Trooper Blondie
by Marty S
Tora Bora, Afghanistan, December, 2001
The straps of my bergen were killing my weary shoulders, but no pain would too great. We had cleared the highest mountains in the Nagarhar region east of Kabul and south of Jalalabad working our way toward the Pakistan border. The elevation made breathing difficult and December cold always dogged us. We were entering a hellish area known locally as Tora Bora. The knowledge that my quarry was now less than half a day ahead of me drove my feet. There would be no quitting. I simply had to tell my legs to keep pushing. The downhill portion of our trek would take us close enough to make the confirmation that would bring an end to my hate. It was still dark, perhaps three more hours until sunrise, when we had to stop. Silently we worked ourselves down four hundred meters of sharp rock in the cold darkness. Every footstep was crucial to our stealth. No noise could be made. Finally Eddie, our lead, motioned for us to halt with his upturned fist. Holding in place with my weapon pointed up to my left I scanned the night sky through my night vision site for any signs of movement. As much as I wanted to look and see what Eddie had stopped for, my training and discipline forced me to cover my arch. This area was pock-marked with caves that were hiding places used by the mujahideen against the Soviets in the eighties and even against our own British troops about a hundred years ago. They were still used now by the al Qaeda fighters against us. To let the team down by letting us be ambushed from behind would destroy all that we had achieved so far, so I watched diligently at the motionless rocks that we had just traversed. The weight of my fully loaded M-16/203 forced me to use my knee as a prop to steady my aim. There was not a sound, no wind, no bugs, nothing. I could equally see nothing, other than my own breath. I surely hoped that our quarry was near its destination so that we could get on with the business.
In my peripheral vision I caught a hand signal from Mike, the number three man in our four man patrol, relayed from our team leader Allan, signaling me to come forward. We had individual patrol radios to communicate to each other with but we must have been dangerously close to our targets to use hand signals only. I passed Mike who took over my responsibility for covering our rear. As soon as I reached Allan, he took hold of the strap on my web belt and lead me forward to Eddies position. Eddie, a big man was huddled behind a mammoth rock. He slowly lowered his night vision goggles and turned to me. He pointed carefully in a direction to our lower left, and held up two fingers. Two fingers signified two hundred meters, so I used my night vision glasses and quietly but deliberately rose up to peer over the rock in the direction that Eddie indicated. The first thing that I saw was the bright light coming from torches. Our adversaries were there and insisted on lighting their way with little tactical discipline. I could see five men roughly two hundred meters ahead, three carrying AK-47s, all wearing local tribal rags. I recognized three of them right away. Ramhire, Mohammad, and Reza, the body guards. There was no mistaking their mannerisms, and their faces were unmistakable to me. The other two I did not recognize but could only assume to be the Pashtun guides they hired. I noticed them all looking to their right and sure enough two more figures appeared from around a random boulder. The first man looked like another Pashtun guide but the second man was more familiar. To say familiar was an understatement. The shorter, slightly overweight man could not disguise his identity despite the false Pashtun garments that he wore. The man seemed quite out of place in the high Spin mountains of Afghanistan, way too posh for such an inhospitable environment. I had to swallow a throat full of bile as I suppressed the urge to stand up and blow him clean off the face of the earth. It was definitely him, it was Faquir, our quarry.
Reason soon came back to me as an epiphany hit me: we had been tracking six men, and now there were seven. A cold chill ran up my spine at this revelation. If we had been tracking six men for five days in these remote mountains and suddenly a seventh man appeared out of thin air something was definitely wrong. Allan was right behind my right shoulder, I tapped his arm without taking my eyes off of my objective. I held up five fingers, closed my hand and held up two more. I slowly turned and faced my patrol leader. In the dark only a foot apart, I stared into his eyes and managed a big cheese eating grin on my face. He knew what that meant. We were here, this was it. The seventh man had come from a cave to greet our party. This was the destination they had been traveling to and hopefully it was the final location of the most wanted man in the world. The whole world wanted us to find him, I had but just one score to settle.
We stayed in our defensive posture and observed for another hour. Eventually, all seven men had disappeared into the cave. Our next duty was to report the finding to our headquarters. There could be no cowboy, go it alone heroics like in the movies. Every detail had to be carefully planned and coordinated by the joint special operations command. There were hundreds of special operations patrols from the US, including green berets, Delta force, and Rangers. Our SAS groupings included Australian and Canadian teams to augment our squadron size force. The entire operation was under control of the Americans as expected and every move would be called by them. We were just hoping that they would not resort to aerial bombing in this case as they had in so many other cases so far. We were close enough to carry out the op ourselves and also close enough to get fragged by a stray bomb as had been experienced already by some of our troops. Either way there was much more to this mission than just our observation. We did hope however; that this would be the key to the mission.
Allan grouped us together closely and laid out a move order to a previous RV point on the opposite side of the mountain, clear of observation and danger but where would could still observe the cave entrance for activity. We moved as we had before but uphill this time. The pain may have been worse, but the joy of our finding made the journey much easier on my somewhat frailer body. It took an hour to reach our destination, being ultra careful as we moved, doubling back on our own trail several times looking for stragglers. On arrival we immediately went into our 360 degree protection drill as we are trained to do. After waiting fifteen minutes the sun was now up high enough to cast shadows. I noticed that the location Allan had picked was in a very long shadow that would conceal our whereabouts for several more hours. We then would have to rely on camouflage to cover our location. We soon got to work. Eddie and Allan got to work on the cam, while Mike stood stag, 5.56 minimi at the ready coving our front. My job was to set up the radio to send the message to HQ. Satellite communications meant that our signal could be sent around the world clearly and accurately in seconds. It was a luxury not available to the patrols in the 1991 gulf war. Allan, himself a veteran of the gulf war, had drafted the message confirming our sighting and giving the location of the cave from our G.P.S. I received the confirmation that our message made it through and passed it on to Allan. We would have nothing to do now but sit and wait.
Waiting through the daylight hours in anticipation was grueling. We were less than half a kilometer from Faquir but I could do nothing. I imagined all the ways that I could kill him, accessing my darkest corners of my mind. I imagined shooting him, burning him alive and gutting him like fish amongst many other ideas even more gruesome. Waiting is a horrible thing, it allows the mind to wonder. The drill after defenses and comms was simple: eat, drink water, take care of any minor injuries or problems, sort out your kit and if possible find time to rest up. After taking care of the first two items, I opened my shirt to inspect the damage to my shoulders. They were raw and red from the straps of my bergen. The pain was sinking in, having been masked by the adrenaline for days. My breasts were killing me too. They were not designed for such torture. I was wearing a sports bra to keep them in place but it had done little to help the chaffing from my equipment. The sweat had made them itchy too and I fought the natural urge to get naked and scratch them. I thought about genetic women in the army and how they managed on field exercises and operations. I had only had my breasts a short while and could now say with qualification how out of place they were in such an environment. I recalled never suffering this much on any training or missions before. I had to forget about it and soldier on. I took out my small compass and carefully flipped it open. Being sure the mirror from the compass was pointed away from the sun so as not to cause a refection and give away our position. I simply wanted to look at my face . I had a scarf wrapped around it for a long time but it did not protect the face completely from the harsh elements. My skin was dry and cracking in some places. Subtle hints of light, downy facial hair were starting to show. It was nothing compared to the bushy beards of my comrades but it was the first signs of any facial hair on me in years. My eyes looked red and sore and the creases under them were deep and raw. I longed for some lotion to bath my face in. I shook out my hair and scratched my scalp. My blond hair was getting long again, now a full month since my last haircut. I had not cut too much off at the time. In the regiment we never cut our hair to the usual military standard. By now it was already to my shoulders again and starting to curl. It was beginning to take on a feminine look again. It was too messy and matted now, but as I stared at my refection, I imagined it in its full flowing glory. Like I said, the mind wonders and soon I had a subtle wake up call. The radio was buzzing with an incoming message. I folded up my compass and got to work. I quickly copied down the incoming information and acknowledged the receipt. I then had to decode it and immediately handed it to Allen who was patiently awaiting for my decryption.
I handed Allen the decoded message, and patiently waited. He looked sideways at one point with his steel blue eyes, "Y'all right mate?" he asked.
I nodded in acknowledgment with a distant stare. "Right mate, let's get sorted out then," was his patient reply. I had only been working will Allen for less than three months and we seemed to have a distant understanding. I couldn't help but wonder what the situation would be like if Dave was still with us.
The message was our orders for the operation which included the situation, our mission and the execution of it, along with communication instructions and logistic support. In a nutshell; our team (team D24) was to return to our previous location to act as guides for the incoming fighting patrol who would be from mountain troop (D40). We were to cover the cave entrance as they breached it and entered it. Another patrol from our troop (D22) was to secure a LZ on the far side of the hill for the fighting patrol of eight men. Another patrol from our troop (D23) would be sent up to protect the flank from the opposite side of the cave and the last patrol from our troop (D21) would take over our current location with a sniper team to observe and provide long range cover. Our troop boss was with D21, and would coordinate from that location. Another fighting patrol (D41) was on standby in a chopper waiting to jump in if necessary. The timings were being coordinated with some American attacks on similar caves nearby. Apparently, Bin Laden was suspected to in be in several of them as well. There was to be some fireworks from the American air force as a prelude to the assault. As excited as I was at the prospect of the assault, I was somewhat disappointed that I would not be going into the cave myself, not for the glory but for revenge.
Now the long wait would set in, nine more hours until show time. I still had to get some rest and my turn came up soon enough when I could lay down and catch a few hours. The adrenaline plays havoc on the body and mind, and when it slows down the body crashes. As I faded my mind was still buzzing and I recalled the events leading up to this moment. It did not start here in Afghanistan or even at a base in England but twenty years before in the streets of Belfast, Northern Ireland.
Belfast, Northern Ireland, the 1980s
Growing up as me was not easy, being a girly-boy in a tough town like Belfast was like having a target drawn on your back. I was living with just me ma, in a government supported housing tenement. Me dad had been in the fire brigade and was killed in a building fire when I was two years old. Ma cried for months after. There were a lot of fires, a lot of explosions and a lot of shootings. The troubles made the city a war zone. Most of the city was segregated with the Catholics living in their own ghettos, like Falls Road but it was not exclusive, as the tenements I lived in not far from there, was mixed. I was not Catholic but a lot of my friends were. We played together all the time and often wondered what all the fuss was about. There were plenty of fights and punch ups in the neighborhood but it was never about religion or the troubles, it was just what Irish boys did. I grew up avoiding the other boys as much as possible and made friends mostly with girls. I had many girlfriends to hang out and play with while growing up but it was impossible to avoid the boys. I had long, curly blond hair and very fair skin. My features were very feminine and I would often be mistaken for a girl when out in public. Some of the local bullies regularly called me a puff, or queer when I passed by and eventually I earned the nickname 'Blondie' like the new wave band of the time. I was attacked and beaten up more times than I could count during those early years. I would have to learn to defend myself eventually or perish. I realized that I could never out box the bigger, tougher bullies so I had to employ some strategy. I learned to fight dirty, and to use anything I could for a weapon. One time, when I was seven, on my way home from school, after saying goodby to my friend Caroline, I was jumped by a neighborhood bully, Kevin, who knocked my books from my hands and cornered me holding a fistful of my shirt in one of his hands while clenching a fist with the other.
"What the fucks a puff like you doin wif Caroline, eh Blondie?" he scowled at me. I had been beat up by Kevin before and for the first time I wasn't afraid. I simply reacted the only way I could, I jammed my foot down onto his toes as hard as possible and then raised my knee into his groin in one quick motion. Kevin was stunned and threw a lame punch at me which I easily dodged. His fist crushed itself into the brick wall. I lined up his forehead and drove the nut of my head into his face as hard as I could. Kevin fell back on the ground with his nose gushing blood. I didn't let up, I kicked him full force in the bollocks again, then picked up a loose piece of brick from the ground and climbed on top of his body. He was reeling in pain as I smashed the brick into his already bloody face. As a result, Kevin had to have ten stitches in his face, had a broken nose, and never bothered me again. This pattern was to repeat itself many times over the remainder of my school years. I had smashed a few heads in with rubbish bin lids, bottles, and bricks. I never started a fight or even went looking for one, but when they found me, I made sure to never hold back, and would never end up on the short end again. The worst I would suffer would be the occasional black eye.
Even when we were thirteen, Kevin, my old nemesis, would pass by and smile, "Hey Blondie, how the fuck er ya?" Being able to defend myself was still no cure for being a pretty boy. As I got older, I still had a slight build, a pale, girlish face with a few freckles, and long, blond curls. Ma was no help either, always buying me clothes from the second hand shops that were never masculine and when she always told me it was too expensive to get my hair cut. When she eventually would agree to me getting a hair trim, she would get her friend Brigit to come over and do it. Brigit worked in a salon and did women's hair all day. My hair would end up looking more girly when she was finished then when she started. The irony of it all was when I was finished getting it done, I would stare in the mirror for hours after imagining I was Madonna or Kylie Minougue. In side my own home I would often fantasize about being a girl. I seen how girls had it, never getting into fights, always spoiling themselves with cloths and dressing up. I imagined that if I could easily live the life of a girl and enjoy it. Instead of picking on me all the time, the boys would be trying to chat me up.
The reality was far different. When I left my house, would have to put on my best masculine side and take on the world. My struggle was endless over those years.
It was lucky for me that I was smart with the books. Classes seemed very easy to me. I could not define it, but when it came to writing tests, I seemed to score well with little effort. Being smart did continue to alienate me from the other tough boys even more. Even as I went through high school, all my friends continued to be girls. I was in love many times with many different girls. I never had a problem meeting girls or making friends with them but when it came to more than that I had problems. Seems that I wasn't masculine enough for most of them even after being in a bloody scrap. They would tell me that I was attractive and nice, but they fancied the more 'athletic' types. Caroline, who had been a close friend of mine for over ten years, started dating my old nemesis Kevin and I felt like she had ripped my heart out. By the time I turned sixteen every bloke in the tenement my age was bragging about how they had become a man by getting laid. I felt betrayed somehow, that I could be closer to all the local girls than any other boy and yet be the only one they would not touch.
The never ending struggle raged through those years. My grades in school were amongst the highest. My love of girls continued to end in frustration. I was continually harassed. Sometimes, when I was alone at home I would cry and more than once I considered offing myself although I would keep that fact carefully to myself during my recruiting interviews. Not much money was coming in from my Dad's fire brigade pension so my ma had taken some work at a local pub as a barmaid and would often work at night and leave me alone at home. There were a few times when I was home alone that I would sneak into her closet and pull out some items. I often found the shortest skirts and a tiny top. I rummaged through her dresser drawers and would find some black silk knickers, bra, and suspenders. I would roll on some black stockings, strap them up, put on the knickers and bra, stuff the bra and dress up in the skirt and top. I was fond of a small, black lace skirt and a clean white, fitted shirt. I would then go to the bathroom and put on some of my mother's makeup. I would fix up my blond tresses a bit, squeeze into a pair of ma's high heels shoes and I was done. It was scary how much more I looked like a girl with the makeup on. I could say with all modesty that I could make myself appear more feminine than any of the local girls. From the time I was sixteen I began this practice on a frequent basis. Over time I became very practiced at putting on makeup, using my mother's fashion magazines for reference. I made sure that I 'unfemmed' in plenty of time and carefully replace my mother's clothes before she returned from work. I don't think that she ever knew what I was up to on those nights. I tried to cover my tracks as best as I could. If she did know or suspect, she didn't say a word to me about it. If she was aware of what I was doing, was she alright with it?
By the time I turned seventeen, being a virgin was becoming upsetting. It was definitely a confusing time for me. I did not know which direction I was heading. As much as I felt like a girl in so many ways it did not dampen my flame hot desire to be with one either. I loved girls, everything about them but had a mild curiosity about boys too.
I went away to a youth camp at Lough Neagh for a few weeks at the beginning of the summer break from school as I had the previous summer. It was great getting out of the city and out into nature. I really enjoyed the fresh air, the lake, and all the activities like boating, hiking, climbing, camping, and such. The best thing about camp however; was Sarah, a sweet brunette girl from Ballymena. Sarah had freckles and bright blue eyes. She was fit and shapely for a girl her age and she tended to wear extra small, tight shorts and a tight, cut -off tee shirt at camp which emphasized her firm body and round, apple shape bum. Her brown hair was long and naturally curly, cascading around her pretty face, over her small shoulders and ending at her perky breasts. We made friends immediately during our first summer and hung around together all the time. We wrote each other letters after the summer to keep in touch. The second summer was much the same and our friendship improved even more. Sarah looked even better, and her body was sexier than ever. I would fantasize about her every night while I masturbated. The danger of the 'just friends syndrome' was looming with Sarah just as it had with all the other girls I associated with back in Belfast. We had intimate conversations that lasted until lights out. We talked about a lot of things, like my problems back home, and her problems with her parents. We discussed everything but our mutual feelings for each other. I had trouble getting the courage to make a move in fear of losing her as a friend altogether but I would be sure to never miss an opportunity to compliment her.
I would say, "Sarah, I'll have to catch up with you, I need a swim in the cold water before I can been seen again," after she paraded about in her swimsuit at the lake. Sarah had a cute giggle and would enjoy my antics. At the end of that summer, before going home, Sarah gave me a kiss on the lips that made me melt.
"You really made my summer Ryan, I wanted to do that for a long time. After the shock had worn off, half an hour after she was gone, I started kicking myself for not acting on my feelings sooner. Frustration was not the word to describe how I felt. I had missed the opportunity of a lifetime and might never get it back. After getting back home I called Sarah the next day. I wanted to pursue the chance of an intimate relationship with her. Over the phone we awkwardly described how silly we had been. I told her that I wanted to see her. Sarah paused for a long time than came back to the line, " There is something I should have told you before," with a very concerned tone.
I felt my heart drive up into my throat.
"Here it comes," I thought to myself. My mouth dried out in anticipation of what was inevitably going to be coming out of her mouth next.
"I have a boyfriend," Sarah hesitantly squeaked out. The words burned inside my chest. After a pause which felt like an hour but was in reality only a minute or two she continued, "I'm so sorry." I wanted to end the phone call as fast as possible and came up with a lame remark that I was being called to supper. I hung up and went to my room to cry for hours. Depression set in pretty deep over the next few weeks and my usual disposition became more surly than ever. I had no ambition for anything and let myself go to hell. Sarah was engraved in my mind and I could not shake her despite the bitterness that she left in me.
It was the third week of the semester when Sarah called me again. I had no anxiety about speaking with her this time. The bitterness in me had been replaced with apathy brought on by my belief in my being the worlds biggest loser. Sarah was still with her boyfriend, Sean, but she asked if I would come for a visit. "It's very important that we see you. You won't be disappointed, I assure you."
"We, see you," she had said. Sean wanted to meet me. Did this mean that I would go all the way up there to have a jealous boyfriend beat the tar out of me? I was worried but very curious. I really did want to see Sarah again and that kiss was all I could think about. I hesitated for a few minutes, desperate to find an answer within myself. In the end it was my desperation winning out over common sense. "I can ride up there on Saturday," I found myself replying.
After word I had been second guessing my actions, knowing it was not the smartest move I had ever made. I hopped on my bike first thing Saturday morning and headed up the Ballymena road. I rode a racing bike, it was my one expensive possession. It kept me very fit and gave me great leg strength. It took the better part of the day to ride the mostly uphill route to Ballymena. I was dogged by potholes, my exhaustion and by my anxiety of what awaited me. I told myself that if this Sean wanted to rip me apart, I would give him my best, then be on my way.
I arrived at three in the afternoon, and met Sarah at the address she had gave to me over the phone. I was both sore and scared as I knocked on the door to the quaint cottage house. Suddenly, my fears seemed to all vanish as the smiling freckled face with bright blue eyes greeted me at the door. Despite being all sweaty from the ride, Sarah gave me a big hug in welcome. She looked as beautiful as ever and I was very happy that I made the trip. I entered and took off my backpack. Sarah's parents were not at home and when I entered the living room I was greeted by a Sean. Sean was taller than me, by a few inches, and older, maybe twenty years old. He was smooth looking, not scruffy, as I had imagined in my mind. His hair was long, not as long as mine, but fairly long, a bit wavy and a bit auburn in color. He had intense green eyes, which made me a bit nervous. I did not feel threatened in anyway by him however, as he smiled genuinely and greeted me with a close handshake. "Sarah was right about you, you are a pretty one," he remarked to my shock. I figured it was innocent enough and decided not to throw a punch.
"Thanks," was all I could say in an embarrassed sort of way. There was a period of uncomfortable silence before I asked if I could use the shower. Sarah was happy to help me out, finding me a towel and directing me to the loo. I cleaned up and got dressed into the clothes that I had brought with me. I put on my good jeans and a loose fitting shirt, casual but appropriate for the time of year. Sean was wearing a rugby shirt and jeans and Sarah wore a light summer dress, pink, with black print flowers. As soon as I was ready, we headed down to the local pub for some supper and a few pints.
Sarah and Sean were acting very flirty all the way to pub, holding hands, rubbing noses and otherwise very annoying behavior. I ordered a plate of chips and don't remember what the two of them ate, just their continued petting and carrying on. I consumed more beer than they did, three pints at least. After a while, I was feeling no pain. I started feeling that the entire trip was becoming a huge waste of my time. These two were obviously love birds and I could do nothing about it.
Sean and Sarah had been making a point of whispering in each other's ears during our last pint. It was rude and beginning to piss me off. I was about to say something to them when Sarah piped up and said, "This music here is shite, how's about we head back to the cottage. I have the new U2 album, and some Depeche Mode.
"Got any beer?" was my only reply.
"No," Sean leaned in. In a quiet voice he whispered, "Got some wicked pot, even better."
I looked over at Sarah inquisitively for her reaction. She was wide eyed and eager. Despite my cautionary instinct, I could not resist her wanting eyes. There was something bigger going on, and I wanted to find out. "Okay, feck it, let's go," I answered.
We arrived at the cottage and Sarah immediately went to put on some music. I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, my mind drifting with apathy. We sat and had a joint, loosening up for a while. Sarah kept teasing Sean by sticking her tongue in his ear and rubbing her body against his. He pulled her on his lap and started kissing with her. Their mouths were wide open and tongues entwined. They were kissing up quite a storm when Sarah's hands went down to Sean's lap to grab his dick. I felt like grabbing my own as it was crawling down my leg. Instead I suggested that I leave as I would certainly be in the way. They quickly stopped me. Sarah said they wanted me to stay and join them. They had planned this for some time and I was to be their play toy. It hit me like a bomb shell, but my natural desire, my lust for Sarah and my loose inhibition from the beer and smoke made me hunger for the experience. Sean asked if I was in.
They didn't have to ask me twice. Sarah and Sean both smiled when I did and they continued to make out. My inexperienced cock flew up to full mast. Sean began feeling up Sarah through her shirt and opened a few buttons as well. Sarah reached out to me. I took her hand. She pulled me between the two of them. Her blouse was now wide open and her soft breasts, encased in a white lace bra pressed against me. Her warm, open mouth met mine and my body shuddered as we kissed. I was aware of Sean's body close to mine too. His hand was on my back as he kissed Sarah's neck. Together we helped the hypnotized Sarah out of her top and skirt. I moved my tongue between her teeth and kissed her long and hard. Sean removed her pretty white bra and put her right nipple in his mouth immediately. I kissed my way down to her left nipple. Sarah's nipples were hard and pointy. I licked her tit all over and kissed her freckles. Sean's fingers reached into Sarah's panties and massaged her so as to make her gasp. Her body quaked at the touch and she pulled my head up by my hair to kiss me again. She kissed me hard this time, shoving her tongue into my mouth. I caressed it gently with my own. More confident now, my hands roamed over her tight, firm arse. Sean slid Sarah's panties down to the floor and she stepped out of them. Her sweet aroma filled the air and I became so horny, I would do anything. Sean and I returned to Sarah's beasts and began sucking them again. His fingers went to her pussy and mine went down the crack of her bum. Sarah was in ecstacy having a mouth on each breast a hand working her pussy over and one of my fingers teasing her asshole. She was moaning softly and pulled both Sean and I up to her and kissed us again, Sean first then me. It was hot watching her kiss Sean, despite my jealous feelings. She alternated kissing us, back and forth, quicker each time, then stopped. Our breathing was all heavy when she looked square into my eyes and said, "I want the two of you to kiss each other." She was pressing our faces closer together. I felt a pang of anxiety. Not sure what to do, I turned toward Sean to gage his reaction and as I did I was met with a soft, open mouth kiss. I was shocked at how gently he kissed me. Surprisingly, I opened my lips and encouraged his tongue to enter. Sarah was very pleased and moaned her pleasure. "That is so fucking sexy!" she added as Sean and I made out.
Sarah started kissing my cheek, then my neck while I frenched her boyfriend. Sean then began moving away from my mouth and over to Sarah's. Sarah took his place, her mouth pressed against mine. Sean kissed his way down her body. He was on his knees and Sarah lifted her right leg over his shoulder. Sean went down on her and shoved his tongue up her hot little muff. He had obviously done this for her before, because she groaned hard and her body tensed up. While his face was deep in her pussy, I continued feeling her up and kissed her again. She began to bight my lower lip and dig her finger nails into my arms as she shuddered in orgasm. Her knees went week and I had to hold her up from falling down. Sean got up from the ground and began kissing Sarah full on the mouth. His face was glistening with her juices. She seemed to enjoy it all the same. I was hungry for some too and Sean turned and kissed me, allowing me to lick his face clean of Sarah's delicious girl juice.
We finally made it to the bedroom, Sarah pulling Sean and myself in tow. She lay back on the bed and ordered us to both strip. Our cloths were becoming cumbersome and restraining. I felt a great relief when my cock was able to fly free. Sean was way ahead of me. He wasted no time, climbing naked onto Sarah's prone body. His body was muscular and lean and he had a very long cock which was as hard as mine. Sarah motioned me over to the bed and I looked around trying to find a place. My dick was at the bursting point from being so turned on. I stood beside the bed and Sarah took my purple cock in her hand. She could feel it trembling. She knew that I was a virgin and it would not take much to put me over. "Your not far off, are you?"
I shook my head, "No".
"So long as you have more for me after this one," she implied. Sean, meanwhile had pushed his pole into his girlfriends vagina to the hilt and pumped her hard. My dick was staring both of them in the face and Sarah graciously accepted it by opening her mouth and letting it in. She licked it and got it wet. Sean's face was only a couple inches from hers. I was shocked next when Sarah let my dick out of her mouth. Sean's tongue replaced hers. His tongue ran up and down the shaft then sucked its full length. After sucking it for a few minutes he raised his head to me. I pulled his face to mine and we engaged in a deep soul kiss. Our mouths pressed together in a wonderful kiss while he pumped my cock with his hand and his pumped Sarah's pussy. Sarah gave my cock a few more pulls and I could hold out no longer. The tension in my body was too intense to hold back and I unleashed my torrent all over Sarah. Her body, her hair and her face were soaked in my love juice. Sean broke from our kiss and dropped his mouth over my cock. He deep throated me and licked it clean. Sarah and Sean engaged in a deep kiss, sharing my essence between them. Sean stroked a few more times into Sarah and had an orgasm himself, filling her up with his seed. My head was dizzy and my knees felt weak. I sat down on the bed next to Sarah.
Sean took a break and lit up another joint. I was still stiff so I went straight for my opportunity on his girlfriend. Getting between Sarah's legs was my dream come true. I had wanted it for over a year and I took my opportunity. I stuffed my hard on into her creamy hole. She was well lubricated with Sean's cum but was still nice and tight. I glided myself in and out of her pussy rapidly, bringing her to a peak. Our mouths closed together and we kissed while I slid in and out of her warm, creamy love nest. I felt Sean crawling up behind me. He started licking the backs of my legs sending a rush through me. He kissed a path to my bum and kissed it all over. Sean's tongue was driving me crazy. He darted his tongue between my cheeks and found my hole. Next he put a finger up my bum while he continued kissing my arse. I was alarmed and began to panic. Sarah reassured me, holding me tight. "It's alright baby, just let it happen. You'll be okay, I promise. You're going to love it," Sarah assured me.
A second finger probed my arse as I continued pumping into Sarah's sweet pussy. I was going wild. I told Sean to, "Do it!" He climbed on my back and entered my tail with his sizable erection. When he had sunk all the way in, I had a hard time dealing with the pain. I had to balance the pleasure of being inside Sarah with new feeling of being invaded myself. I breathed deep and soon was able to overcome the pain. We started a rhythm of me fucking Sarah and Sean fucking me. The tempo increased to a free for all as I released a fountain into Sarah. As I slid out Sean pounded my tail faster and faster until a load of cum filled my bum. I buried my face in Sarah's crotch to suck out the mix of juices from her silky muff.
I made sure that she was cleaned up before I began growing tired. We all dozed off in a human pretzel that we finished in. It wasn't until the next day that I began having second thoughts about what I had participated in. I was worried about what Sarah thought about me, and what I thought about myself. There was no denying that I had enjoyed being on the receiving end as well as the giving end. I was very confused about my sexuality. I thought that I was in love with Sarah despite just having taken her boyfriend's cock up my backside. My head was pounding with pain from the drinking which made my body feel worse that anything. I found myself unable to control my retching stomach and ended up in the water closet heaving up in the toilet. It took a few hours to recover and after a proper breakfast and lots of water, I was as fit as ever. My mind was still pondering how to face Sarah. She made short work of it herself. "I think it's best if we don't ever see each again Ryan," she said without any hesitation.
I could see Sean looking on from a few feet behind her. He obviously was aware of what she was saying to me. I shouldn't have been surprised, but it still hurt. Her warm smile that I was custom to had an icy breath behind it. I had to accept it. I was lucky to have done what I did. I had to say something however. "So I was just a toy to you then, eh?" was all I could come up with. I had made my mind up not to leave on good terms.
Just then Sean stepped up beside Sarah, chest puffed out like a fucking rooster. He bitterly added," Ya Blondie, best be running along, and thanks for the fuck you puff." I politely nodded back to both of them, smiled, then drilled Sean with a right hook that lay him out flat on the floor. I picked up my gear, saddled up on my bike and headed back to Belfast.
With Ballymena behind me, my hand swollen, my pride shaken, but my confidence lifted, I decided to bury all my emotions and concentrate on anything else. The next year of school was by far my best. Not only did I excel in academics but I also became very athletic. I could already run like the wind, but I grew a competitive streak as well. I made the move to try out for the school rugby team. At first the coach and captains wanted to laugh at me as I was smaller and more frail than anyone on the team, but after the trials they had a different opinion. I still remember one of the captains saying that I should just have a go at football instead. My mind was set on rugby. I could take a hit well and keep on going. I was added to the team as starting hooker. That meant that I was in the middle of every scrum, trying to dig the ball out with my feet while propped up by the two biggest lads on the team. I had a spirited competitive streak and was a great asset to the team. I even scored a few tries during the season. I admit that I wasn't the greatest player ever, but our school did not loose a game all year. That was an accomplishment the school had never done before. We won the top award for all of Northern Ireland. We even had the opportunity to play a game over the water in Scotland against a very solid prep school and came out on top 15-6.
The best thing about rugby was the release of aggression. I could store up all my anger and channel it out on the pitch. After a match there was pain and bruises but I knew that I had dealt out more than I received . One thing I remember most about that trip, my first ever to Britain, was the way most people looked at us. You could see the apprehension in their eyes. You could sense the fear that surrounded them. There was a stigma about Ulster that we were all bloodthirsty killers ready to fight at the drop of a hat. I guess that they were not too far off there. It wasn't the bloodthirsty killers bit but with rough upbringing that we endured, we did seem to fight a lot. Everywhere we went, while over the water, there was a lot of security surrounding us. Everyplace you looked there were coppers and soldiers. I still was not sure if they were there to keep people from us or to keep us from them.
Soldiers were something that we were used to seeing a lot of in Belfast. It was part of our daily lives. For all the years that I had been growing up, I wondered what it was that motivated these blokes to join up. Were they just poor and unemployed, or were they bloodthirsty savages, or did they hate someone so much? Now that I was seventeen and nearly finished school I was starting to see the appeal. Anyone from any background with a life of shit could just sign on the dotted line and start a whole new life. Soon he could be off learning useful skills and doing crazy, nutter stuff like jumping from an airplane, then traveling all over the world, and getting dirty, fighting whenever fighting needed to be done. The more that I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it. So I did.
Tora Bora, Afghanistan, December, 2001
"Blondie, wake up! H hour minus forty, better get your finger out," was my greeting from Allen. "Some fireworks have started already. Word from the Yanks that they opened two holes already, ahead of schedule," Allen added with some bitterness.
Mike put his word in, "Bloody Yanks, probably gave their own position away so they could go cowboy and not have to wait so fucking long." Mike had a good point. That was exactly what I felt like doing.
My heart wanted to say, "Piss on the generals, I have my own war to get to and I will bloody well start whenever I please."
"Right!" Allen interrupted. "Last minute run through," Allen began running off the orders group one final time and each of us had to add our own piece of the puzzle so that we were coordinated and confident that we all on the same page and that no one would fuck anything up. We made sure that our weapons and gear were ready to move. Our weapons were always ready but it never hurt to check again. My M-16/203 was ready and I had a full mag of 5.56 ammo ready and loaded. We gulped down the last of the tea and moved to our stand by positions. I looked at Mike and he gave me a wink of confidence. A final radio check ensured good communications throughout the net. We were ready. "H hour minus five, stand by," came the signal. The familiar taste of adrenaline filled the back of my throat.
The radio came alive, "All stations delta, this is delta zero, stand by, stand by, go!"
Brize Norton, England, 1992
I stood in queue waiting for the green light to go. The weight of my gear doubled my own weight easily and it was all I could do stand up. I just wanted to get out the door of the Hercules aircraft. Once out the door, the weight would be irrelevant as your body falls to the earth. "Standby, standby; Go! Go!" finally the jump master screams while standing next to the green light. My stick shuffles forward like a line of penguins. I am fifth from the front, going out the starboard side. I step in a pile of what is apparently a puddle of puke from some nervous bastard ahead of me in line. The smell is horrid and I secretly wished that he was last on the plane so that we wouldn't have had to step in his gift that he left for us. The cold air hits you like a freight train as you roll out the door and the acrid taste of adrenaline fills the throat. It is pleasant and scary at the same time. The relief of not having to lift the heavy gear, which included my bergen, SLR rifle, radio, main parachute and reserve parachute, helmet, belt kit, and god knows what else was reason enough to exit the now distant aircraft. It was my sixth jump of parachute qualification. In a couple of days I would get my jump wigs. Once the parachute is fully deployed and appears to have no malfunctions, we release our bergen and kit on a line which dangles below us. The decent from six hundred feet only takes a minute and we fall faster with the kit then we did 'clean fatigue' which is a jump without the gear. The first four training jumps seemed easy now. Even the fifth jump was in daylight. We were doing a full kit night jump as our final qualification jump. You can't see anything in the dark. You can only hear the silky sounds of your chute and the distant breathing of some other lad's. The kit bags thumps on the ground, then a split second later so does my body. The parachute landing fall or 'PLF', is much harder with the extra weight but it is a consistent drill: Turn, fall, roll.
"There!" I told myself, "The hard parts over, in three hours we will be drinking pints in the RAF bar." Then the adrenaline hangover would begin and I would sleep like a baby all night.
It had been the better part of a year since I strolled into the British Army recruit depot in Belfast with my graduation certificate in hand. My last year had been focused. I had done a lot less dressing up in my mother's things and trying to chat up girls and concentrated on books and rugby. My mother was beside herself when I gave her the news. She had wanted me to go to Queen's University and learn something silly. She had said, "Your father died because he was fool enough to go after some life of adventure. You're just not the type for it love. Horrible things can happen to you. If you die what will I do? You're all I have darlin', please don't break your mother's heart."
"No ma, I have to do this. It's all I can think of. I'm sure that if da was a clerk instead of a firefighter, you wouldn't have felt the same way about him," I criticized. Her wailing began and nothing I could say could make her feel any better.
The recruiting sergeant, from the Royal Irish Regiment, did not seem too impressed by me at first glance. I was after all, a skinny, effeminate, long blond haired, pretty boy. He was a hardened, gruff, old veteran. Once he started reading my school reports he changed his tune a little. "You shouldn't waste your time with army son, why not join the Royal Navy or the RAF, you might make it there," he started into me. I was persistent. I knew what I wanted. "You know that you can't keep that hair of yours?" he quipped at me, making reference to my long blond tresses. I had thought about that for a bit, but was ready to leave that part of behind for good.
"I want to be a Para, that's all," I mustered out. The army was stretched to its limits at the time. Saddam was playing games in the middle east and the army was being pressed to take as many recruits as possible. We would not be in time for this war, but we would be ready for the next one, or to replace the boys from the Gulf war, should there be a ton of casualties. The sergeant realized that I wasn't going anywhere and allowed me to write the standard set of tests that every bloke fills out. I must have aced them because they interviewed me right away. This time an older officer from the Artillery took me into his office for a chat.
"So, what makes a nice lad like you want to join the Paras, eh?" the gentleman asked from behind his large, oak desk. "Hard life, the army is. Paratroop might be the hardest of them all," he went on. I had seen many different regiments in Belfast over the years including the Royal Irish, the Coldstream Guards, countless others, but the Paras stood out from them all as the toughest and most elite of them. Sure, there was the stories and myths about the famed SAS (Special Air Service) but they were never seen and if they were around, no one knew. I had a clear vision of myself in a jump smock, with a bright red beret and jump wings. "I'll be honest with you son, " the officer went on to say," the Paras are for big, stupid lads. Not like yourself. I think that you should go to university, get a degree and then if you are still interested, join up as an officer. You are clearly smart enough."
I had no intentions however, of going back to school. I wanted to get away from my past and do something radical. "Respectfully, I am not interested in all that sir, I just want to be a regular soldier," I answered. The recruiter did not appear pleased with my answer. A grimace showed on his face and he sighed. It didn't phase me at all because I knew exactly what I wanted and would not change my mind.
"Well, all the vacancies for the Paras are filled for infantry, but I may suggest something," he began. "Not many candidates qualify for signals or engineer, you clearly qualify for both. I think signalman might just be your thing. Did you know they have a squadron attached to the Paras?" I did not. I was set back by his announcement that I had no hope of joining the Paras this year. The idea he elicited of joining a skilled technical position and still becoming a Para did have some appeal. I looked over the literature on the signalman trade for a few minutes to learn a bit more. It illustrated the job in a nutshell as an operator of all types of radio gear, cryptography, antennae and such. I was keen on science and found some appeal to it. The recruiting officer looked to be losing patience with me and I quickly agreed.
It wasn't a fast process. There was a waiting period, physicals, and a security check. During the interview I can remember the officer stating that it was against army policy to enlist homosexuals. He paused and looked me in the eye. "Well, are you a homosexual?" he asked very sternly.
For a moment I thought about my frolic in Ballymena with Sarah and Sean and about my frequent hobby of dressing up in my mother's clothes. I knew that it really was a stupid question and it would make no difference but he was expecting an answer. "No sir, of course not. You can count on me," I replied with all confidence. If you told them what they wanted to hear, they had their arse covered and that was good enough for them. It was a valuable lesson that I would use over and over again in my career. I then realized that I would have to put all that behind me and get on with this new life. You can believe that before any Irish lad gets into a high security job, they check him over really good. In a couple of weeks, I kissed my crying mother goodby and shipped out to the town of Blandford, in Dorset, England, home of the 11th Signal Regiment. Blandford would be my new home for almost a year.
The first few weeks of recruit training were hell. First there was the infamous haircut. I knew what had to be done, but I was dreading it very much. The barber had a good laugh at my expense when I took the chair. The Corporal in charge took the piss as well. As I sat in the chair, my long, blond locks hanging down to shoulders, I shook in horror of what I would look like without hair. The barber took one of my long locks in his hand with the scissors in the other. He asked me,"would you like to keep these locks?" I could not believe my ears. Had the army suddenly relaxed the hair policy for new recruits?
I peered up at the smiling corporal, who was holding in a good one. "Can I?" I asked.
"Sure, I don't see why not. Go ahead, let him keep them," he instructed the barber. I was in shock and disbelief. Were they going to let me keep my hair. The click of scissors soon drowned out any ideas I was having. I looked in the mirror as the barber made short work of my trademark hair. In a minute he took a giant handful of my curls and presented them to me on a plate. I looked up at him in puzzlement.
"Here you go, you can keep them," was all he said in the driest tone. The corporal held it in no longer and let out a bellyful of laughter. Soon the other recruits were joining in at my expense. It was a good one. I had no choice but to join in with them and bust myself laughing. If I was going to make it, I had to learn to less naive.
The haircut did very little to make me appear more masculine. I was still a lightweight, pretty and Irish which meant that I was still a target. In the first week, I was being pushed around by a big midlands brute, Private Bruce Bosworth. He tormented me at every possible occasion when the staff was not around by calling me names, teasing me about my femininity and generally trying to make my life hell. He would push me out of line, steal my food and give me a punch in the arm now and then. It was Kevin Higgins all over again. I had to be more careful this time as getting into a scrap with the other recruits could mean a one way ticket home. One night when we were both assigned floor polishing duty, Bruce pushed it too far. "Hey pretty paddy, you can do my share, it is women's work after all," he started. I had just polished half of the hallway and the latrines.
"Do it yerself then, fuck face," was my subtle reply as I looked down the hall to see that no one was looking.
"Fuck face then, is it?" he strolled toward me. "I bet you would like it if I fucked your face, eh pretty paddy?" I looked him in the eye and smiled. "That's it then, you have been dying to suck my prick since we got here, eh?" I looked over at the latrine doorway and motioned him to follow me. I stepped into the bathroom and turned to see big ugly Bruce waltz in behind me with a big stupid grin on his face. It was like Belfast all over again; heel comes down on the instep of his foot, knee comes up into his groin, head crashes into his face. A spurt of blood sailed out of Bruce's nose as he bent over in agony. I shoved his head into the wall and heard a cracking noise. As he slumped to the shiny floor, I gave him the customary extra kick to the bullocks.
Soon there was a mad gathering of recruits rushing in to see what happened. They were followed by the Lance Corporal on duty. I must have looked totally guilty but I quickly answered the duty corporal that Private Bruce entered the newly polished room despite my objections and slipped on the slippery, waxed floor and went headfirst into the wall. It sounded good to me and to think someone as small and frail as myself could drop a big ogre like Bruce seemed much more fictitious than the truth. I had to report to the course officer the next day and gave the same story. The beret I was wearing covered the goose egg on my forehead. As for Bruce, he never argued my story, but actually confirmed it. Seems that the truth was too tough for Bruce to bear as well. He quit camp the next day and was sent home.
After that episode, recruit training got much easier. I had gained the respect of my comrades and impressed the staff at the same time. They all knew what had really happened but no one ever spoke of it. To speak of it would get me thrown out and everyone knew that I was in the right and that the army was better off without Brucey. Training came pretty easy to me. I adapted much better than I expected. After the marching, drilling, rifle training, and a six night exercise in the rain soaked fields of southern England, I managed somehow to finish first on my course and became a Private.
After a short leave where we all got free time and could leave the base and were able to spend our meager pay at the pubs in Dorchester. Instead of going home to visit me ma, I went down to the beaches and got pissed every night in the pubs. I barely recall a late night, drunken romance with a young redheaded trollop who danced with me in the pub. We stumbled back to her flat and I vaguely remember an awkward shag, half dressed on her kitchen floor. I don't remember her name but I can still remember her stroking my face and telling me how 'pretty' I was while she rode me like a horse. My first one on one experience with a girl was hardly anything to write home about but gave some much need physical and mental satisfaction.
I had made friends with a few of the lads and we were soon all back together in Blandford, learning our basic signals. We learned about building antennae, operating radios, morse code, telephony, encoding and decoding messages, and other endless technical classes. It seemed pretty simple to me and I helped the other lads as much as I could on some of the more complex homework. We still had to keep our barracks, drill, school parades and such. More was expected of us but there seemed to be less pressure from the staff on those minor matters. I did put more pressure on myself when I discovered that postings were not a lock. In order to pick my posting of choice, I would have to finish first again in the basic signalman course. Postings would go in order of finish and there was only one posting for 216 Squadron, with the Paras. In January 1992, I found myself reporting for duty at 216 Squadron in Aldershot, Hampshire. I had managed to finish first again and eagerly announced my bid for the Parachute Signals unit.
Everything in Aldershot was real time, we could be deployed and go anywhere at any time. Anywhere that the Parachute Regiment could be deployed in the world, we go with them. Many of the troops had just returned from the Gulf celebrating that victory over Saddam Hussain, others had been on deployment in Norther Ireland. It was great to hear all the war stories being shot around but if you were not there with them, you were not considered to be worth shite. I spent most of my first weeks in the Squadron doing shite jobs like cleaning gear and counting stores. It was expected of all new boots to go through this initiation. You don't get treated like a brother until you have bled together in the same hole in the ground. It was great to get all the newest and shiniest kit, something that did not exist in training. All things considered I was happy to be there and begin the real work.
There were plenty of opportunities for self improvement in the Squadron. There was always one course or another to take, like machine gunner, driver, repelling, improvised explosives, and fun stuff like that. The most important course for me at the time was the jump course, which meant wings. All new troops in Aldershot were expected to take basic parachute training as part of our mobility task. One month after arrival, myself and twenty other blokes from the infantry, engineers, logistics and signals units were off to the RAF base at Brize Norton for the three week parachute training course.
Para training is very physical, you have to run everywhere. Running for me was never a problem. Carrying all the heavy gear was another story. With all the press ups that I had done in basic, my upper body strength had only improved slightly. I still was very slight of frame, but was much more wiry than when I started. We would have classes all day on aircraft drills, rigging, procedures and such, mixed with several periods of exhausting PT. One great activity in PT is called 'milling'. In the gym, they pit two blokes of roughly equal size on a mat and you just beat the living snot out of one another. There are not too many rules and it goes on for three minutes or until someone has had enough. The key was not to quit, no matter how bad a beating you were taking. I had great fun with this activity and just imagined myself like a pit dog fighting over a soup bone. It was great fun.
We practiced our aircraft drills from a mock tower with a zip line attached to simulate an exit and to try to cure us of any fear of heights. When you hit the ground, you had to PLF, or else break your ankle as I witnessed one poor fellow do as he attempted to 'stick' his landing. Once we had all cleared that phase, it was on to our introduction to the C-130 Hercules aircraft, the primary paratroop ship in the RAF. We would undergo three jumps from different altitudes, using the static line for deployment. Each jump was lower than the first. The were all done 'clean fatigue' meaning without your bergen, rifle, and other gear. The sixth and final jump was at night with full winter gear. All my kit combined weighed more than I did.
Aldershot, Hampshire, England, 1996
I had been in the 216th for five years. Life was not all that bad other than some bottled up restlessness. I had a great personal record, made every training exercise, completed eighty jumps and I had recently been promoted to full corporal after a very grueling leadership course. The course was a test of mind and body to create strong leaders that could think in the best interest of their men and complete their missions despite the worst of physical hardships like lack of sleep, lack of food, terrible weather and agonizing long marches and patrols. Almost all the exercises and leadership tests were done at night, in the rain, while hungry. It sorted out the wheat from the chaff. The course had started with thirty-two lance corporals but only ten graduated including myself.
Since that promotion, I had been utilized a lot to train para soldiers on radios. I ran a long range digital radio course with pathfinder platoon, which exposed me to the most elite troops in the paras. I envied the training that these blokes had. The best parts of their jobs were the HALO (high altitude low opening) jumps using the rectangular parachutes and exiting from over twenty thousand feet. They would patrol, self sufficient for several days if necessary doing reconnaissance tasks for the battalion and marking out the DZ's for the rest of us static line jocks. I was impressed so much by them that I asked my CO how I could get a transfer. He told me in no uncertain terms that pathfinder platoon was strictly for infantry. I became obsessed with the elite concept and my CO recommended that I ask for a transfer posting to 264th Squadron which was posted to the SAS in Hereford. The unit was a top secret posting, and no information about it ever came out. They held the most advanced communications equipment inventory in the world and served the most famous elite unit in the world. There had been a lot of press about the SAS in recent days since the release of a new book, "Bravo Two Zero" by Andy MacNabb, an SAS trooper who lead a doomed patrol in the Gulf War. They had not been in the spotlight so much since the Princess Gate embassy siege in 1980. Two of the blokes on the course that I was teaching told me that they were training for selection camp themselves. Indeed, a large portion of the SAS had come from the Paras. The Paras had always boasted the largest number of successful candidates to the regiment.
The whole idea had made me restless for more action. I had been on many training exercises but had yet to see any real combat experience. The closest I had come to that was a brief three month tour in Bosnia during the Yugoslav wars. We had been deployed in a peacekeeping role which was not really our role as a fighting unit. There were so many rules of engagement that we had to follow that made us all feel like we had one hand strapped to our bullocks. One bloke from 2 Para had been court marshaled for shooting a civilian when in fact that 'civilian' was a well known henchman for a local warlord and was armed at the time. The soldier claimed that the man had drew his AK-47 at him , so he dropped him straight away. The rules of engagement however, stated that you had to have fire directed at you first before you could return fire. It was ridiculous. Everyone agreed that we would prefer if our side was told who the enemy was and just let us have a go at them.
Aside from that adventure, there was not a whole lot to brag about. I took the offer up and after a long security screening I soon found myself assigned to 264th Squadron in Hereford. It was an immediate shock to my system. There was a much tighter security in Hereford than in Aldershot. I could no longer wear my red beret. We hardly wore uniforms at all. Most of our training was done in civilian clothes which was a bit strange to me and took away from one masculine looking thing which was my uniform. It was all in the interest of security. We had a lot of restrictions about pubs we could go to, places we could visit, people that we could talk to, and the like. If we had free time, we were expected to spend it with friends from the unit. There was no doubt that we were being watched at all times.
The good part of the job was that we got our hands on all the newest and shiniest kit. The radio equipment was smaller, lighter and more secure. We used laptops for almost everything. I trained on as much kit as I could, including satellite phones, G.P.S. gear, and began a language course in basic Arabic. It was likely that the bulk of our enemies might come from the middle east , so Arabic replaced Russian as the enemy tongue in this new era. I was able to take the free fall parachute training, which took me back to Brize for a four week course and made several jumps from high altitude, falling for two or three minutes, then opening my own chute which we could fly like a glider due to the rectangular shape. It made landings so much easier. I ran into some of the para boys who were training for pathfinder and enjoyed it all immensely. It was bloody cold at twenty-five thousand feet as you stood out on the tailgate while breathing oxygen from a bottle and carrying even more gear than usual. You would have to keep your body perfectly arched and try not to rotate or spin while falling, while at the same time stay in contact with your team and sometimes with a parcel. You would have to maintain altitude awareness at the same time by checking your altimeter so that you did not make a messy spot on the earth. I completed the training which meant that I could be deployed on missions assigned to the 22nd SAS.
Belize, Central America, October 1996
I had never experienced heat like this. How hot could it fucking get? The hottest summer in Ireland or even in the south of England was nothing like the rainforest. To add to the blistering heat, it was damp, in the middle of the wettest month of the year. Breathing became taxing on the body. The sweat ran like a faucet pumping at full blast from the pours. The mosquitoes could care less how much repellant we wore, and ate away at our tender skin. I must have counted two hundred bites on me. The heat and sweat on the back of my neck made me wish that I had got a hair cut before coming on this mission but it was too late. I had to keep my fair skin covered up from the sun to keep from frying which made me sweat even more. My new sergeant-major was not concerned so much with haircuts or parade ground follies for that matter like they were back in the Paras. I had let mine go for the few months that I had been in Hereford. It was not nearly as long as my teenage days but it was growing back enough to notice the blond waves reappearing. I was considerably more masculine in my physique, although not a Charles Atlas by any imagination, as army life and training had made my body quite strong for my wiry build. I did not take as much ribbing as I used to but I still got the occasional friendly shot usually from my mates just taking the piss. I was always professional in my duties which gained respect immediately when working with other soldiers, either above or below me in rank, regardless of how big or tough they were. Being more mature, I was more open to the occasional ribbing and actually felt complimented when someone called me a "pretty boy", I was hardly pretty on this day with fatigues soaked in rain, sweat, mossy repellant, and mud, not to mention my hair and face in a similar state.
We had made a ten kilometer journey on foot through the rainforest, uphill all the way from our LZ. The helicopters had long disappeared and we had trekked with heavy loads on our backs. Myself and two other signalmen were accompanying an SAS patrol deep into the bush in western Belize. It was rough keeping up with these guys as they moved effortlessly and with smiles through the dense, unforgiving bush. For many years the Guatemalans had been looking to take Belize and make it part of their own country. They had an old claim to it much like the Arggies did over the Falklands. It used to be called British Honduras until its independence. Much like a lot of the small commonwealth countries, they asked for British assistance in protecting their borders so naturally, Britain obliges. Britain gained a world of experience and knowledge of jungle fighting in Malaysia and Borneo during the fifties and sixties. The SAS became the perfect tools for the job so now jungle training is required by all candidates. The Guats used to raid the Belize border more often, but since the spanking the Arggies got in the Falklands they have quieted down. British units are rotated through Belize on a regular basis but SAS troops do the real deep bush reconnaissance work. The SAS conducted a jungle training school in the remote Belize location but this was not one of those occasions.
The local garrison had found out about some activity in the border area that was related to drugs being shipped out of the Belize City by boat to Britain. It was believed that the drugs were being sent through Guatemala from Mexico. Belize is world renown for Scuba diving, and Brits and North Americans flock in droves there during the winter months. British customs had discovered a diver's tanks filled with cocaine that would worth a million pounds or more on the streets. The SAS had been used in a similar role in other Latin American countries, Columbia in particular, to help the local military train to fight these cartels. British regular troops patrol the border areas frequently but they had been unable to locate any new routes or activities. Someone got the idea to task the SAS on a mission to find the source of the traffic and its contacts in Belize City. I had just been given clearance to go on a mission and was selected as leader of a three man signals detachment. There were eight troopers that we were to accompany to a remote pass on the Mayan Mountain range some twenty clicks north of the town of San Antonio. They had some intelligence to help direct them. I was given a map with the location on it. Once there, we would set up a make shift camp and my team would establish a radio station to keep in contact with the base, and to HQ back in Hereford. While the troopers were out on their patrols, they could relay through our SATCOMM to Hereford from their personal radios or through our digital link back to Belize City. We also brought a scanner with us. I should say that I brought a scanner, to try to pick up any non friendly signals near by. Just an idea I thought practical. I had been given permission by Dave, the patrol leader to bring it. He thought it was brilliant.
Sergeant Dave Smith, a Tottenham bloke, had been in the Regiment for twelve years, now pushing thirty-five, was as fit as any twenty year old. He was big, six foot, sixteen stone, easily, but strong like an ox. His hair was short, greyish and showed signs of baldness. He had been through it all, Northern Ireland, the Gulf, Columbia, and who knows where else missions. He was a private in the Paras during the Falklands war and had plenty of action since then. His face showed the weathering of a long career, with deep crows feet etched around his ocean blue eyes. When we first arrived in Belize three weeks before, Dave gave us a fast indoctrination about the bush. We spent most of our time in a camp he designed. I was only one who had never been to a rainforest before. I had been to Bahrain in the Gulf while with the Paras, but the heat here was much worse because it rained all the time, and the wildlife was a killer. The jungle is unforgiving and you had to adopt quickly to it or it would eat you alive. Dave and his team went over every detail with a fine tooth comb of what we could and could not do, how we were to conduct ourselves at all times, and security issues, including light and noise discipline. The SAS troopers often thought of us as a liability and often vocally protested having to have signalers along on missions. They were all qualified to use the equipment, some of them knew it better than we did, but when a static location was set up and somebody had to sit there for hours or days on end monitoring the radios, it was waste of a good trooper to do that. They were better used carrying out their patrols while some useless signals operator sat by the radios. Dave understood this philosophy and accepted us, but made sure that we would not be a liability to his mission.
I had selected two Lance Corporals who had jungle experience and were up for this type of deployment. Jeff, a Welshman and Smiley Joe were my crew, top notch signalers who made it into 264 quicker than I did. I had worked with both of them since I arrived in Hereford and knew that I could rely on them. I was probably more amazed that my CO had the confidence in me to deploy on a mission as the leader. There were other deployments going around but some of them involved Northern Ireland, and they were not ready to trust me on a mission there yet.
Dave had two, four man teams including himself. They would penetrate deep into the jungle, pathfinding and information gathering. If they could passively monitor the movement, they would. They wanted to know where it ends up, with whom, and any other contacts along the way. The mission could take weeks. After being dropped off, we would travel ten kilos through untracked bush, hold up for the night, then make another ten kilo journey to our predestined base. It was not all that simple however, as we never went in a straight line. We had to continually double back on our own path and sit in ambush in order to pinch anyone who might be tracking us. So to cover ten kilos you had to walk twenty five. It was on one of these occasions when Dave came up to me and asked if I still knew our position, while holding up his map. Having been turned around a few times to backtrack and having almost no visual aids for reference, it was not an easy question. He was testing me. I took a quick look at his map and placed my finger on a spot. "We covered three clicks to our first RV point hear based on our original heading. We then headed towards this river, as I could hear it getting louder for two hours, before heading away from it for the past three hours, then made a five hundred meter loop to the north, with this ridge to our right. We are five kilos from the river now putting us here," I confidently told him as I stuck my index finger on a green patch on the map. I looked at Dave for an answer.
"Spot on, mate," Dave replied as he grinned his approval.
The weight of the kit was always a factor but I was determined to not let it get to me. Dave's second in command (2IC) and leader of the second patrol was Corporal Allan Walker, a gingery midlands fellow and die hard Man U supporter. He was a keener who had recently been promoted. He had been in the Gulf war as well just after joining the SAS. Allan was always keen to let us know what we were doing wrong and how to correct ourselves. His disposition was not nearly as friendly as Dave's. He knew his job very well however, and we were wise to listen when he spoke. I later found out that Allan had come from the Royal Artillery.
We made our base camp before twilight on our second day and spent an hour on stand to, before setting up our radio gear. We worked throughout the night while the troopers stood watch with night vision gear. Mostly they listened for odd noises that may indicate any human presence.
In the morning, at first light, Dave's four-man team set out on patrol. Allan's team got some rest, while myself, Jeff and Smiley Joe finished rigging up our equipment. We did our checks and made sure our nets were all five by five. Later in the day, after Dave's team returned, Allen's set out. I had a fresh brew of tea on for Dave and his boys on their return and had started up some hot food. We did the same for Allan's team. Usually, as part of doctrine, we patrol at night, but the jungle is the exception. In the jungle, movement at night is more likely to give you away or spring a trap than it is to gather any information. Patrolling in the rainforest is therefore done during the daytime, and night time is used to sit silently and listen and watch for the other guy to move. As we were staying back and not doing much else, our secondary duties would include camp routine, cleaning up, making tea, making meals, and any other little thing that popped up. By the third day, the patrolling had become more aggressive, both teams patrolling at the same time. That left the signalers to hold the camp by ourselves. We had strict rules to follow at these times. No wondering off, as there were numerous booby traps set around our camp perimeter. We just had to stay put.
Allan's team had gathered some intelligence, trail markings, on that day and we passed it on up to Hereford and to the other teams in Belize city. They were going back at it the next day, hoping to set an ambush for that night. It was also on that forth day that my homemade interceptor picked up a signal, on a high band walkie talkie frequency. I didn't understand Spanish but I had the where withal to record the messages. Later that night I played them back for Dave. We were able, between us, to decipher that there were at least four radios, each of which belonged to a team leader. We picked off one first name, Juan, and figured out that there was going to be some movement the next day. One of Dave's boys spoke perfect Spanish and understood the conversation. They talked about leaving an unnamed village, and taking the high trail on a two day hike and meeting at Juan's farm.
Some of that information was helpful but it did not lock down an exact location for an ambush and Juan's farm could be anybodies. Every forth bloke in this county was named Juan. I informed Dave that based on the signal strengths of the four people in conversation that two were more than ten kilometers away, including Juan, and that one was about five to ten kilometers away and that one, was within two to five kilometers away. That is close. We were on high alert. Dave's new plan called for Allan's team to lay and wait, and when the smugglers passed them, to inform Dave's team of their location and direction. Allan's team would then retrace the path to find where they came from. Dave's team would pick up the smugglers and follow them to find Juan's farm. My team would, as always, stay and maintain communications and pass any information up if I caught it. We were also responsible for holding our own ground. This factor was important. All of our signals equipment and the patrol's extra ammo and kit were stored in our location. Camouflage netting concealed most gear from casual observation but could not be relied upon to hide and leave everything.
Allan's team was out, three hours before sunset; Dave's team left half an hour later. We listened to all of our comms through headsets so as not to give off any radio noise. Within an hour both teams reported in as in location. As dusk set in the intercept radio began picking up traffic. Our quarry was on the move. We waited about an hour and a half until we heard in from Allan.
"Contact, wait out," was all we received but knew full well that it meant he had a visual siting of our targets. We waited with anticipation for more.
"Contact, four red call signs heavy, on route one alpha, bearing twenty-three hundred, three longs, one short, one romeo golf, on foot, my pos plus five hundred, your pos in two point five hotel, over," came the fast and brief message which first Dave then myself acknowledged. Translated, it meant that four smugglers carrying packs had passed Allen's position and taken a marked path which we had named one alpha. They were heading north by north east, on foot. They were carrying three rifles and one pistol and they had in possession one RPG, a rocket propelled grenade. They were already half a kilometer passed the observation post and estimated to be at Dave's OP in two and a half hours. Using a simple time and distance formula, I calculated that they began their journey some five and quarter kilometers before Allan's checkpoint. I passed this information onto him and they began tracing a reverse track.
We then waited silently as we waited for Dave's team to report their contact. An hour went by and the silence was deafening. Suddenly, we heard some rustling sounds to our due west. Both Jeff and Smiley Joe heard it too. My heart began beating through my chest. I could taste the adrenaline in my mouth. I had to keep a grip on the situation and stay calm. Nobody moved, we waited for another sound. Another rustle, probably one hundred fifty meters away. It could have been an animal or one of our own lads returning, but the latter seemed highly unlikely. Quietly I signaled to both patrols, "Delta two, Pronto one, any blue on route to porch light? over,"
I waited half a minute and received two negative replies. That meant it was definitely not one our boys. Our hope was now that it was just a monkey or a bush pig out on the scrounge. I hand motioned to Smiley Joe to shut off the main radio by using a throat slashing sign and to Jeff to move to the main fire pit which commanded the best firing position of our location. Jeff moved slowly and silently. Joe had clicked off the satellite and HF radio and the intercept radio but we still had the patrol set. I signaled to Joe to take close cover and he hid behind a nearby tree. I took the patrol set and slid out the south side of the camp still laying on my belly on the forest floor. I still had no observation, but I did have cover. I wanted to move around to the left to flank and observe the source of the noise but would have to do so with extreme quiet. I then heard more crunching of leaves and then the unmistakable voice from the radio contact. It was our smugglers and they somehow found their way up to our camp. Either they had gotten lost or they had stumbled onto a path that one of our patrols had been using. They were within one hundred meters and I would have to ultra quiet to report in. "Pronto one, contact, wait out."
By this time Dave would be aware of the problem and probably had his team moving as fast as possible back to our location. I hoped. The steps got closer and closer. They began chattering a lot more and I was afraid they had spotted one of our trip wires and would be on their radio to tell the world what the found. During their noisy interlude I was able to move to a better vantage point and paused behind a rather large tree. I was within twenty meters. I knew from our prior orders session that live fire was a last resort to a compromise of our location. We still had a brief hope that we would go unseen. Next, more Spanish gibberish. They had spotted something. Next the distinct sound of a rifle bolt being cocked, then two more. It was on for sure. My breathing intensified as I knew I would have to act. My 5.56 mm SA80 rifle was already cocked as per our SOP (standing operating procedures). Just the safety catch was on. My thumb found the lever and slowly and silently selected the automatic setting. If I had to fire quickly at four targets I might have to use the entire magazine in a few seconds time. I tried to focus and not panic. I thought for a moment what must be going through Smiley Joe and Jeff's minds at that same time. Would they be careful not to shoot at each other or me, would they wait appropriately for the right moment to fire and would they be safe enough to keep themselves alive.
A brief idea came to my mind that we should all get out of there and let them into our camp. We could wait for Dave's team to catch up and blast the bad guys. That was a bad idea. Our job was the security of our camp and we would do our job. 'Click, whizz'. It was on.
One of them had snapped a trip flare and the black of night lit up like noon. My training had taught me not to look directly at the light but to the shadows close by for movement. There was a good chance that the smugglers were all temporarily blinded. I just wished that it had been a claymore mine they had tripped off instead which would have cut them all to pieces. Auto fire ripped out from the panicked smugglers. I was careful not to look past the corner of my tree which gave me cover. Fire then ripped out from Jeff's location as he engaged with his rifle. The smugglers fired back toward Jeff's location and I spotted movement toward me. One of the bastards was trying to flank Jeff and would pass right by my tree. I could feel the ground vibrate as the man ran closer. I exhaled and swung around catching the man with my rifle butt square in the face. He dropped like a load of bricks and I quickly fired two rounds into his chest. He was out, but I raised up my rifle toward the glowing light of the flare at a silhouette of a man aiming an RPG toward Jeff. Another fellow, next to him was pointing his pistol at me from twenty meters obviously alarmed by the murder of his buddy. I had a split decision to make, take out the RPG or the guy pointing a pistol at me.
'Bang, bang'. I let out a double tap. "Crack' came the return fire from the pistol. 'Bang, bang'. A second double tap from me took down the pistol wielding bastard. I ran up closer to make sure both men were finished. One more double tap each into the face made sure. I had taken the RPG man first, thinking of my trooper's safety first. I rationalized that the guy with the pistol probably had his vision fucked up from the flare and would not aim well. I saw the body of another man torn up to my right. I shouted out in plain voice, "Clear your front Jeff, coming in."
"Right Blondie, you okay?," he yelled back. I showed myself.
"Joe, you all right mate?" I spoke. Smiley Joe showed himself. He was white as a ghost but he had no wounds. "Joe, you all right?"
He had a long face and was shaking but he mustered a reply, "Ya, sure Blondie, I'm good mate."
Satisfied that none of us were wounded, I hopped on the patrol radio. "Delta two, Pronto one, contact, porch light, four red call signs, engaged, four terminated, zero blue cas, over."
"Delta two one, roger, hold, on route, ETA ten mikes, return on three bravo, out," was the reply from Dave which was basically telling me to hold our position until he got back in ten minutes. My heart was pounding so hard that I could taste it. I knew that I had to stay calm and focused in order to avoid shock like Smiley Joe was starting to slip into. Activity was the answer.
I told Jeff to return to the OP and watch for our patrols. He was in good enough shape and would guard our ground. I took hold of Joe and told him to come with me. "We have to secure these weapons mate. Keep your rifle on these bodies while I collect the arms," I told him. Returning to the bodies with a red torchlight, I searched the bodies and recovered the weapons. Three of them had Colt Armalite 5.56 millimeter rifles, two of which had been fired. I told Joe to clear them, which he did by taking off the magazines and ejecting the round in the chamber, then moving the safety lever to the 'safe' position. I picked up the Biretta 9 millimeter and stashed it in my web belt. Next we came upon the RPG, a Russian model, mark nine. I had seen them before in Bosnia. I could tell it was armed and ready to fire. I was careful to click the safety back on and then turned it away so that it was facing a tree. I marked it with a yellow tape and felt it best to leave it for the SAS boys to look at. After that, we went one by one to check the vitals on our four corpses, to make sure that they were all truly dead. They were. We dragged their bodies up to a common point inside the camp and lined them up, removed their equipment, identification, and personal items. I then took a ground sheet and covered the gruesome, blood soaked bodies which were already covered with insects. Smiley Joe was beginning to look a bit better, some life returning to him. He smiled again, "Pretty fucked up shite, eh mate?" he finally blurted out. I smiled back at him and pat him on the back.
"What, no fucking tea on?" came a voice from behind me. It was Dave, they had made it back, and I had not heard them come into the camp. Bloody professionals.
"Ya, sorry bout that, been a little busy here," I joked back. He was not overly alarmed or worried about the situation, maybe to keep us all calm. He wasn't winded either, considering that they had just ran six kilometers in the bush, in the dark, was extraordinary.
"No excuse man, can't properly debrief without a brew, you've had ten minutes," he kept on. He was serious. I told Joe to put a brew on, and it surprised him too. Dave's men went about an all around defense. I took Dave and walked him through the events, showing him where we first heard contact, where we took up positions, where the firing took place. He made note of the location of the spent casings. He could recreate the entire firefight in his head. The whole time he calmly listened to me and nodded at each observation. One of his men was already on top of the RPG, disarming it like it was a play toy. Smiley Joe then showed up with tea.
"Spot on man!" Dave exclaimed, as he poured some tea into his cup and held it out for me. I grabbed my cup and he poured in some hot tea. He chugged his back, with relish, enjoying it as if it were air. I casually sipped at mine. It did hit the spot. It had a soothing effect which countered the adrenaline. "All right, have one of your lads fire up the sat, I have to get a report in and get me up on the airfield, I need a Gazelle." He was referring to our observation helicopters.
He paused for a minute then looked at me, "You all right now, mate?" He looked at me with genuine concern. I could tell that he was checking my state of mind.
"All in a days work I guess," was all I could come back with.
"Good work then, you managed it, full report in the morning then, in writing, right after you fix this," he added as he stuck his finger into a hole on the sleeve of my combat shirt, near my shoulder. I had a look at the hole, 9 millimeters, with carbon scoring around the edges. The bullet passed right through my shirt and missed my arm by a hair.
"Feckin hell!" I said as Dave wisely poured me another cup of tea, which I promptly chugged back this time.
The rest of the Belize operation was much less eventful. Using the Gazelle from the night sky, the SAS boys were able to spot vehicles moving up from a small villa toward our location. They were intercepted, destroyed and the lads took down the villa the next day. In the packs of our corpses were forty kilos of 100% pure cocaine. Allan's team found the lab in the jungle and that night it was destroyed, along with everybody in it. Juan, or Juan Delacruz as he turned out to be, turned up in Belize City, his body floating in the bay. Apparently, his overseas distributers were not happy about him showing up empty handed and made an example of him. The local garrison and the police were left to handle the rest.
As for me, I was worried that my actions had compromised the entire mission. As it turned out, a shining report was delivered by a certain SAS sergeant about my actions and my commanding officer gave me a pat on the back for doing such a bang up job. I was rewarded with an extra two weeks leave, as well as a round of Guinness back at the pub.
The most important part of the entire experience was what Dave had said to me after a while on our flight back to Hereford. "Have you put in for selection yet?" he asked with little build up as I was becoming accustom to. I was a bit confused about his question. Was he talking about SAS selection?
"What do mean? Like SAS selection?" I asked like an idiot. Dave snickered a laugh. I did not know whether or not to take him seriously. I thought about feminine little "Private Blondie" all rucked up in black kit ready to storm Princess Gate. He had to be joking. "You having the piss, Dave?"
"Really, your smart, cool under pressure, a leader, and you can hold your own. I think that you would fit right in with us," he went on. Now I know he had to be pulling my leg.
"You really are mad," I insulted him. "Look at me. I am just a skinny, girly, signaler. Could you see me body guarding the PM, or smashing into an embassy?" I asked in disbelief.
"Really mate. We have had plenty of blokes your size come in before. Some of the toughest bastards I ever knew were no bigger than you. My own training sergeant, Harry Cooper, was only half my size and he had come from Signals," Dave added with some encouragement. "A lot of the boys from 264 have an advantage on selection, knowing the ground," he hinted to me. I thought about it for a bit. He really was serious. He thought that I could make an SAS trooper. It was a fantastic idea really. I did relish the idea of the action that they get. I was jealous. I tried to imagine myself humping my way over the Brecon Beacons with a fifty kilo bergen, then fast roping down onto a passenger airbus and taking out some terrorists while covered in black kit and carrying an H&K 9mm. I still could not see myself doing it. It was perhaps the fact that I had been told that I could not all the time, or I was to girly to do men's work all the time. Now here is an SAS veteran telling me that I would make a good trooper.
"You start training yourself now, get in shape, get to know the Beacons, you can pass selection, I am sure of it," was all Dave had left to say on the matter, not taking any more negative self abuse from me on the matter.
Back to Belfast
During my leave, I made it back home to Belfast to visit my mother. I had not seen much of her in the six years that I had been in the army. I would visit around holidays some times, for a day or two. We hardly even communicated too much. She had never been happy with my decision to join the army. I had the feeling that she felt betrayed by my action and that I was trying to punish her. She had lost my dad because he fought fires. She was afraid to loose me because all I wanted to do was fight. She never came out to my graduation from basic. I thought that she would be impressed when she saw me showing up for the first time in my red beret and my jump wings pinned on my chest, or my stripes pinned to my sleeve. As it turned out, I could not travel in uniform, on leave to Ulster. The department deemed it too dangerous and a security risk. She never crossed the water to visit me, so I would have to make do with bringing her photos of myself in parade best.
This trip was like most of the others back home. I dressed casual as always. I had a security briefing again. I wondered if they ever would trust us Irish. I made my own way to the flat I had grown up in. Not much had changed. Ma never displayed the pictures of me in uniform. She had taken all photos of my father in uniform down years before. The only pictures of me that she kept around were my high school pictures and ones of myself from younger days. I would look at the blond child in them and still saw a soft little girl.
"Your hair is grown long again love, have you quit playin' soldier and not told your poor mother?" me ma asked.
"No ma, they are just a little more forgiving that they used to be, it's the nineties now you know," I replied. My hair was as long as it had been since before I joined.
"Well, I think you look better with it long," she impressed while stroking her fingers through the blond strands which were a couple inches long. Ma hadn't shown any signs of aging herself. She still looked as good as she did when I was young. She kept herself up. I didn't know if she did it because I was there or if she was seeing anyone, or if she was that perfect all the time. We didn't chat much. She did ask me what I was doing in the army lately with some passing interest, probably to see if I was in a dangerous job or not. I decided to go easy on her, and told her that I worked at a radio repair depot, fixing electronic kit and such. It was also a good security cover. That seemed to make her feel more at ease and she warmed up a touch after that. Another time she tried to convince me that she had a scholarship lead for Q.U.B. so I could still get a degree. I had to forcefully tell her that I was just not interested. I stayed in town an entire week, longer than I had spent there in the six years I was away. Her friend Brigit came over to visit a few times and we all sat around having tea and chatting like girls do.
The visit was not overly eventful other than one night while ma was out at the pub working and I decided for nostalgia reasons to open her closet and have a look. I pulled out my favorite dress of hers, a black, silk and lace number that she rarely wore. I held it in front of me in the mirror and decided to give it a go. It was tighter that it was the last time I wore it seven years before, but it was sleeveless, so my slightly bigger shoulders didn't stress it too much. It hung to just above my knees and felt so soft and cool. I pulled out some stockings from ma's chest of drawers and rolled them on. I felt like a goddess. I took some of her makeup and did my face. I used lots of mascara and eye shadow, with bold black eye lines. I chose a soft rouge and bright red lipstick. Sure enough, even with my somewhat shorter hair, I still looked very much like a girl. Even six hard years of soldiering had not taken that away from me. I didn't know whether to be upset or proud. I relished the short moment that I had of being a woman before slipping back into reality and taking off the dress. I put ma's clothes away as good as I had found them and then washed my face and had a shower to erase the event for good. At least I thought so.
With little fanfare and a peck on the cheek, Ma wished me well and I set off back to work. I had to put my mind to training, training for selection. I did as Dave and I had discussed and forwarded my name for selection. To my surprise, my CO approved the application without hesitation. Along with my normal training duties, I made the time to march and run every day with as heavy a bergen as I could manage. I built up from twenty kilos and added a bit more each week. On my days off, I would head out to Wales and hike up Pan-Y-Fan, the highest peak in the Brecons. I tried to familiarize myself with the Welsh signs and some of the language. It was not like Irish Gaelic which I knew a little of. It was tough, but I was figuring some of it out. I also made notes about the ground, my surroundings, buildings, farms, and drew sketch maps so that I could study them when back in barracks. I would camp in a small, one man shelter while in the mountains most of the time and sometimes I would hike at night to understand my surroundings in the dark. By my fifth trip there I figured I knew the place as good as the locals. I had used my skills from patrolling to train myself.
I had one more mission with the squadron before selection. To my disbelief, I was being sent to Northern Ireland. I guessed that they finally grew some trust of me. The Det, a top secret unit made up of SAS and MI6 personnel had been working in Ulster since the seventies. Their communication gear was some of the most high tech in the world. Their kit was mostly for snooping in on conversations, bugging phones and such. I wondered why I was being sent, alone for that matter. I knew better than to ask questions and just do as I was ordered. I wasn't to take any uniforms or kit, I wasn't to change my appearance or let anyone at home know that I was coming.
It was my second trip back to my home country in the space of a month. On arrival to Ulster from a civilian ferry from Liverpool, I was met by Stan, a plain, forty year old bloke whom I had seen a picture of back in Hereford. He lead me to a car which quickly whisked away. He didn't say much in the car, other than asking if the sea was calm. He had a heavy Irish voice and figured he was from Armagh area. Once en route, Stan pulled a Sig Suar nine millimeter and casually handed it over to me. "Put it in your jacket pocket and keep it out of sight Blondie," he instructed. It seemed very casual and unsafe, given my previous training and range safety practices. I checked the safety and slipped it into my jacket pocket. There was a brief silence followed by Stan asking, "Canna labhair Eireannach? Which is Gaelic-Irish for, "Do you speak any Gaelic?"
"Ya, a little bit, enough to get by, I suppose," was my reply. The language was not widely spoken in Belfast but I picked up some in my years growing up in the city. I found learning language pretty easy. Compared to electro-magnetic physics, it was simple. I had started learning basic Arabic already and had a simple grip on that tongue as well. We didn't talk about much else until arriving at our destination; a flat over a pub in West Belfast. The motorcar was parked around back and we hurried up the stairs to a small, old flat with Stan looking about as we entered. Inside I met up with the rest of the team.
Stan was in charge and I guessed that he was SAS based on my assessment of his level of alertness and his fearlessness. The other two were most likely career MI6 types. Liam, was too overweight to have ever been in the Regiment and he didn't look anything like a soldier. He was around forty-five or fifty, had a big walrus moustache, a bald head save for a bad comb over, and a thick pair of spectacles. He wore a drab, brown tweed suit, plain white shirt and a brown necktie. He looked like a million other people which is what the 'slime' usually went for. A person who blends in with the crowd and does not attract attention to themselves is ideal for spying. Forget all the James Bond rubbish you hear about. He seemed pleasant enough although I wasn't able to read too much from his greeting. The last member of the team was a woman, Maggie, an average looking, thirty something, brown haired, straight laced bird. She was dressed somewhat proper as well. Her librarian look included simple, low heeled shoes, toupe pantyhose, a blue A line skirt that fell bellow her knees and a high collared ivory blouse. She wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail and she wore almost no makeup. She was about my weight although an inch or two shorter. She wasn't ugly by any means, but the drab look did her no favors. She seemed a bit disappointed with me and looked me up and down several times. Her body language told me that she wasn't impressed by me. I guessed that she was hoping for a big, strapping, stocky bloke, and not some skinny blond haired puff.
Once everyone finished introducing themselves, Stan laid out the scope of the work. We operated intercept gear to listen in on cell phone conversations, record them, triangulate their location, and pass information up to the local Det HQ. They had been targeting a PIRA group that they believed was active in drug trafficking, gun running and possibly bomb making. The Provisional Irish Republican Army was not the official IRA, but a radical band that did not believe in peace talks or cooperation of any kind like Sinn Fein had been recently pushing. I could understand now why I had been selected for the assignment.
They had the flat plus two mobile direction finders which they used to locate targets. Once they had a visual sighting they would try to get a photograph of the suspected players. My job would be to man the gear in the flat and coordinate with the others who would be mobile. I was a bit disappointed that I would not get to drive around but that apparently took tons more training in stealth and this bunch had been at it for years.
Next we went over my cover story. I would be in public from time to time and needed a good story if I contacted anyone. The general idea is to keep it simple. The more simple the more believable. I was to be an electrician, laid off for the winter, collecting a government dole. I would spend a few quid a week on the horses and order take out. I got to work right away, checking out the gear. Stan gave me a holster for concealing my nine milli under my jacket.
There was a serious lack of excitement on this assignment. Sure enough we made intercepts, made hours of recordings, and the others took plenty of photos, but over all it was quite boring for me. The players were mostly chatting about drug buys and movement. We never heard one word about any assassinations or bombs. Stan, I later learned was an ex-SAS trooper. He worked exclusively in the Det these days. He asked me if I was planning on going through selection and I told him that I was. Being shacked up in that flat was not helping me train, and I was forbidden from going out running or going to a gym. Stan later took pity on me and brought some weights in for me. I was pretty pathetic at first and my lack of upper body strength was evident. We built up a good relationship right away. I admired him even though he was all business. He came to trust me and from time to time he would let out a few stories while we enjoyed a pint.
The other two were much more detached and never spoke about themselves. It was usually all business. Liam was not a half bad horse player. I never figured him for the punter type, but we went to the track a few times and he was golden. Some times while we were there, he would snap a few pictures of people whom I had no idea of their importance. I knew better than to ask questions. All things being even, Liam was an alright bloke.
Maggie on the other hand was quite strange. I felt a great deal of resentment from her at first. She didn't like me and I was afraid to ask why. Still, I admired her work ethic and her looks were beginning to grow on me. The librarian look has a certain submissive quality. While Maggie sat in a chair, her skirt would ride up above her knee and reveal some very shapely legs. The hose added to the effect and eventually I was fantasizing about those legs and tried to imagine her a bit more dolled up and in a shorter skirt. One afternoon, about three weeks into the assignment, I was alone with Maggie in the flat monitoring the equipment. It was a slow day and it seemed like the PIRA had taken the day off. Stan was at HQ and Liam was on a mobile stakeout. Sitting at the kitchen table, Maggie was writing notes on the backs of some photos, peering with her brown eyes through the reading glasses balanced on the tip of her slender, upturned nose. Bored, I looked her up and down and noticed that her grey skirt had started riding up her legs. I had headphones on was tired at staring at the unchanged flat wave on the scope. My eyes tried to catch more of her thighs and it became a little game I played. Maggie placed her pencil in her mouth and held onto it like a cigarette. I tried to image her sucking a cock instead of a writing utensil. Next she pulled her hair back behind her ear on one side. She had a smooth slender neck and small, delicate ears, adorned with only a small pearl stud. What caught my eye next was her fingernails. They were painted today for change. This was new for her and the shade of red was out of character for her.
"You don't say too much, never kissed the Blarney Stone have ya?" she suddenly piped out while still staring at her photos. I was a bit surprised and shocked.
"Um, well a...." I stammered. Maggie laughed and then tried to muffle it with her hand. I was embarrassed. "I get the feeling that you don't care too much for me being here, so I just leave you be," I reported back with an honest answer. She put her folder down on the table and looked up at me. I was sitting three or four meters away on the sitting room chair. I took off my headset as a courtesy, and turned up the speaker volume so I wouldn't miss any business. Maggie looked a bit puzzled at first.
She then addressed me. "Well, I guess you would get that impression now that I think about it," she said. She took off her reading glasses and placed them over the folder. "You see, the fellow you replaced was sent away for fooling around with me, and he was married with kids and all that, so it was a bit messy," she confessed. "I was given a slap on the wrist but Tony was shipped off the continent, so I guess I was a bit rude toward you, but it wasn't personal I assure you," Maggie told me.
"No worries, I assure you Maggie, I didn't lose any sleep over it," I informed her to relieve her guilt.
"Thanks love, you're actually very sweet I think," Maggie replied with a bit of a coo in her voice. She smiled at me and picked up her glasses and opened her folder again. I figured that was the end of it and picked up my earphones again. I noticed in the corner of my eye that Maggie shifted in her seat and uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, left over right. He skirt slid up even more and I squinted as I tried to see if it was stocking tops I had caught a glimpse of. Suddenly I was aware that Maggie was looking right at me. I was caught looking and quickly turned my head away.
"Its okay darlin, I know that you look, I don't mind really," Maggie exclaimed as she played with my compromised situation.
"I'm sorry, I should know better, I couldn't help myself," I defended. Out of reflex, I turned away and stared at the scope on the intercept monitor and turned up the volume. I must have been cherry red. I also had to hide the growing bulge in my jeans that the ordeal was giving me. I noticed that Maggie got up and headed for the toilet. I tried to focus myself and was angry for letting my instincts take over my actions.
A few minutes later Maggie emerged from the closet and approached me. I was still embarrassed so I tried not to look right at her. I soon had no choice as I sensed her standing inches from me. I could see her placing her hands on her hips, feet apart in somewhat of an authoritative stance. I fought the urge to stare at her hips which were inches from my face. I realized that I could not avoid this confrontation. I looked up at her face. She was half smiling but had a perplexed look as well. She motioned for me to remove my headphones. I felt like an arse again. I took them off and realized a few changes in Maggie in the past five minutes. She had her blouse unbuttoned down so that her cleavage was on display. Her hair was pinned back on both sides in a flattering way. She had applied a small amount of rouge to her cheeks and some mascara to her eyelashes which made her brown eyes stand out. Her lips glistened with a hint of pink lip gloss. I stared at her with my jaw hanging a bit open.
"Well? Fancy a shag?" Maggie asked without much introduction. My eyes opened wider and my eyebrow raised. With that Maggie grabbed both sides of her skirt and pulled the hem up over her hips. She lifted her right leg and straddled my waist. I was still sitting in the soft cushion chair which took our weight with ease. I noticed that Maggie's stockings were indeed thigh high and supported by suspenders. She had also removed her knickers as her naked twat squashed down onto my lap. She had an unshaved but sparse haired pussy. I could feel its warmth through my jeans onto my very stiff cock. Maggie wasted no time and no words by grabbing my head and planting a firm kiss on my mouth. Her tongue probed into my mouth aggressively and for a second I felt like I was being raped. I suddenly realized what a perfect opportunity I had and began kissing this very hot woman back. My hands began exploring her bottom and her breasts. She still had most of her clothes on but I could freely access her firm arse and her ripe titties. I struggled to free her breasts from her brassier while she continued to gyrate her soaking wet crotch onto my bulge. Our kiss was the most intense that I had ever experienced and I was having sensory overload.
Maggie took charge and opened her top all the way but left it on her shoulders. She pressed her tits into my face and rubbed them all over. My hands went to her bum and I could tell now that underneath her mousy exterior, Maggie a had a firm, chiseled body. Her stomach was flat and firm as I licked her belly button. Maggie rose up further so that her hot, wet bush was staring me in the face. I could feel the heat radiating from it and its pungent smell was exciting me.
Her breathing was deep as she guided my face toward it. I stuck my tongue out and let her place her twat on it. She parted her nether lips, resting her clit onto my tongue. I could feel her hips pressing against my mouth so I eagerly began eating her out. Maggie moaned her pleasure as she gyrated against my face. Her muff was delicious and I lapped away while her musky, wet, brown curls tickled my nose. Her fingers ran through my blond tresses as she pulled at the back of my head trying to fuck my face. We went at it like that for about ten minutes until she came with a shutter and her juices sprayed my face.
Maggie reached back with her hand and unzipped my overly strained pants and pulled out my extremely hard cock. She finally broke her grip on my head and slowly lowered her crotch down to my lap and impaled herself upon my cock. She eased down all the way until her lips rested on my straining balls. She let out a sigh, "Ahhhh, that hit the spot," quite playfully. She began to slowly ride me with her arms wrapped around my neck, and mine around her waist. As she gyrated I began thrusting my hips up and down, fucking her sweet pie. She even kissed my juice covered mouth while we fucked and I thought I wouldn't be able to hold out much longer but she slid off of me and lay down on her back on the floor, with her stocking covered legs spread wide.
"Come on you lazy bastard, get over here and fuck me will ya," Maggie coached me. I mounted on top of her and felt her legs curl up behind my back as I entered her again. She awaited my thrusts and I tried to give it to her as best I could. I had very limited experience and it must have showed. I lacked initiative and Maggie had to take control again. She rolled me over and sat on my erection. She bounced up and down until I was overcome with excitement and released my hot load into her pussy. She seemed a bit miffed by that and wasn't expecting it. She climbed off my cock and slid up to my face. She replanted her crotch onto my mouth and ordered me to lick her. I gave her my best tongue job again and soon she was having another orgasm on my face. Her cum was mixed with the generous amount of sperm that I had dumped into her. She rode my mouth until I licked it all up.
After we caught our breath, Maggie excused herself to freshen up. I could hardly believe what had just happened myself. I began straightening my pants and got dressed. Maggie returned a short while later, her makeup gone, and her hair back to normal. Her blouse was done all the way up as well. "Where are my knickers?." she asked as she searched all around the room.
"You weren't wearing any when you came in the room just then," I answered.
"Right!" she exclaimed and marched back to the toilet. She was adjusting her skirt and pressing out the wrinkles when she returned again. "So love, was that your first time?" she asked me, sensing my inexperience. She had obviously done this before and knew exactly what she doing.
"No, not quite, forth or fifth I think. Was I really that bad?" I had to ask.
"No darlin, you were wonderful, really. I enjoyed myself I assure you," she added. "You were a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, so I figured for inexperienced is all."
I was honest about my lack of experience but I did not add anything about being in a three-way when I was a teen.
"When I first met you, I wondered if you was queer, but I'm guessing now that your just shy," Maggie justified to herself. Just then the phone rang and Maggie answered. My mind was still twisting. She hung up. "That was Stan, he's bringing Chinese food."
After that night Maggie became a sexual mentor to me. Whenever we ended up alone together we would wind up shagging. She loved teaching me how to use my tongue and lick her just right. I began to savor the taste of her twat which was parked on my face more often than not. She enjoyed my cock too but her preference was definitely for being eaten out. When we fucked, she was usually on top of me, riding me and controlling the pace. She could feel when I was close to coming and could ease up. She always made me lick her clean afterwards as well which meant eating my own sperm. I was growing used to that taste as well. I think that Stan and Liam suspected something but Maggie never gave a clue nor did I. Our careers were too precious to fuck them up.
The assignment lasted nearly four months, until the Det decided to turn our evidence over to the RUC (Royal Ulster Constabulatory). A few drug dealers went to prison based on the evidence, I discovered some time later. As for Maggie, she told me that we probably would never see each other again and I should just be happy for what we had. She seemed a little cold but I had to accept that I was just a toy to her and our relationship was just a way to break the boredom of the job. I was a bit hurt by her reaction and wondered if she did feel something and was covering it up because she knew it was hopeless to carry it on. With her spy gig in Ulster and my army career, there was no hope at all. I resolved in my own mind that was reason for her cold departure and would personally treasure the memories myself.
(continued)
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