Nuremberg Tour 21

The group pokes along at turtle pace, huffing and puffing, complaining. Sarge and I, way ahead, have a friendly conversation. She's curious about my book, I don't want to give away any suspense. Still, it's easy to lay out the first 200 pages, no secrets there.
Her face clouds, "surely people are insane, to write or even read such. Tell me now, really weren't his girlfriend?"
I blush hotly.
"Got it, at first you'd hoped, then saw how totally self-absorbed he was."
"Bingo."
"And hopefully, you won't write another such."
I lay out my idea of a Guyana story.
"You might have something there. So much of news or history is doom and gloom, focusing on the bad. Think of schools, they'd love to get books like that in their curriculum. Who knows? Ten years from now, the army stint may seem like a stroke of good fortune. Lots of time to write, compared to your civvy life."
"Sarge, what do you do on tour to pass time?"
Wicked smile, "I write porn."
I gasp.
"Any idea how much royalties? I own a BMW and SUV."
I gasp again.
"Got a stock portfolio worth about ten years of salary. When I retire, it'll be someplace warm."
"I would advise against Israel."
Laugh, "I like you, dry sense of humor. Now be honest, are you really ok with being in Farzana's group?"
"Oh yes, we're good friends."
"Well that puts my mind at ease. I had imagined trouble, guess that's just a stereotype. If it ain't prying, how did you two meet?"
"She insulted me in a coffee house and one thing led to another."
Chokes with laughter.
"Sarge, what does she do on tour to pass time?"
"Writes political satire, under a pen name of course. Hugely hated by lotsa people."
"You mean, including Afghans?"
"I mean mostly Afghans. She rarely goes after white targets. Field is just too glutted, everyone writing on them."
"I would assume she doesn't own a BMW and SUV."
Howl of laughter, "kid, you really break me up. Gonna be fun, on tour with you."
Lunchtime Sarge and I pass through the food line together, join the NCO crowd. I get warm greetings. Somehow or other, I've achieved a measure of acceptance. Curious, thought the army was clannish.
I end up sitting between Farzana and Sarge, take in the humorous stories. Next table over, I hear the griping and whining. Then it registers. They like me because I simply shrug, accept fate, don't complain.
I turn to Sarge, "lemme guess, same crowd will be whining about something or other for the whole next year."
Sad look, "little one, some people can be helped, just by pointing them towards achievement. Others can be sorta shamed into achieving on tour. Yet others will hate every minute, but never do anything. Such is human nature."
Sarge rises, "this afternoon we start at the rifle range in the basement. Anyone had any target practise? I don't mean arcade, but real rifles."
Two hands go up, Anne and Sarah.
"You Anne, tell people what it was?"
"Raised on a farm in Saskatchewan, Sarge. Brother taught me how to plink gophers with a .22 caliber."
"Ever done shotgun or big bore rifle?"
"No Sarge."
"Rest of you will be glad to know we start with .22's. First three weeks, to get you used to position, breathing, sighting and so. Once you get expertise, we move you along to where there is kick."
Looks of relief.
"And you Sarah?"
"Between high school and university, parents insisted I spend a year on a kibbutz, Sarge. We learned .303 caliber."
"Be more specific."
"The authorities won't let those kibbutzes have modern assault rifles, leads to too many problems. The kibbutzes homemake .303 jungle carbines. This model was originally used by British and Canadian forces during the Pacific campaigns of World War Two."
"Shot in chamber and ten in magazine?"
"That's the one Sarge."
"Well now, it's your lucky day. That's exactly what we use. Budget constraints plus the authorities are afraid modern assault rifles would make armories vulnerable to burglary."
Howls of laughter.
"Be honest now Sarah. Did they homemake Sten submachine guns from that same epoch?"
Sarah blushes.
"Ah ha, am I right or what? Ever fire one?"
"No Sarge."
"Why not?"
"We were told the Sten was so jerry built it was almost as risky to fire one as to be fired upon, Sarge."
Loud howls of laughter.
Sarge grimaces, "it's funny girls, but also true. So, those were squirrelled away, as a last resort? Dry fire practise only?"
"Yes Sarge."
"Ok, let's get serious, lotsa fear in some faces. Undoubtedly thinking back to old movies. It ain't that way, it's a lousy way to teach. We aim for a quiet, relaxed, helpful tone. There's five firing positions, an NCO on each. Think of them as a coach, a friendly advisor, as opposed to a boss."
I arrive to find Naomi and Farzana among the NCO's. Naturally I head towards Farzana.
She smiles easily, "no, doesn't work that way. They're afraid I would be unable to criticize a friend, go get Naomi."
Naomi gives me a kind look, "scared to death huh?"
I nod.
"Take a deep breath."
After a bit of hold, "now let it all out."
"Now another deep breath."
"Now let only half out."
After a bit of hold, she tells me to resume normal breathing, "so, how do you feel?"
"Much better, steady, relaxed, ready to do it."
"Good, now that same drill before each and every shot. Just relax, I'm here every minute."
It works, I score 73 on 10 shots. It's an amazing score for a rookie. Lotsa people only hit the target paper with two or three shots, some with none.
Sarah gets 98 and Anne 100. I see them lock eyes, know a rivalry is forming up.
"That's not fair," Sarah asserts, "I've never done .22. Just you wait til we hit .303."
Naomi slides in, wraps an arm around each, "that does not work, get upset, you don't do well. Here, we don't compete with each other, but with ourselves. Always aim for your personal best."
Easy smile, Anne says quietly, "98 is amazing for someone who's never done .22," puts her hand out and Sarah shakes.
"Good," Naomi says, "use that energy to help your friends here. We got people so scared to death, they didn't hit the paper once."
Uneasily Sarah replies, "ah Naomi, isn't it dangerous to give us obsolete .303's? Ivan the Bear would have up to date assault rifles?"
Naomi laughs, "by now, Lt should have convinced you that it's unlikely Ivan will come calling. Add to that fact it ain't real Ivan."
"What??"
"Real Ivan, the Russian Bear, is needed where things are hot. These here are your bear cubs, innocent little East Europeans."
"But still, they'd have"
"They don't. Moscow doesn't trust them, afraid anything modern would fall into rebel hands. They have .22's."
"You're joking??"
"Nope, entire Polish, Czech and Hungarian western borders have nothing bigger than .22. No heavy rifles or machineguns or mortars or RPG's or artillery or armored cars. Their transport is as bad as ours, one jeep allotted per platoon. Same fuel problems as us."
Sarah presses, "so the entire Western Front is a fraud for them?"
"It's how they keep Moscow happy. You are better armed. Lose not even one minute of sleep on the thought that some poor little Czech would like to invade."
I jump in, "but that says Moscow trusts the Canadian Army more than their own allies."
"Move to the head of the class, could not have said it better myself."
"How could they see the world so?"
Naomi sighs, "imagine the Canadian Army were men, they'd make homebrew, do some shooting for fun. Anything and everything could happen. But the entire Canadian contingent, all the way from the Baltic Sea to the Austria-Hungary border is women."
It starts to dawn.
Naomi continues, "last time shots were exchanged between NATO and neo Warsaw Pact forces along that border was 110 years ago."
Everyone gasps.
"Look up your history, that was when the Supreme Court ruled it was not unconstitutional to have an all-female draft. Prior to that, half and half."
"And by logical extension," I say, "it isn't Ivan, but Ivana on the other side."
Everyone laughs.
Naomi grins, "you do have a way with words, might be a writer yet. You are correct. Now, do you see, no one over there wishes to start any shooting?"