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."