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."