's happening.
RSM grins, "this is from the very top. See if mosta those bodies were adults, we'd take prisoners. Number of children dead, no way, no one gets out alive."
I nod, feel the same myself. The night sky lights up as napalm flares.
First out is on fire, I simply blow him away. Seconds later, Parvana blows hers away.
RSM smiles, "come, take you to the field kitchen."
She walks us in the back door and we collect our cig ration.
"So," cook smiles, "what'll it be?"
I reply, "the British Army breakfast fry stands head and shoulders above the American version. But, guess it's too late for that?"
Cheerful tone, "you are thinking ordinary mess rules. Field kitchen, anything, any hour of the 24. So, how you want it?"
"Slice the sausages in half lengthwise please, like em crisp. Eggs poached, brown toast."
"Want hash browns? French fries? Both?"
"Hash browns."
"Sure, help yourself to tea from the urn."
Parvana asks, "do field kitchens do Australian breakfasts?"
"Indeed we do, how you want it?"
"Medium rare, sunny side, hash browns and fries, white toast."
"Sure, you want me to make you some green tea?"
Parvana smiles, "very kind of you."
At the condiment rack, American strawberry and raspberry jam, two marmelades: orange only and 3 fruit (orange, lemon, grapefruit). I select 3 fruit.
As we await food, Parvana says tiredly, "could sleep a night and day. Feel so gross, it'll take two showers."
I nod.
Food comes. Parvana gets a 16 ounce steak that would be almost the equal of the Texas Grill chain back home. No one is that good. Three eggs, four slices of toast and an immense mountain of fries and hash browns.
I get two sausages, cut into four halves, two bacon, ham, three eggs and four toast.
She spreads a half inch thickness of marmelade on a toast, "these Brits sure know how to live."
"I'll say. Robertson's, been around thousands of years."
We eat in companionable silence, then make the fifty yard trek to they mobile showers. Then to the rail car reserved for us, lotta buildings, including ours have been destroyed.
We have orders, rest up, New Years Eve will be big.
For 24 hours, our force, mostly sleeps, eats, takes several showers.
As penny poker games start, it's a sign. People have pulled back from the edge, more life in them.

Field Commission 14

December 29, I have the last watch before dawn, or should I say what passes for dawn in these gray watery parts? Too dark to see the actual rain, but the glint of the street assures me. Hasn't stopped for more than a few minutes since we arrived December 1.
A peaceful chance to reflect, evaluate.
On the plus side of the ledger, the civilians trapped within the bar are solidly proAmerican, meaning good cooperation and good social life. On the plus side, all the civvies and my force are alive and unwounded. No illness that I know about.
Still we are reaching the end of our rope. With no heat left in the bar, the raw damp bone-chilling cold is taking its toll. People are tired, morose, will soon be hungry.
The publican's food is tasty. Still it was a rather small menu at the start of the siege. As items run out, smaller yet. I've quietly checked with him, we have enough til lunch today. That's it.
I resolve that, if no help arrives today, I'll leave Parvana in charge and slip out after dark with Pvt Hatfield. Why her? Rumor has it she offed 3 McCoys prior to joining up. As well, good range score.
The bones of 8 dead aircraft lie silently on our street. The first was of course shot down by Parvana alone. The others, one by one, by massive shoulder to shoulder firepower from bar window and door.
But forget any more. We're down to average of 4 bullets each, need to keep em in case we meet up with marauders.
I hear Parvana stirring. Quietly so as not to disturb the rest, she says, "used to think hell was hot. Now I know it could be cold."
"Parvana, if nothing happens today, I leave you in charge. Hatfield and myself will leave after dark, look for help."
"You don't hafta do that. I could go do the dangerous job."
"Anything happens, don't rescue us, you got nothing to spare as it is."
The day drags out to all eternity. People have long since given up socializing. They sit morosely and wait for they know not what.
I hear an aircraft, "listen up, y'all stay inside, no one fires a shot."
I slither outside, keeping cover by a pillar. As I watch the approach, I see my chance. In about 5 seconds, he will fly into a death trap. Be directly between 2 tall buildings, no scope for dodging for a fraction of a second.
I steady myself on the pillar, feel the icy pre-combat calm. At the right moment, I simply blow away the pilot. Death is instant, the plane veers outa control, hits the stone wall of the church and explodes.
By now people are too tired and numb to cheer. Parvana wraps an arm round my shoulder, "watched you, timed that to perfection. He was right in the absolute middle, fish in a barrel."
"Not he, she."
Chuckle, "how bout that? Maybe you laid that phobia thing to rest."
Behind us, the clanking of armored cars, Brit. The lead one stops, RSM dismounts, "so Yank, how's your force?"
"All alive, unwounded. No one ill that I know of."
She grins wickedly, "I make it 8 downed aircraft."
"Nine actually, one in behind that church."
"Makes yours the most effective force in the whole thing. No one else got more than one. We got your shot on vid, I'm guessing it ends up in training vids."
RSM gathers the civvies, "ladies and gentlemen, at this time it is unsafe to return to your homes. We will be taking the Yanks with us, but we'll leave an armored car to protect you. Now watch Cpl Andrews. She'll demonstrate the field ration meals. Do it right, they heat automatically."
Quietly I turn to the bartender, hand him a hundred, "you know, would be right shame if my friends here went thirsty while they waited."
"God bless you Yank."

Field Commission 13

Three minutes after noon, it starts. I don't like the sound level, order everyone down. A second later, round a bend comes a plane, probably only 50 feet up, strafing. It's an antique, gotta be stolen from a museum. Now me, got a thing bout antiques, slow to react.
Not Parvana, she pumps most of a clip into it. Hits a fuel tank or line and it goes up in a fireball. Everyone cheers.
I'm lying next to her, "that was a Messerschmitt 1014. Only four left in the whole world."
She stares at me in total disbelief, "get with the program. Wanna be ****ing dead? Now there are three."
"Sor-ry."
She punches my arm playfully, "hey, no prob. Reckon that was Official Ra or Unionist?"
"Official Ra."
"Yeah my guess too. So, what'll the Unionists do?"
"Maybe steal some of those tanks."
She looks at me oddly, "they could do it too. I mean, run em. Lot are vets."
It's the Brit CO on the com device, "understand you shot down a plane?"
"Not I ma'am, one of my corporals."
"Good show! But watch out, lotta antiques were stolen, lay low at any engine sound."
"Roger."
"What make was it?"
"ME 1014."
"Sad, really sad."
By now there is no vehicular traffic, I mean civvy.
Between Christmas and New Year almost everything except bars is closed and there is a bar within 100 yards of wherever you are.
No VCP work left to do, our main function, staying alive, scanning the skies and roads.
I'm surprised to find I feel a sense of joy, feel more alive than ever before.
An hour later, I spot two rooftop snipers crawling into position, blow them away.
As one weapon clatters down to the street, Parvana gasps, "wow, a real M16 and you damaged it." I glance, see her sly wink.
She goes over, picks it up, "crap, just a reproduction, these people have no class."
I hear a call nearby, "Yank, you hear me?"
"Yes."
"The bar, to your left, take a look."
I do.
"Yank, come over here, safer inside, we don't want you hurt."
I turn to Parvana, "I'll check myself, if it's a trap, blow the lot away."
A minute later, I've searched, clean, I wave them over, one by one.
The bartender grins, "y'all are on duty, so no alcohol. Whatever else you like."
We take turns standing guard near the window and pass a pleasant afternoon as the world goes insane outside.
"Don't go home tonight, Yank. Too dangerous on the street, sleep here."
We do, sharing sentry duty. We can hear tanks in the next street but they never come our way. No one answers on the com device. The bar phone is dis.
The siege lasts three days. Parvana and I are the only ones with decent salaries, so we simply buy food for the rest.
The bartender, ever cheerful, gives "our gallant Allies" a 25% discount. He's being generous, rest in the bar pay full price. Still least he ain't a rip off. He coulda raised prices, but didn't.

Field Commission 12

Evening of December 25, Parvana and I stand side by side at the sinks washing clothes. The air is blue, literally with smoke and figuratively with the language from the penny stakes poker games.
Ingratiating smile, she starts, "you never said who it was you cold cocked."
"That's right, I didn't."
"And you intend to leave it that way?"
"Look Parvana, some day you'll read about it in the paper. Or you won't. If you do, you won't need me to tell you. If you don't, you're better off not knowing."
"You sound exactly like those Brit officers."
"Why thank you, that's flattering."
She laughs, "he had a remarkably Russian sort of a look. How many Russians do we know?" She gasps, "now I know, face rings a bell, but you can trust me. Won't tell the others, get them all worried. Ever get the thought the whole go**am world, not just the army, is insane?"
"At least a six pack of times a day."
"So, your next guess, read of the future?"
"We're to be here til after New Years, just in case New Years Eve gets outa hand. New Years Eve, let's you and me stick like glue."
"You sense something?"
"Whatever happens, better off with friends than alone."
"All right, we'll do that."
I nod, "resta the week, I want everyone, and that includes me, to carry 3 extra drum clips."
"They'll hate you, the weight."
"Just do it."
"Ok, you is da boss. So, rather do this or elec tech or wholesaler?"
I don't hesitate one second, "this."
"Yeah, I hear you, live for real, instead of just vegetate."
A Pvt calls out, "I'm broke, either of ya wanna sit in?"
"Thanks anyhow," I reply, "I'm crapped out, need my beauty sleep."
"And do you need it! Desperately. Parvana, sit in?"
"Hell yes, don't need no beauty sleep, beautiful enough."
Everyone laughs.
Morning of December 26, we are at breakfast when the phone rings. I answer, "Black Watch Detachment."
A male Irish voice, educated, "are you the Lt in charge?"
"Yes."
"May I ask your assistance?"
"If I can."
"We have a court martial in process, the charge is knowingly attacking an American unit. I'd like your thoughts on this matter."
"I simply do not believe it was deliberate. Yes we were in US uniform, but it was way too dark to tell. Our entire contingent has opted for Brit helmets, better protection you know. And these throw a different silhouette than American. I would say the accused honestly took us for Brits."
"Is it true he left immediately upon finding out?"
"Absolutely, and very apologetic about it too."
"Thank you so much," click.
Reckon I just saved the world famous knee specialists at Belfast General from yet another repair job.
Parvana chuckles, "gotta hand it to you, a generous soul. Lotta officers woulda fried the guy."
"Wouldn't be honest, no way on earth that was deliberate." I raise my voice, "gang sorry to say, everyone hasta carry 3 extra clips."
Loud raucous complaints, in mega sailor vernacular.
"Shut your go**am ****ing faces," Parvana shouts loudly. Silence falls. She continues, "now who in ****ing hell got you out before the ****ing tanks?"
Sheepish looks.
She continues, "just bloody do it."
A Pvt, blushing, tells me, "sorry."
Lightly I punch her arm, "hey no prob. We all stick together, look out for each other."
Parvana sums up, "well we've seen the ****ing Ra splinter group, and the *** ****ing neoNazis. We still ain't seen the ****ing Unionists, they'll bloody well be feeling left out."
"Could be both sides," a Pvt says helpfully, "Official Ra truce ends at noon today."
Loud groans.