She’d had a carton of Camels back at the mansion and now she didn’t even have a used butt in her pocket. Crappy time to go cold turkey. Cigarettes… dishonorable discharge – she and the knuckleheads inside, and of course, Bob. They’d all been part of the same supply company. The black market for cigarettes in Sudan was intense, particularly for American brands. Amazing how the cowboy image could still push tobacco. She’d had a successful career as one of the first frontline female shock troops in the US Marines. The supply company had been a disciplinary measure - an incident with a local tribal leader sending her career to the shitter. She’d pulled force security duty, and in the middle of a meeting between her battalion commander and some asshole chief, the smarmy prick had boasted about the literally hundreds of woman and children he’d supposedly raped. She asked the fat bastard, with his thick eyebrows and food stained beard, to stop talking about it. He simply smiled at her and started another story about three little girls and their mother.
