At that thought he gave a small smile and shook his head. Talk about over-analyzing.
“Something humorous, sergeant?” Julia asked.
“If you have the right sense of humor, everything is funny,” Vanner said, grinning. “And the current situation is hilarious. Get with that blonde girl that was down here. She’s the equivalent of a sergeant, not an officer. She’ll know where the bathroom is. You can change in there.”
“Where are you going to change?” Olga asked. She and Julia had gotten out their uniforms, standard Keldara “sterile” digicam and were starting to pull out the various bits of clothing and gear that were necessary to survive riding in an unpressurized, unheated, plane for several hours as they depressurized.
“Right here,” Vanner said, starting to unbutton his shirt. “So you’d better get going.”
“Is a question permitted?” Julia asked, holding up a hand.
“Always,” Vanner replied.
“If we were American women doing this mission, where would we change?”
“Woosh! Good question,” Vanner said. “Depends on the situation. If there were base facilities and stuff then in private. But there are plenty of times when women and men have to get undressed around each other in the field. Especially if they’re in a hurry.”
“It is as I thought,” Julia said, undoing the ties of her blouse and stripping it over here head. “We are in a hurry, yes? So let’s ‘get it on.’ ”
“Julia Makanee!” Jeseph snapped as Vanner’s mouth dropped. Of course the latter was unnoticed by anyone, including Julia who was fixedly concentrated on her task.
“Shut up, Jeseph Ferani,” Julia replied, reaching for the ties of her skirt. “First of all, I outrank you. Second, we don’t have time for your complaints. Now start getting undressed. We have an insertion to make.”
Vanner’s brain kicked in just enough for him to want to point out that both “get it on” and “insertion” had dual meanings but paused and started taking off his clothes.
“Move, Jeseph, Ivan, the lady’s right: we don’t have the time to play nice,” Vanner said. “But just one thing: What happens on the mission… ”
“Stays on the mission,” Olga said, starting to take off her own clothes. “Unless it’s really funny and doesn’t violate OPSEC. It’s not like we talk about you lying with that Slovak whore in Romania, Jeseph.”
“Hey!”
“I am hereby classifying all aspects of this mission that have cultural complications TS Codeword material,” Vanner said, pulling out his “snivel” gear.
The “snivel” gear, in reality high-altitude climbing gear, was a necessity not an option. Due to the altitude they were going to have to jump from, they would first have to ascend slowly to prevent decompression sickness, the “bends” more famous in SCUBA diving. And while the day presently at Tblisi was a more or less comfortable sixty-five degrees farenheit, by the time they got to fourteen thousand feet, much less the twenty-three thousand they were jumping from, it was going to be below freezing.
“Would that codeword be ‘Peaking Fly’?” Olga asked with a slight giggle, opening up her own bag.
The reason for the heavy gear they were changing into was two-fold. First they were going to be jumping from way up high where it got very fucking cold. But HALO gear wasn’t normally as heavy as what they would wear. The fact was that very few teams dropped into 14,000 foot mountains in the beginning of winter. And while it was sixty-five today in Tblisi, that was a fluke. There was a nasty front on the way in, arriving early in the evening and continuing into the night. They would be jumping just before it reached their AO and almost immediately in one of the first snow-storms of the year in the high mountains. Between the temperatures on the jump and the predicted temps in their insertion area, well below zero Farenheit by midnight, they had to dress for success.
“I guess I should have briefed you guys on this sort of thing,” Vanner said, apparently ignoring the comment and continuing to “get it on.” “One of the little cultural things to it is that nobody comments. Nobody. The guys don’t oggle, the women don’t giggle, they don’t trade barbs about relative physical merits. Not at the time. Later, maybe, they might make some passing comment. But at the time you act as if it’s no big deal. Don’t take that as a slap, by the way, it’s just information. Now, teams that have spent a lot of time together and ‘seen’ each other a lot, and there’s a lot of trust, that’s different. Then they joke. But not without the understanding and trust.”
While he’d been talking, Vanner and the rest had been “getting it on.” First came thin, slippery, polypropylene socks. The polypropylene would wick moisture away and, by adhering to the feet and not slipping, prevent or reduce blistering. Next were light polypropylene long-johns and long-sleeved top made by Spyder gear, rolled down over the socks. Next were Smartwool socks and a polypropylene mid-layer top tucked into Keldara field pants. Then the “farmer-john” insulated bib, boots, Keldara field blouse, body armor and over the whole thing an insulated down parka. Each had a balaclava, presently pulled down, and would don a helmet on the way up. If their face got too cold, there was an additional “gator”, a circular neck warmer, that could be put on and pulled up over their mouth and nose. Heavy gloves would later be slipped on over the blouse sleeves but under their parkas.
“Got it,” Julia said, standing up. She was the first one dressed and had gone from one very svelte hottie to something that looked like the Michelin Man. “But if what happens on the mission stays on the mission… ”
“There will be times,” Vanner noted, unzipping his jacket and opening up his body armor to get some circulation. “Spring festival. The elders and kids have gone to bed. People are talking about their part of a mission. ‘Oleg, you were over on Vasho Street so you didn’t see when Jeseph really screwed up…’ Jesesph will say something like ‘At least my nipples are the right color…’ Everyone will go ‘Oooo, zinger!’ And then everyone who needs to know and can understand will know. If they’ve got questions about under what conditions Jeseph saw your nipples, they’ll ask, quietly. Or they’ll already have heard. You keep it low-key or it doesn’t work at all. Feel free to pass that on, by the way.”
“Julia, sorry,” Jeseph said, zipping up his boots.
“Not a problem,” Julia replied. “What’s that term the Kildar uses?”
“Culture shock?” Olga asked, tucking in her t-shirt.
“I was thinking more of cultural conditioning,” Julia said with a grin. “But ‘shock’ works. Sergeant Vanner, are we close enough a team for a little joking?”
“Maybe,” Vanner said.
“In that case, Jeseph’s hung like a bull,” Olga said, grinning. “Ivan’s not bad, either.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lasko eased forward through the screen of low bushes with all the speed and daring of a snail.
The ridgeline overlooked LZ 1, the Kildar’s LZ, which was a small upland clearing, probably the result of a recently silted up pond, at about 3000 meters above sea-level and some 40 miles from the valley of the Keldara.
The trees in the region had already begun to shift to upland coniferous, primarily firs, instead of the deciduous growth found down in the Valley. The understory was thigh-high heather, tough, wiry and prickly as hell.