Trooper Blondie

by Marty S

 

Hereford, England, June 1997

 

I had only a few weeks to train as hard as possible for selection. Belfast had made me a bit soft and weak and I had to train my arse off to get ready. I spent all my spare time with a heavy bergen on my back and every day off up in the Beacons. I had to put everything else behind me, and concentrate on this one thing. I trained as hard as my feet would allow and familiarized myself again with the Welsh landscape. Finally the day had come, and I was across the base to the recruit barracks of the 22^nd SAS Regiment.

Blokes from all over Gods green earth were showing up with every new train to platform three in Hereford. There were candidates arriving from Australia, Fiji, Hong Kong, and from units all across the UK. I spotted several blokes from the Paras all parading around in their red berets with puffed out chests and a cock-of-the-walk attitude looking down on the rest of us "crap hats" as they enjoyed calling non Paras. I had given up my red beret when I left Aldershot but I sported HALO wings on my tunic which only two of them were wearing. One of the fellows I recognized was Eddie Marlin, a big black fellow who was in the pathfinder platoon when I taught them radio a couple years before. Eddie didn't show off like some of the other Paras and when I said hello to him he greeted me with great enthusiasm. "Blondie mon, how the fuck have you been?" he asked with his large white smile. He was a big man, over six foot tall and sixteen stone easily, but all muscle.

Some of Eddie's buddies from the Paras came over to check out Eddie's strange, long haired little Irish friend. One even asked him," You know this crap hat puff?"

Eddie turned quickly to him and said,"Fuck off, wanker!" in my defense. The friend didn't seem too serious but was only concealing his own nervousness by acting out I figured. Still, I had to say something.

"No worries Eddie, I'll still be here long after your mate has visited platform three again," I shot back. It was true, even if I didn't pass the course, I wasn't leaving town, just going to the other side of the base. Still, he didn't have to know that detail. That Cretan later learned that I had five times as many jumps as he did and never gave me anymore grief, specially after our first training day.

Every training course that I had ever taken in the Army before had always been full of yelling, barking, drill, inspections and Sergeants breathing down your neck 24/7 telling us what to do, how to do it, when to do it, where to do it and blasting it into your brain so that you couldn't possibly forget it. On every course, you would also expect a rude awakening in the morning as well to get you moving. This course was very different and being as it was touted as the most difficult course that we had, I was surprised to find none of it. We each carried our message and checked in with the orderly clerk who told us where the barracks were. Once there, a few training staff floated about in civilian clothing who were no doubt checking us out. No one was there yelling at us however; just a notice on the bulletin board stating what to wear and what to bring in the morning. We were allowed to mingle and chat with the others as we saw fit. It was a weird mix because blokes were from different Regiments and Corps and were all ranks from lance corporal up to captain. We were all thrown in the mix together. It all seemed very informal.

Things got underway quickly on the selection course, two fellows did not show up at the right place, at the right time and were quickly sent packing for platform three. It was essential that candidates showed initiative and worked out their problems on their own. An SAS trooper has to think for themselves and not be led around like a child. This lesson was drilled in quickly as we all learned. The first day was no Sunday outing. We ran with bergens on, cross country and over hill and dale while carrying an SA80 without a sling. The SAS maxim on rifles was that to always have your weapon at the ready at all times it must always be in your hands and therefore, never be slung over your shoulder. This made life that much tougher on everyone. Those who could not keep up were simply scooped up by trailing staff and escorted back to the barracks to pack and head for platform three. Day one course casualties numbered nine in total.

One of the early surprises for me was finding out that Dave was one of the instructors. My mentor from Belize who recommended me for this was now waiting to see if he made a mistake or not. It gave me the incentive to succeed. I did not want to let him down. Each day got tougher and tougher. We were transported by lorries to the Brecon Beacons bright and early each morning with heavier and heavier loads on our backs. Once there we would be given a map and compass and told where the check points were on the map and sent on our way. At first we started from the same place and later we were dropped off in smaller groups and finally alone so that we could not simply rely on someone else to navigate and just fallow them. This was an individual selection and it was every man for himself. Anyone unsure of himself with a map and compass would quickly be lost and would fail to make the check point. Once they turned up, it was off to platform three. We were never given a specific time to make, which made you feel uneasy as the minutes ticked away. We simply had to do our best and if wasn't fast enough then it was off to platform three.

At each checkpoint, we would find a staff trooper who would look you over, log your time, assess your medical condition, check your bergen weight and ask you questions about your route such as: "what bearing you were on?, what buildings did you see?, what signs do you remember?, did you cross any water?" and many others. They often would get us to draw a sketch map of our route. They would then issue the next check point and you were off. If they let you go, then you had passed that leg. A few times we would have to endure a sickener obstacle set up for our pleasure. One was crossing through a stream of ice cold mountain water, up passed our necks and enduring the rest of the day cold and wet. Another was to crawl though a drainage ditch that was filled with a mix of sheep entrails, blood and manure, on our bellies the entire way. If you were not the first person through, it also had plenty of human vomit added into the mix. As the course progressed, more and more weight was added. It was rough physically and mentally. The key was to stay sharp no matter how racked and tired your body got. I was thanking my stars for having done my homework on the Welsh countryside. Many candidates in much better shape than I ended up on platform three. The toll after three weeks was thirty-nine out of fifty-five original candidates. Many had quit on their own accord but most were simply told at a check point, "that's all for you mate, hop on the lorry." Many of those had succeeded in making the check point and thought themselves to be finished for the day or given a break for a meal only to be given the next task. Upon hearing the news they would show their anguish or displeasure and that would be them finished.

The final task was a forty kilometer cross country trek that went up and down Pan-Y-Fan more than once while carrying thirty kilos of weight which had to be finished in one day. Getting lost or falling off the pace would mean failure. At one check point, Dave ran me through the paces and the relief of having the bergen off for a couple of minutes was heaven. Dave looked genuinely worried about my progress and looked me square in the eyes with his steel blue eyes asking, "How are you doing Ryan?"

With a well rehearsed smile, I replied, "Never better staff, never better," and rucked up to carry on. The truth was that my back felt like it would crack in two from the bergen but I was determined to finish or literally die trying. I made it to the end and so did my Para buddy Eddie although his mouthy friend had been back in Aldershot for a week. That was the beginning, phase one complete.

SAS training continued with parachute training for those that didn't have it and then survival training for us all. This course took place over two weeks and tested your ability to survive off of the land with nothing but your brains and your heart. The final test was an exercise which was called escape and evade. The lot of us would be driven out to nowhere with no provisions, kit, weapons or even bootlaces. We had to "jump off" and make our escape like Chris Ryan in 'The One That Got Away'. If we were captured, it would mean a rough go of it for several days in a "prison camp" while they waited for the rest. They encouraged locals to look out for us and report us if we were seen by giving them rewards. Patrols would search for us day and night. They made it known that anyone caught early in the exercise would be given a very rough treatment and may not pass the course if the effort was poor. Making it to 'safety' after the sixty hour period did not give anyone a free pass either. Making it to safety still meant enduring imprisonment and interrogation again. It was another mental and physical challenge.

I thought that I was ready for this one but didn't see the surprise that they had planned for me. After managing to evade my pursuers for the first two days I made my way, at night into the "safe zone" using stealth and camouflage as my premier weapons. I managed to slip by the final patrols and reported in. At that point the fun began. As per the course requirements, we were 'arrested' and taken prisoner. It was not a surprise, just part of the program. This phase was a test of character, where all the modern day physiological interrogation methods would be used on us. The idea was to try to break the candidate in a short period of time. We know that any information that a solder takes with him into battle is only good for a short period of time and if you could hold off to the interrogation for a few days then you were home free. The candidate simply had to keep his cool for seventy-two hours and divulge no information other than what the Geneva Convention tells you to. Easier said than done.

Torture by physical abuse was not permitted, we knew that, so no one was filling us in or kicking the shite out of us. After twenty-four hours you wished it was that simple. There are many other methods used to torture a prisoner such as heat deprivation, food or water deprivation, sleep deprivation, isolation, persistence, and many others that were all used on us. The effects were instant, specially on bodies that had endured three days on the run out in the elements. Just when you thought that you might get a rest, it was time to move to a new cell, with stronger lights, then to a colder one, that stank of vomit, shite and piss. Just when you were getting comfortable again it was time for interrogation again.

"What is your unit? How many in your group? What is your commander's name? Are you married? What is your mother's name? Where were you born?" and a myriad of other questions fallowed, several times a day, by many different interrogators. It was important to keep to the basics, only give up your name, rank, serial number, and date of birth. They would tempt you with favors such as food, whisky, sleep, a bath, or anything you could want. If you gave in, you were done, so you had to hold out. I found it tough, and I knew that I was only fifteen hours in. I had a long way to go, and by far this was the most difficult obstacle yet.

Just when I though I had the session beat, two goons would roughly bind my wrists behind my back, hood my face and drag me along the cold concrete floor to another room. Sometimes I could predict if it was a temptation session or a bully session by the setting. Pleasant surroundings, no guards, no smell, dim lighting meant a temptation session, where food, beer and clean clothes were paraded in front of me and interrogation was by a nice officer, sometimes a female. If the room was damp, bleak, cold, and had a strong light it was usually a nazi style going over filled with insults where I would be called a pussy, queer, cocksucker and my chair would be kicked out from under me. Still, I held out.

I calculated that I was into my third day and I still had not cracked. They had insulted my looks, my nationality, my corps, my family and I took it all. I resisted the temptations. I found myself in a large room, filled with a dozen or so officers, lights blazing at me, and I was forced to stand, unbound while I was questioned. "What part of Ireland were you born in? Was it Belfast?" one voice asked.

"I cannot answer your question sir," was my reply.

"Is your unit based in Hereford? Yes or no?" another asked.

"I cannot answer your question sir," I answered again.

"Take off your clothes Corporal," one officer demanded. I knew that this part was coming. It was standard. I removed my uniform and stood in my green shorts. "Take them off too, I meant everything," the demanding voice continued. I did as instructed. I stood there in all my naked glory for the crowd of on lookers. It was meant to be shameful and embarrassing. "Just a few more questions, then you can get dressed again," I was told. I just nodded and tried to appear uncaring and unaffected. I stood waiting and waiting for several minutes. It was very uncomfortable. I tried not to imagine that they were all checking out my cock. Just then two women stepped forward. Both were very good looking. Both were dressed in smart business suits, high heels, stockings and were made up nicely, with charming perfume, and had long, styled hair. They stood only inches in front of me and examined me closely. I could feel their eyes checking me out, staring at my cock. They walked around me and looked at my entire body. Neither of them showed any expression at first.

"Not much of a man is he?" the brunette asked the redhead. The redhead laughed.

"He is smaller than my nine year old brother," was the redhead's reply. "He wouldn't be much use to me, or any other woman I imagine," she continued.

"You probably wouldn't even be interested in us, would you?" the brunette asked me, looking me straight in the eye. "Well, would you?" she asked again fallowing my silence.

"I cannot answer that question, miss?" I squeaked out.

"I figured you for a homosexual," the redhead barked at me next. Perhaps she had not noticed the erection that was standing straight out in front of my body. "I bet you like to bend over for all the boys, don't you?" she went on. "See, your getting excited just by me talking about it," she commented about my stiff one. I was starting to enjoy this part of the game because after all, up until now, it was all a game.

The brunette walked back to the men, clicking her stiletto heels on the concrete floor as she walked. She returned with a folder and approached me. The redhead was still staring me down. My one eyed monster was staring back. The brunette opened the folder and pulled out a photograph, looked at it and held it to my face. I suddenly could not breath. It was a photo of me, through a window, off of a refection in a mirror. I was wearing makeup, and my mother's black silk and lace dress. I deduced that it was taken the last time I was on leave. The fuckers were watching me the whole time. I looked the brunette in the eye. She looked as if she were the cat that had caught the canary. "Do you think that the SAS would want a queer like this in their Regiment?" she asked me stone cold. My heart was pounding out of my chest and my erection had flopped to nothing. I tried to swallow but the lump in my throat was too big. My skin was shaking. She flashed several more pictures of me in drag to look at. She then passed them to the redhead who scanned them and took off laughing. "Look, I know all about your little hobby, we have our sources," she added.

The interrogation by the woman continued. " These are ours, these photos, no one else has to see them," the pretty, green eyed lady added. "No one in the Army need to see these, nor does your mother, does she?" she asked point blank. I didn't answer her. She looked annoyed. "Well, what do you think?" she persisted.

"I don't understand your question, miss," I finally answered with trepidation.

"Just tell me about Ballymena, Sarah and Sean right?" she asked me. The cold sweat poured from me. I was about to break. They knew everything about me. They knew about Ballymena, Sarah, Sean, the cross dressing, everything. I thought that I might faint right there. I thought that my army career was over. I tried to swallow again. Tears rolled down my face.

"I don't understand your question, miss?" I blurted out.

"Look at the fucking pictures Ryan!" she screamed into my face.

The redhead approached me again, smiling. "Look sweety, we don't have to play this anymore. You know by now your not going to make it. We can get out of here and Louise and I can take you out, give you a bath, dress you up in a nice frock, and we could all go down to the docks and pick up some nice sailors to party with. It will be a blast love!" she tempted me. It did sound very interesting.

"Yes, come on, who needs this place, it smells bad," Louise added. "I actually think you look very pretty, and so does Patricia, we think that you look a lot like your mom," she said as she looked to the redhead for approval. Patricia nodded and smiled at me. Louise held a picture of my mother up right next to the picture of me in her dress. "See that, like two sisters. So tell us love, what is your mother's name?" she asked while holding a pen up to the picture to write on it. She paused and smiled politely at me. I looked over to Patricia who also was grinning and nodded to me so that I would reply. I had to remember, it was all just a game, it meant nothing.

"I cannot answer your question, miss," I answered in victory. They had nothing more that they could use on me. It was over, and I had won. I would make it through this stage but only with the knowledge that my secret was no longer a secret. I would have to go on with the assumption that anyone in the military that I may meet, might know about it. A week later and the posting was initiated.

We were then sent to the jungles in Belize again for phase three training. It was great to have Dave along as an instructor. It was a more laid back and casual atmosphere than the previous phases. We were all called by either our first names or by nicknames. Not surprisingly, I earned the nickname "Blondie" which Dave had passed on to the others. It was an unofficial name all my life, now it would be permanent. My previous trip proved to be an asset but I learned ten times as much the second time around. It became evident by the end of the nine week training when you no longer felt like you were fighting against the jungle and learned to become part of it. After the third week you didn't even notice the bugs anymore. I learned about demolitions, close range firing, hand to hand combat, tracking, pathfinding and survival. The toll on the body was scarey. I had little weight to loose but I ended up as skinny as a scarecrow from living off of the land.

On my return to Hereford, I was marched in front of the CO of the Regiment and he unceremoniously handed me the tan beret and winged dagger cap badge. Only eight of my fellow candidates from the original selection class made it with me. My friend Eddie was one of them. This step was only the beginning. All of us new members took a drop in rank, down to Trooper but our pay level actually went up. The pay increase was nice but I still didn't know what to do with it all. Since I joined I had been putting most of my money away. My expenses were low. The only large purchase I ever made since I joined the Army was a motorbike. My first one was a used Triumph 750. After my promotion to Corporal, I upgraded to a brand new BMW 1100. The rest of my money just kept piling up. Parachutists received bonus pay and we earned extra every time we worked overseas. I began sending money home to me ma three years after joining on a monthly basis and decided to send her extra from now on. It was funny how this never affected her opinion on my choice to live a life in the Army.

Training really began after passing selection. Continuation training included Close Quarter Battle or anti-terrorist training for three months, then insertion training. Both Eddie and I were selected to Free Fall troop of Delta Squadron. We both already had a good background in skydiving, having done HALO training. The SAS took it to a whole new level, and in a six week period we made two hundred jumps. We jumped into the sea, onto rooftops, into trees, from aircraft of all types, including exits from thirty thousand feet at two hundred miles per hour. I would come to learn more about aircraft than most ground crews, both military and civilian.

Still, it was just the beginning. To be considered trained in the SAS takes more than two years of solid training. Weapons of all types were learned and used. We fired on the ranges almost daily. Other skills had to be learned as well. Everyone had to learn a language, radio, explosives, medical procedures, combat driving, SCUBA, and climbing. We sharpened our CQB skills at Hereford, using the killing house and mockups of jets, trains, and buses. We had exercises in northern Canada, Borneo, Oman, in every conceivable type of weather. Anyone who thinks that special forces life is glamorous is living in a marshmallow world.

The training never ends. My Arabic classes continued, and I was learning the differences between some of the more common dialects. My ability to speak it well was not going so great. I could not master the accent nor manage to ditch my own Irish accent. I did however grasp translating, understanding and even the written portion.

Both Eddie and I were assigned to Delta Squadron. The 22^nd SAS has four Sabre Squadrons, Alpha, Bravo, Delta, and Golf. Alpha was the original Squadron that was raised to go to Malaya during the late 40's and 50's. Bravo was raised from mainly foreign troops to help out when troops were needed in Oman. Charlie Squadron was raised from Rhodesian soldiers to fight in Malaya but were sent home to fight in their own countries civil war in what is now Zimbabwe. Their title remains retired in respect for their accolades as a fighting force. When the next manpower shortage arouse, Delta Squadron was raised from the Parachute Regiment. Paras end up in all the Squadrons but Delta has the most members. There were never an Echo nor Foxtrot Squadrons. The CO at the time was an ex-guardsman and decided to expand the Regiment with recruits from the Guards units. They were thus given the title Golf for Guards. Each Sabre Squadron makes up a fighting unit and takes on a rotational role. One Squadron is in training and preparation for six months while another is on full time counter terrorist duty. A third is on back up to the main CT Squadron and usually doing continuation training. The forth Squadron is usually on operations somewhere in the world. Most of what the Regiment does is highly secretive and never made public. The highly publicized activities like Princess Gate, the Falklands, and the Gulf War were only a tiny fraction of all the action that the unit does. Even within the Regiment we have a 'don't ask, don't tell' about operations. Small unit activities went on all the time and you never knew about it. As well, you never discussed any missions of your own with anyone who was not there with you.

Each Sabre Squadron was set up the same, a headquarters, consisting of Major in command, two staff officers, a Sergeant-Major, and four others. The Squadron was divided into four Troops consisting of sixteen members each. The four Troops were named Mobility Troop, Free Fall Troop, Boat Troop, and Mountain Troop, each named for their insertion specialty. Each Troop was subdivided into four, four man patrols. Each patrol had a commander, either a Lieutenant, or a Sergeant and three others. Since I was assigned to 4 Patrol, Free Fall Troop, Delta Squadron, our call sign was D24. Our instructors became our bosses, and Staff- Sergeant Dave Smith became the Troop second in command, and my Patrol commander. He had no trouble taking on two fresh Troopers like Eddie and myself. Eddie had taken the role of patrol medic and I was the patrol signaler. The last guy in our patrol was Peter, an ex-Gurkha who retired and went home shortly after continuation training. The newest member of our team was big Mike Ferguson, who had joined us six months after Eddie an I came on. He had been on selection before us but was injured during training, which was very common, and had to do some catching up. Mike was Scottish and had served in the Argyles before transferring to the Royal Engineers. Mike had dark hair and fairly dark complection, as well as brown eyes. His parents were mixed, I found out later. It was his mother who was second generation Indian. Mike was tall but not as broad shouldered as Eddie or Dave but taller than them both. With my gold locks and my tiny frame I was a huge contrast to the rest of my patrol mates. The four of us would share a destiny that none of us would have imagined.

 

Ibiza, Spain, May 1999

 

Training had been going full on since coming into the Regiment and my Squadron was about to begin full duty on Counter Terrorist rotation. Just before it started we were permitted a holiday leave for one week. I dreaded going back home and facing my mother. I would have to either lie like crazy about my job or come clean and have her hate me forever. It was Dave who had the great idea that we all take a trip together. We trained together and worked together, why not play together as well. Camaraderie and teamwork are built up just as much when blokes drink together compared to working together. I really wanted to belong with them all so I was in agreement. Dave himself had been divorced from his second wife for more than six years making him a consummate bachelor. Mike's fiancé left him while he was training for selection and he had not had time to get anything new going. He was firmly in. Eddie was a true ladies man. He was smooth and had no trouble picking up birds in the local pubs. Everyone in the Regiment was jealous of his abilities to chat up the ladies. He would be a great asset to have along wherever girls could be found. And no where else in Europe was better for that than Ibiza, Spain. The island is party central and subject of much lore in the mess. Dave made arrangements for us to tag along on a military flight so it would not cost too much. The deal was sealed and we were off.

Our hotel was not much but it was close to the beach. I did my best to stay covered but still managed to burn pretty good on the first day. I envied the others with their darker complections and their ability to take the sun. I spent a good deal of time in a cold bath and drinking rum cocktails until the pain was gone.

When the sun went down, I was rejuvenated. The best thing about Ibiza are the nightclubs. I had a rough night on the first night but we were all off a bit from the flight. After a few drinks we were all down. Everything improved as the week went by, we partook in lots of recreation like parasailing which we found pretty dull compared to our usual work. We did some scuba and spent plenty of time on the beach. I did my best to find shade, cover up or drench myself in zinc sun cream.

At night we traveled from club to club, drinking and dancing and partying like I had never done before. I found that I could drink with the best of them despite my smaller size. It must have been my Irish blood. Poor Mike was the rookie drinker and made an ass of himself frequently. Just as Eddie would lure in some birds, Mike would scare them off.

On one night, late in our trip, we were all out at some crazy disco, where the birds were as thick as stars in the night sky. It was very hot out so we wore light cotton clothes. Eddie could not hide his muscular physique, no matter how hard he tried. Dave was very quiet, acting more like a father or older brother to us all. It was his job, after all. Mike, as usual, was feeling his drinks faster then he should. Eddie and I were out dancing with some pretty girls. Dave didn't dance much and Mike was a bit too pissed to dance. Eddie and I were surrounded by girls. We were dancing for hours and getting lots of attention. Our fun was interrupted by Dave who told us that Mike needed help back to the hotel. Begrudgingly, we assisted our Sergeant in carrying the over juiced Scotsman back to the room. We thought that our fun would be over for the night. I was really enjoying the nightclub. I never got out much back in Hereford, just down to the pub now and again.

"I've got Mike, he'll be okay. If you two want to go back down there, that's fine with me. It was a bit too flashy for me anyway. I'll take care of Mike and watch a film on the tele. Go ahead!" our boss encouraged us.

Eddie looked at me with enthusiasm. I smiled and said, "Race ya!" as I sprinted from the door. We were back in the packed nightclub in no time. It was packed like a can of kippers, which made the pretty young girls press up against us even more. I was loving it. I was really enjoying the dance beat and moving with the music. It felt very natural. Eddie had a few birds dancing with him. Most of the crowd were tourists from the British Isles. After a while we ended up drinking with a pair of girls from England. The one who was interested in me was a tiny, little ginger thing, with blue eyes, soft, white skin and freckles. She was even paler than me. The girl with Eddie was a bit taller and blond. She had long, wavy hair, green eyes and a figure like a fashion model. My little pixy was named Molly and she wore a minuscule denim skirt that barely covered her arse and a small white tank top that showed off ample breasts and her belly button that had a piercing. Eddie's bird was Sharon. She wore a micro skirt too and had nice tan legs to show it off. She wore a tiny yellow top that barely contained her small perky breasts.

By the way they were dancing, we could tell that they might go. Thank fuck for having Eddie along. They both did some dry humping with us. Molly had a sporting little body and I was getting hard thinking about getting into her. At one point, the girls were bumping and grinding on each other, teasing us to no end. They could tell it was working too. Sharon straddled Molly, with her skirt up to her hips, humping her crotch on Molly's thigh. She could see how excited we both were by the open jaw looks we gave them. They upped the ante by embracing in a sapphatic kiss. They kissed in a practiced way they made me almost split my pants. They giggled at how effective their teasing was working on us.

We eventually left with both of them and went back to their hotel, which was closer than ours. We had a drink then turned on some quieter music. This place was more intimate to chat. Eddie first thought that they were Irish, but I could tell by their accent that they were not. "We're from Cornwall," Molly told us. We exchanged pleasantries. We told them that we worked for an airline, as baggage handlers.

"So when are you two going to return the favor," Molly giggled. Sharon smiled and giggled too. I knew what she meant but it caught Eddie unaware.

"What do you mean?" he asked smoothly.

"Well, we kissed each other for you. So we want to see you two now," Sharon answered him.

"But, but....we're not gay," Eddie replied.

Both girls giggled some more and almost broke out in a full laugh. "Oh, right, sure your not," Sharon answered sarcastically. She continued," but you make such a lovely couple, don't get us wrong, we are all for it." Eddie shook his head in disappointment. I still had nothing to say.

Molly piped in, "Look, you don't have to be gay, that's alright. Sharon and I aren't lesbians or anything, but we kissed. It turned you on, right?"

"Ya, but that's different, it's not the same with guys," he defended. He looked to me for support but I wasn't returning his glances. I followed Molly's point of view.

Sharon picked it up, "It is the same. We get totally turned on by boys kissing. Molly and I get really wet watching two good looking blokes making out." She stared Eddie in the eyes with her beautiful green eyes and bit her lip and stroked her leg. Eddie gulped and looked like he was sweating. I looked at Molly and she was trying to seduce me in the same way.

Sharon continued, "If you do it for us, we will do anything you want." That was loaded. Eddie slowly turned and looked at me. He looked pensive but I could see that he was thinking, "the bounty was worth the price." He also looked to be checking me out, as if to see if he could do it.

I gave him a look as if to say, "Why not, they will do anything."

"Anything?" Eddie asked again.

The girls grew closer with anticipation. "Yes, anything," Molly answered enthusiastically.

Eddie turned to look at me again, but was lost not knowing what to do. I realized that I would have to step up so I slid next to my larger partner on the edge of the bed. I moved my face in close to his, slowly cocked my head, closed my eyes and pursed my lips. Eddie was a bit stiff but my soft, full lips pressed against his large brown mouth. He didn't kiss me back right away, but my lips stayed put until he gently yielded and returned my kiss. His lips were full and pressed back on mine. I could taste beer on his breath but mine must have been no better. I could feel his mouth move and open slightly. Our tongues gently touched and he pulled back a little.

"No, don't stop, it's just starting to get hot!" Sharon demanded.

"Come on, keep going, your beginning to get me horny," Molly added as she squirmed and rubbed Sharon's thigh. They waited to see more.

Eddie turned back to me and I waited for him. I was half grinning but trying not to look too anxious. The alcohol had numbed my defenses. I felt his face touch mine and I opened my mouth. His lips touched mine again but with more force this time. His hand grabbed the back of my head and pulled me closer as my wet lips kissed his. This time Eddie's tongue found its way into my mouth. I caressed it with my tongue. We french kissed to the squeaking delight of our female guests. I was honestly enjoying it and had a hard time trying to hide my erection in my shorts.

Eddie sensed that we were going at it a bit too long and slowly pulled back but I knew that he had enjoyed it, maybe as much as I did. He looked at me longingly at first, then turned away sharply to Sharon. She was fidgeting in her seat. Eddie pulled her to him and locked his mouth on hers. I wondered if her kiss was as good as mine. She was all over him.

Molly was ready for me and gave me her best bedroom smile. We softly kissed. It was less animalistic than the kiss with Eddie. Molly had a sweet mouth but with small thin lips. Her tiny tongue was a sharp contrast to Eddie's. My petite pixy was soon fondling my crotch and rubbing my stiff cock. I pulled up her top and began kissing her pink nipples. She moaned softly as I sucked on them.

I looked over to my team mate and noticed that he had not wasted anytime getting Sharon undressed. He had his own shirt off too revealing his muscular torso. He was ripped and mostly without hair. His dark brown skin glimmered with sweat in the dim light. Sharon was licking and worshiping his body with her tongue. She undid his shorts and pulled them right off along with his under sorts. Eddie's cock sprang out at her and took her quite by surprise. I had seen Eddie naked before as was unavoidable in a small patrol that worked together all of the time. I knew that he was well endowed, but I had never seen it hard before. It was ten inches long easily and very thick. I had heard all the rumors about black fellows and Eddie lived up to the reputation. It was magnificent.

I had been paying so much attention to the other couple that I almost forgot my girl. Her freckled tits pulled away from my mouth as she dropped down to her knees and unzipped my shorts. She freed my erect cock which was dwarfed in comparison to Eddie's. Molly didn't seem to mind and took right to it. She licked it all over and expertly worked her tongue around its head. I was loving it. If I hadn't been a bit drunk I probably would have came off quickly but I let her work her magic on me. I ran my fingers through her red curls as she sucked me deeper. I looked over to watch Eddie and Sharon again. They were doing the same thing as us. I watch the stellar blond try to suck off Eddie's massive black cock. Her pretty little mouth stretched to accommodate him. It was very sexy.

I tried to decide in my own mind which was sexier, imaging her mouth on me or imagining it was me instead of her. She did resemble me in many ways; same height, same shape, same hair almost, same eyes. I wonder if Eddie was thinking the same thing. He was watching Sharon suck his cock as best she could and then looked up at me. He locked eyes with me and smiled. He tensed up and closed his eyes. I could see Sharon gagging on Eddie's prick and soon white streams of juice flowed out the corners of her mouth. Eddie had just came. He opened his eyes again and was watching Molly and me. Molly had me deep up to my nuts in her sweet mouth and soon I could not hold it any longer either and blasted my cream into her throat. Even before I could recover I felt Molly crawling up onto me and impaling herself on my still hard cock. It felt warm and silky. She was so wet that she slipped right down to the base. She let out a little, "Mmmfff!" as she did.

I started moving my hips up and down into her and she pulled my face close to hers and began kissing me. Her little cunny felt wonderful and cozy. Her mouth clamped onto mine and I could taste my own salty sperm on her tongue. We kissed intensely as she bounced up and down on my lap. As we fucked, I looked again over to the other couple. Eddie had Sharon bent over on the bed so that she was laying flat. He was pressing into her from behind. He was watching Molly and I however, instead of his girl. Sharon was doing the work, trying to push Eddie's fire hose into her snatch. She was grunting with clenched teeth trying to work it in. Soon it was fully home and Eddie began stroking Sharon's pussy for all his worth. He liked to grab hold of her ass cheeks as he slid into her. He really began fucking her like an animal. Watching them made me really hot. I grabbed hold of Molly's soft little bum and started driving into her rough. I even explored her rosebud with my finger. When she offered no resistance I slid a finger up her bum. It seemed to encourage her. Molly began yelling and wailing like a banshee. She tightened her cunt muscles around my tool and she bit me on the lip. She came hard and had an orgasm for a minute or two. I felt the need to come again myself and let go inside of her.

Meanwhile, Eddie was pounding away on his date. She was barely conscious from the hard fucking she was receiving. I could see the look of total ecstacy in her eyes. Lucky girl! Molly and I were both watching the show now and she even commented, "That's it, fuck the shite out of her you bastard! Make her come like a bloody freight train." It was hard to imagine those words coming out of that girl's mouth. Sharon did come like a freight train as Eddie was relentless on satisfying her. It was an impressive display. He eventually pulled his long cock out of the poor girl and splashed a load of his seed all over her bum and the small of her back.

Molly applauded the performance and gave Sharon a hug and a kiss. Sharon and Molly exchanged tongues in their kiss as I jealously watched. Molly then kissed Eddie as well. I was pulled closer by Sharon and I was treated to a kiss as well. It was sweet but as I kissed her I had my hand on her bum. My hand became soaked with the sticky remains of Eddie's orgasm. We all sort of fell apart and the two girls rolled up together on the bed. They looked kind of sleepy. I was a bit groggy myself. Eddie made a motion towards his clothes by turning away so I pulled my fingers up to my mouth and began licking the stuff off of them.. I could taste his sperm which was different tasting than my own. I was ready to have some more sex but Eddie was almost dressed and he turned to look at me. I pulled my fingers from my mouth and reached for my clothes.

We made our getaway. The entire trip back to our hotel, Eddie was like a kid in a candy store. "Holy fuck Blondie, were those birds wild or what?" he exclaimed. I nodded my approval and waited for him to say more. "That was the hottest fucking sex I have ever had!" he added. "What about you, you ever done anything like that?" he asked sincerely.

I thought for a brief moment back to when I was seventeen and decided to keep that to myself. "I have to admit that was a new high for me as well Eddie," I answered without eye contact. I took a deep breath. "Are you alright with everything. I'm talking about the stuff we did in the beginning," I asked without directly using the word 'kiss' .

Eddie put his hands into his pockets and drew a breath uncomfortably. "Well, I guess, it was fine, right?" Then he went on," It wasn't at all bad, not bad at all really and it did get us what we wanted so I guess I am alright with it." He was obviously uncomfortable talking about it.

"But your not feeling too weird about that, are you?" I asked.

"What, me?" he responded. "No, I mean, I am a man of the world. This is almost the twenty-first century after all. I'm fine with it, really." He sounded a bit more honest it that statement.

"Are you? Really?" I asked again. I had a controlling grin. I felt the need to challenge his statement even though I did believe him.

"Sure I am Blondie, you don't believe me?" he argued back. I just shrugged my shoulders in mock disbelief. Eddie was a bit pissed with me. That his closest friend did not trust his word, was upsetting to him. We were on a quiet beach not far from our hotel at the time. Eddie stopped and looked left and then right. I thought he was getting ready to punch me. "You know, you were actually a better kisser than that bird Sharon," he confessed. I tried to hold in my laughter.

"It's not funny, I'm serious," Eddie told me as he grabbed hold of my shoulders and shoved me to the sand. I was giggling at the antics. Eddie dropped on top of me and his weight made it impossible for me to get up without doing anything dirty. I didn't offer a fight. Eddie planted a gentle kiss on me. It was soft and passionate like earlier. This one was not for anyone else's show. It was just ours. Our tongues entwined as we made out together. We kissed for a few minutes before Eddie got up off of me. I would have let him stay there all night. He helped me up. I needed it because I had a hard on and had trouble walking. Good job my shorts were loose.

"I think that it's probably best that we keep this to ourselves. Nobody else needs to know about it," Eddie informed me. He was right. It wouldn't do either of us any good to tell anybody.

"Ya, you're right there. No sense in that. Best to keep quiet about it," I justified.

We made it back to our hotel and passed out. The rest of the trip was uneventful apart from another drink up. When it was over we returned to Hereford and got ready for serious work. The black kit was coming out. If another Princess Gate were to come up, we would be on line.

 

 

December 27, 1999 London

 

"D24 this is D20, Stand by, over," squawked the earpiece inside my helmet. The noise was muffled by the respirator covering my face. The rubber made your face sweat and the discomfort from wearing it over an hour was taking its toll. It was a minor thing none the less. More important was the task at hand. I would be the first one to go through the door after Eddie was to knock it open and Mike was to toss in the flash-bang grenade. It made a concussion wave capable of knocking down anyone nearby without killing anyone. That was our job. I tried to keep my heartbeat from picking up the pace.

"Stay cool!" I thought to myself and tried to replay the sequence in my head. It should all happen within three seconds. For entries, one man, Eddie in this case, carries a hammer and a shotgun with sabot rounds to open doors. Eddie takes the door and moves past it. Mike tails Eddie with the flash-bang and continues to the left side of the door. I hold at the right side, at the ready. The ready means having my H&K MP5 submachine gun pulled in tight to my shoulder, barrel up, safety off, one in the spout. As soon as the boom goes, I burst in, and go low left looking for targets, Mike follows, then Dave, then Eddie.

My job was to identify and shred any terrorists without hitting any hostages. My pulse quickened as we turned the corner from the stairwell and looked down the hallway. Eight meters to the door. I slid along the left side of the corridor ahead of our leader Dave. With all four of us decked out in black nomex coveralls, flack vests, hoods, gas masks and with MP5 machine guns, we would have been a terrifying sight. I looked like any of the others while hooded up. My blond ponytail was neatly tucked away inside my uniform. Five more meters to the door.

Dave quickly signaled, "D24 ready, standing by."

No hesitation fallowed, "D24 standby, standby, go!" In a blink Eddies huge dynamic hammer crushed the light wooden door off of it's hinges. Mike already had the pin out of the grenade and it flew inside as quickly as Eddie could pull his leg back. I framed the right side at the same time as Mike framed the left. 'BANG!' the loud thump of the flash-bang was deafening even through the wall. Having practiced with them on so many drills, it was not a shock anymore. The light it gave off with its flash temporarily blinds anyone looking at it and the concussion could knock them off their feet like a solid punch from a prize fighter. No time to wait for the dust to clear. I move on the 'BANG!' rushing in low and moving to the left looking down my sights on the top of my submachine gun.

I fire a double tap on my way in at a figure in the left corner of the room sitting in a chair holding a submachine gun of his own. The bullets tear through the center of his chest. I drop to one knee about two meters inside the room, with the barrel up and ready, still aiming to the left I pan my sights to the far left looking for more targets. I see nothing. Shots burst out in a double tap from behind me. My training tells me not to look but to keep my eyes to the left. My teammates were no doubt taking care of some business on the other side of the room. A table shelters a blind area in the corner just right of my arc. Suddenly the cloth on the table moves. I train my sight that way. An armed man rises from behind it. I squeeze down on my trigger and fire a double tap into his chest. Several other shots tear into at the same time and his entire upper half is separated from his lower half and it falls to the floor.

"D24, room secure, three enemy dead," reported Staff Sergeant Dave Smith only a few seconds after getting the call to go. My breathing was frantic, my pulse pounding and I could taste the adrenaline on my tongue.

"That was bloody awful!" screamed Major Nate Harvey, the squadron commander.

"What's he talking about?" I wondered silently to myself.

"Fucking Blondie waiting for a invitation to enter the room. Mike, you came too far in, you could have tripped over two bastards before getting a shot and Eddie, your still framing the door, making a lovely big target of yourself." These were the words of our leader. We were not perfect yet. Then he added," Good work on the third red target. Not much left of him is there?" The Captain kicked the top half of the wax dummy laying on the floor. It was riddled with bullets. Two shots were square in its face. "But, I think it was Blondie who hit it first, that was your priority area Eddie," he scolded.

Major Harvey was sitting in the center of the room, wearing a respirator mask and two white armbands on his sleeves. The bullets that we fired were very real and easily could have killed him. We were professionals however, and with as many hours as we spent on the range we would not fire rounds haphazard and we always hit our targets. It was dangerous, sure! The SAS always trained with live ammunition for realism. Sometimes, things don't always go perfectly and the Regiment sometimes has casualties. It was part of training on the edge.

Dave already had his gasmask pulled up on top of his head. The rest of us fallowed suit. His face was bright pink as I imagined mine was as well. He examined the very dead wax dummies that we shot up. He was looking at the figure I took out on my way into the room. Two bullet holes, about an inch apart, four inches below the collarbone, center of the chest adorned my unlucky victim. "Good grouping," Dave pointed in a professional manner. We had a look at the other dummy. Two in the chest, two in the face meant that Mike and Eddie or Dave hit that guy. We all hit the third target, but I suspected the head shots came from Dave.

Dave went over the fine points of the entry with each of us one more time to correct the mistakes we made. They seemed minor and petty but we were in the Regiment that only accepts perfection. "Train hard, fight easy," is our unofficial motto. Once briefed we would load up and run through it again, for the fifth time that day.

We had trained many times in the killing house in Hereford in very similar circumstances but today was different. This exercise was taking place in an old abandon warehouse on the edge of the city. The police procured it for us the day before while we flew in from our base aboard a Lynx helicopter. Delta 21 and 22 was standing by in Chelsea in a tobacco shop across the street from our real target. Delta 22 was the quick reaction team ready to go in at the first sign that the situation had gone for a shite. They arrived shortly after the call from the police. They would have made a quick assessment of the ground and came up with an improvised plan. A quick plan is better than no plan. You need one right away, incase you have to move. This was usually done by Chinese parliament. This was where each team member, regardless of rank, got to voice his ideas and opinions freely. The leader still made the final decision. Delta 21, with the Troop commander, arrived shortly after to take over and would get a full brief. As time goes by, the situation favors the prepared so we use our time to come up with an ideal plan, make a simulated layout of the target and practice or rehearse the assault until we had it down cold. Delta 21 had the snipers to watch from the windows across the street and from a building behind. Delta 23 was in a van down the street near a police cordon. They were the back up for the operation.

The target itself was a small two story flat in Chelsea. We obtained blueprints of the layout and as many photos from the snipers as possible to get an idea of the looks inside. We could only estimate that there was a basement and it was probably being used. There were likely to be two targets, possibly a third. The flat was leased out to a Muhammad Kadari, a Pakistani national working at a London University. The police had a report of some suspicious behavior at the flat from some of the neighbors including the man who ran the tobacco shop across the road. They claimed people going in and out of the flat carting heavy parcels at late hours. The police had their own look around but found nothing. They were smart enough to find out who the flat was rented to. The man was Kadari who did not show up on their records but when they ran him through Interpol, his name showed up as an alias for a suspected assassin. How he even got into this country was amazing. MI6 believed that he was part of a terrorist organization called al Qaeda.

Al Qaeda was a group formed by a wealthy Saudi named Osama Bin Laden. He had fought against the Soviets in Afghanistan in the 1980's with the mujahideen. After that he returned to Saudi Arabia and tried to convince his Sultan to evict the western armies. He took matters into his own hands by organizing a bombing of the US barracks. Then, in 1993, he sent some of his followers to New York City and attempted to blow up the World Trade Center buildings with a truck bomb. Intelligence agencies have been after him ever since. Al Qaeda was then responsible for blowing up two US embassies in Africa and an attack on a US ship in Yemen. It was no wonder they had us all learning to speak Arabic. The old Red Brigade didn't exist in practice since the collapse of the Soviet Union and the IRA were softening up a lot as of late with the talks between the Republic and London and the new Europe taking center stage. They were barely glorified drug traffickers now. This new al Qaeda was to be a major concern.

The police rounded up Kadari at the University and handed him over to MI5. He wasn't talking despite the pressure they were putting on him. MI5 went through his laptop and found some notes. They pieced together that they were planning an operation in London for New Years eve. The Millennium celebrations would be going on in the center of the city with the huge wheel as the centerpiece. A bomb going off during the celebrations would be far worse than any computer glitch. Still he did not talk. They discovered a cache of fake passports in different names and shipping documents. They also found the identifications of two Yemeni men believed to have entered the country two weeks earlier with false Pakistani passports. Police photographs of people going in and out of the house matched the two Yemeni men. That's when they gave us a call. The boys in Delta 22 headed down immediately with their kit. There was no panic at that point. It wasn't until the police had run a vehicle plate seen at the house. It was registered to rental van company and the vehicle had been rented by Kadari. The van was no where to be seen but it later turned up by a foot patrol in a garage downtown. The police tactical squad checked it carefully. Our boys had trained them on these things. It was empty but they found some strange black powder on the floor. Delta 21 had showed up and discovered with a radiometer that it was enriched Uranium. With Uranium they could have made a 'dirty bomb'. A dirty bomb was not a nuke like Hiroshima but when ignited in a conventional bomb could spread radioactive dust around and kill a lot of people, some right away and some down the road. The local area would also be a right off for several years.

One of the D23 blokes had a jog by the flat in Chelsea with a radiometer of his own under his civilian cloths just before dawn as if he were just some bloke out for a morning run. He got as close to the house as possible without looking suspicious. On returning to the makeshift HQ in the tobacco shop he took it out. The worst fears were confirmed. It appeared that the Uranium had been moved into the flat. We now had a problem worth panicking over. The police gave the operation to us. We instructed them to start moving people out of their homes quietly. They used undercover police to ring up homes posing as insurance sales then escorting them away. By 0900 we had a one hundred meter perimeter around the house. Snipers stood by waiting for movement.

We had to wait for permission to conduct the raid. If they had the home booby trapped to the bomb we were all in big trouble so we worked out a plan for that. The CO was now on the ground and liaising with the local officials. A hazmat team was standing by. Permission for the raid had to come from the Prime Minister. We were worried that he might scrub the entire operation. We waited painstakingly for an answer. As the day got longer, the threat increased. Other things went through my mind as well. "What if there are more than one cell? Could there be another bomb? What if these guys are not terrorists at all?" were some of the ideas popping into my head.

The four of us were huddled in a van on the street behind the house behind the target house. We were in our black fireproof gear, weapons loaded sipping a fresh brew of tea. The chance of an accidental explosion from a flash bang igniting plastic explosives or worse, uranium, had eliminated them from use during this operation. We would rely on our 9mm weapons only. Dave seemed very relaxed and was reviewing the house plans again. Mike had fallen asleep although I knew it only took a second to get him moving. Eddie was busying himself with his gear making sure everything was ready. The new plan had D22 going in the front via the front bay window and the door, and proceeding upstairs to the second level. We would be taking the rear of the house into the kitchen then down into the basement. Snipers called on the headsets of movement. It appeared that our targets were awake which took away our opportunity to catch them kipping. Every time a light went on or off, the snipers reported the movement. They indicated that our blokes were heading downstairs to the basement.

We had hoped that this operation would go down before day break but that was too late now. It would be much easier for us and much less of a distraction to the entire neighborhood if it had. We simply had to wait for the word. I reviewed the improvised changes to the plan in my head. We passed around the police photos once more of our two known targets. I looked at the grainy photos which were clear enough to make out the faces. "I would have to look that man in the eyes while I killed him," thought had entered my mind. Would I feel anything? Remorse? Guilt? Or perhaps relief? I tried to shake it off.

"All stations Delta, stand by!" came the sudden alert from the radio. Dave was on his feet, summoning all of us to get into our ready positions. What was going through my mind now? "Finally, let's get on with it so I can go get a Guinness and some chips."

One last mental checklist, starting with my weapon, check, my gear, check, my partner, check, the plan, check. "ALL STATIONS DELTA, STAND BY, STAND BY, GO!" In one fluid motion, the door of the van slid open and we all flew out at once, gas masks already down, concealing our faces. At a fast pace, we hurried to the back gate of the house.

"D24 at the gate," rang out a message from the six o'clock sniper. Mike was leading and opened the gate, Dave led to the rear door followed by Eddie, then myself with Mike last. "D24 at the door," came the next report. "D22 at the door," came immediately after. Our mag lights that were attached on top of our MP5s got switched on. The power would be cut to the house, putting it in darkness accept for any sunlight coming through the windows. Eddie produced the door knocker. A big, weighted dynamic hammer that trashed any wooden door to splinters when applied correctly. D22 would have similar instruments to aid their entrances. Nine seconds so far. "GO!"

On the signal Eddie and another capable counterpart at the front door applied the knockers with a simple swing, sending the door flying clean off of its hinges. I rolled in from my position on the right side of the door. A small fragment of door still blocked my way, so I booted it like a thirty meter drop goal while still training my sights to the center and left as I entered the kitchen. I made it to the stove and was somewhat anxious at not finding anything to shoot at. It looked like any regular Sunday afternoon breakfast nook. There was even a kettle on for tea. From the main room I spotted someone who moved in my direction. I quickly identified the lead, Robbie, from D22. Luckily he did the same for me and we carried on with our mission without any happy trigger fingers. "Main floor clear!" screamed Dave into the radio and echoed by Taff Jones from D22. I moved to my next position to the left of the basement door which was a heavier variety than the outer door and was held shut by a newer heavy service lock. Twenty-five seconds in so far.

'Boom, boom!' Eddie's Remington 870 shotgun blew the holes where the locks were. The well constructed door was in fragments. "Going into basement," Dave reported quickly. I was already through the doorway and halfway down the stairs. Going down in single file was the only way possible so I had to move fast. With only the lights on the submachine guns to guide me, it was a wonder that I didn't fall. A stunned and shocked face came into my light. It was one of the arseholes from the photographs, about twenty years old with messy black hair and morning razor stubble on his chin. I only viewed it for a split second through my sighs before turning it into a bloody pulp with two rounds from my MP5. I scanned right while still moving forward toward the first body. I sighted another bastard who also gave me the same 'caught in the headlamps' look of terror. I didn't recognize the face but made short work of it anyway. Two rounds between the eyes from five meters cut short his life like the other bastard. I scanned back to my left agin looking through the mag light for anybody else. By now Mike already had my right side covered. Dave shone a larger light around the room from the staircase looking for anything. "Basement clear, two enemy dead, package in my location," Dave reported in. His light focused on three large lead cylinders with clear radioactive markings stenciled on the side.

More shots were heard from inside the house, sounding distant. They probably came from the top floor. "Second floor clear, one enemy dead," came Taff Jones through my headset. The all clear was given and the power went back on. Operation now two minutes and fifteen seconds in. It felt like half an hour. I kept my attention on the two corpses which gave me no trouble. We all had positions to cover and jobs to do. Mike covered me from the staircase while Eddie covered the door from the top. Dave met up with Taff on the main floor and they waited for the hazmat team so that they could escort them in. A police escort followed in the hazmat team to secure the house. I identified the dead bodies to the policeman and pointed out the suspected uranium containers. Since the lights came back on, we also discovered a box of C4 plastic explosives and two 9mm pistols. It all happened quickly and we were given the word to disengage. With that we hurried out the opening that was once the backdoor and sprinted to the waiting van. D22 fallowed us out the back to avoid attention and had their van waiting behind ours. We jumped in fast and the vans peeled away at top speed. Time twenty-seven minutes.

We had nailed the right house. We would discover from the intelligence channels later on that the cell was planning a new years eve hit and that the uranium was enough to kill thousands of people in a crowded area with longer, nastier effects. The cell was al Qaeda and the two young blokes were the suicide volunteers. One was shot in the bathroom on the second floor, I had killed the other. The guy whom I shot second was the bomb maker. He was older, a Jordanian, who also worked at the university which is where the connection to Kadari comes in. Kadari was a key figure in all this and the three poor bastards we killed were just pawns in the big picture.

I watched the television news that night while having a Guinness and some chips, looking for any word of the operation. There was nothing. In the newspapers the next day, a report on page four described a police takedown in Chelsea where two suspects were arrested on suspicion of smuggling weapons. It mentioned a seizure of four firearms and nothing about any bomb making equipment or uranium. It didn't mention any deaths and no names were given. It was obvious that the authorities wanted to keep a lid on this to quell any panic and to not stir any other cells from what just happened.

 

April 2000, Hereford

 

Our unit had just finished its CT rotation. The four of us were jelling together as a team very nicely having worked together for two years. We had seen action in Kosovo and Serbia and in Somalia. We had action as well while on CT duty. It was nothing quite as dramatic as Princess Gate, but action none the less. The whole Y2K scare had put the entire Regiment on alert and we all put in our fair share of overtime for that.

The great thing about this group was that they had all accepted me and treated me as a brother. Sure I was more like a sister, but that aside, I held my own. I could shoot, fight, jump and think with the best of them. They all stuck up for me when anyone bad mouthed me but that was rare. We had been in a few scraps and I took care of myself each time. I earned even greater respect when I saved Mike's life on a night jump over Norway.

Mike had the least experience skydiving. He had a long way to go to catch up to the rest of us. He showed improvement every time and we all helped him with the little details. He was coming along well enough but still a little tense. On this occasion, we had exited from a Airbus 380 at 280 km/h from eight thousand meters and were to fall with a canister down to one thousand meters. It was set to open at that altitude and we would fall another two hundred meters and open. It was cold and wet. The clouds were thick. We would have to stay very tight in formation and keep visual on the micro luminous markers we carried. The exit was difficult at such a high speed. I was first out a popped the drag chute on the canister. Even though the others were squashed up against me on exit, we ended up spread out by a couple hundred meters . Everyone managed to reach me quickly and grab onto the canister. Mike however, had a rough docking. This meant that he didn't slow himself down fast enough before docking and hit it pretty hard. That sent the canister wobbling and our formation went erratic. Leaving the canister helps it settle but Mike never let go of it and it took thirty seconds and three thousand meters to stabilize. Once settled, the rest of us docked again until we hit break off altitude. With only thirty seconds left to impact, we broke up and spread out so that we could open cleanly. Dave and Eddie were already turned and tracking away. I was turned and about to go when I had one look back. Mike was still holding on. The canister popped its main and Mike got a slammed face first into it. I turned and tracked back to him as him fell in an unconscious tumble. I aimed for his spinning form and grabbed him by his shoulder straps and arched out hard in order to stabilize his fall. My low altitude warning device was screeching in my ear. I didn't have time to look at my altimeter, I just reached for Mike's chest to locate his toggle. I reached for his main toggle and ripped it. His parachute activated immediately and I pulled mine right after I saw his lines stretch. I opened pretty close to my friend and visually located him in the dark night sky. His body was still hanging motionless in his harness. I held back on my risers to slow my decent. I could not see the ground yet but my altimeter read three hundred meters. I was still below Mike as he drifted aimlessly under canopy. I was still lower and not getting anywhere so I decided to cut loose my gear to lessen my weight. I watched as my kit fell away somewhere below me. It worked and soon Mike was losing altitude faster than I was. I made a turn and flew up beside Mike. Once directly beside him I maneuvered in front of him and stuck my feet into his front riser lines. I locked my ankles in and pulled back on my steering lines. This gave me control of steering Mike's parachute. I looked down and could see the inky black water of the north sea with crests breaking white. I caught sight of land to my right and turned hard to swing both our canopies in that direction. We were very low and I didn't think we would make land but the onshore breeze was strong and our makeshift biplane made the beach with only five meters to spare. The landing was not pretty but it was good enough to save all of our limbs.

After picking myself up and getting out of my rig I rushed to Mike. He was a bit groggy but somewhat conscious. I took off his harness and helmet. His eyes were open and he looked at me asking, "Where the fuck are we Blondie?" I knew he was alright then.

"Move your legs if you can Jock," I told him. He pulled his knees up slowly showing a bit of agony. "Where does it hurt then?" I asked.

He moaned a bit then answered, "fucking headache mate, and my hand feels like its burning." I knew he bumped the cargo cylinder with his hard head but took a look at his right hand. It was bright pink and visibly missing a glove. His pinky finger was turned in a odd angle and I assessed that It was dislodged from its joint. I used Mikes radio to contact Dave and Eddie and informed them of Mike's condition. Mike was soon able to move after I made a splint for his finger and put my wool hat over his hand. I then put on Mike's bergen and we set off to find our team.

Dave and Eddie had landed with the cylinder and on arrival I discover the cause of the accident. Mike's glove was stuck frozen to the canister. The ice cold air made a bond between the two. Mike had tried to get free of the cargo but when he found that he could not break free after we had all left. When the cylinder's canopy opened it made Mike collide with it as it decelerated. The smash was also enough to free Mike from his glove but dislocated his finger in the process. His hand was nearly frozen too but was short of frost bite. He sustained a concussion, but his thick Scottish noggin was more than a match for a cargo tin. Dave noticed that we only were carrying one bergen and asked, "Where the fuck is Mike's bergen?"

"I have it on Dave, mine is somewhere at the bottom of the north sea," I replied. He looked a little pissed about it but understood the circumstances. If Mike had fell into the sea, he would probably have drowned or caught hypothermia by the time he was picked up. We took care of each other, that was the most important thing to us. Respect for me, if there was any doubt before this, was never a question in my mind again.

As for the questions that came up during the interrogation on selection, no one, not even Dave made any reference to them. No one ever said a word and I often wondered if they knew. I was quite sure that the CO of the Regiment knew, and maybe even the Squadron OC knew but I rarely ever had occasions to speak with them. My Troop boss never gave me any indication that he knew anything nor did anyone else close to me. If they did know anything than they sure did a good job disguising it. After working together for two years I was convinced that those compromising facts had been compartmentalized. I been very careful in the past two years and not done any cross-dressing. I had cut my hair down after jungle training but Dave had told me that it was good to let your hair grow so that we could blend in better with civilians. We spent a lot of time in civilian clothes. The Regiment was fond of undercover work and not parading ourselves around. Even when we traveled to other countries we would dress either as civilians or in uniform but disguised as engineers or signalers. My hair had grown back a fair bit and I was always having to pull it back in a pony tail while training. I was considering getting it cut again but then on the day that I was going to the barber, the Squadron Sergeant-Major stopped me and told me not to bother.

"Its beginning to get in my way when I hood up," I reasoned with him.

"You can manage. At least wait until after you have your Squadron briefing next Monday, all right Blondie?" I paused and thought about his words. He waited for my reply.

"Oh, Ya, sure thing Cliff," I nervously answered. I was intimidated into agreeing and knew that I really had no choice. He was being polite about it. It still had me wondering why he would say that. Why was my hair so suddenly important, and what did the Squadron briefing have to do with it?

 

Squadron Briefing, the Kremlin, Hereford

 

The Kremlin sat in an extra secure section of the base. It was the nick name for the Regimental headquarters and the location where the 'Green Slime' called home which was what we called the intelligence people based on their hats. We rarely had occasion to go in there. Sometimes, if a briefing was to be given that was of a classified nature, and the Green Slime were involved, we would be invited to the Kremlin.

Since the Y2K episode was over and temperatures all around were getting cooler, we were able to ease up. Training was primary for us now, and we all worked on our intrusions, languages and secondary skills. I managed to pick up lock smithing. I also did some teaching to the others on radios, antennae, and morse code. On this morning we all showed up in our usual civilian pattern clothing. I was out running that morning and stayed in my training gear. I was not the only one dressed that way but most wore jeans and shirts. As per the SSM's 'request', I did not get a haircut but had my long blond hair pulled tight away from my face in a ponytail. We gathered into the briefing room and pulled up a brew of fresh tea. The HQ tea was always somewhat better than the usual mess hall tea. I located Dave and the rest of my crew and pulled up a chair with them. The others in the Squadron tended to group themselves by patrols as well. We passed around idle chit-chat about rugby and such for a few brief moments before it all got started. We checked on the state of Mike's fingers which were still plastered up from the accident. He was on light duty but he still had to participate in this sort of thing. Eddie joked, "good job we can't take notes anyway," to Mike.

The crowd hushed up when some of the head-shed entered the room. Two fellows from the slime entered first in uniform fallowed by the Squadron OC and the SSM who were in civilian clothing. The CO of the Regiment entered last. I was a bit suspicious when the Sergeant-Major and the OC both made a point of locating me in the crowd and stopping by to say "good morning". I felt it odd to have centered me out like that. I looked at Dave for a clue. He shrugged his shoulders at me as to inform me that he had no clue either. The CO was in uniform and he sat at the back of the room not far from me. It was a Squadron show and the Colonel was just there to watch his subordinate officers give the brief. That's what I guessed. I could feel a stare and I turned to look and the Colonel was keeping an eye on me as well. He nodded a 'good morning' to me which I casually returned. It was all beginning to worry me.

The meeting started out casual at first, by announcing some changes to the rugby schedule and a notice about motorbike safety. Then the Major asked the CO to come up and say a few words before getting started. The old man got up from his seat at the back and marched up to the front of the room.

"I'm going to be quick. No fucking around because your OC has a long fucking brief to get to. First, we got a 'at-a-boy' from the Prime Minister for Operation Batista. He wishes me to pass on his thanks for doing your fucking jobs. First round in the mess is on the PM then. Next, I am going to need to call up Trooper Ryan Sullivan." There was a pause as heads started turning in my direction. Me? I wasn't used to such formal terms. In the Regiment I was simply Blondie. I hesitated too long. "Blondie, hurry up, I haven't got all fucking day," the CO insisted.

"Shite!" I uttered lightly where only those close by could hear. I made my way up to the front of the room. I felt out of place in my sweaty clothes and trainers on my feet. It was awkward. I felt like I should be marching and doing drill. I walked normally but was careful enough not to have my hands in my pockets. I stood in front of the CO, not really at attention but not like a lazy slob either. He held out his hand for a handshake. With a stupid look on my face I simply reached back and shook his hand. I was still confused.

He held onto the handshake and pulled up his other hand. He then spoke, "Congratulations Lance Corporal." He was holding a chevron in his left hand for me to take. I was promoted. I couldn't believe it. I did not see that one coming. "They can't say we discriminate against Paddies anymore," he continued. The room erupted in laughter. "Second rounds on you tonight then," he added. It was common to be forced to buy a round in the mess whenever you received a promotion. Sometimes it could get expensive. It was bitter to me that it was a promotion to a rank that I had already held before. I shook that off. I had plenty of money for a round.

I was embarrassed and my face was a shade of red as I made my way back to my seat amidst all the gearing and pissing about. "So that was the big secret," I told myself with some relief. I felt like I could sit back and relax a bit more now.

"Good on you lad," Dave told me with a smile as I took my seat. "It's about time the head-shed listened to me," he added. So he was the one who put me up for it. I really owed him now.

The Major took the briefing over again and got serious this time. He was about to announce the Squadron's new objectives for the upcoming year. Normally, this didn't need to be done in a secure room, so it had to be something big.

Major Harvey began, "In light of the events of New Years, we are going to get more involved in the pursuit and destruction of the al Qaeda network. Most of our intelligence on this enemy is sketchy at best. We know that the leader is this sad fucker." The assistant put up a photo of Osama Bin Laden. Everyone in the room recognized the series of photos put up the screen. "His personal history is well documented. The Yanks have been after him ever since the World Trade Center bomb in New York in 1993," he continued and showed some slides about the bombing. "They haven't had any luck because he is operating in Afghanistan now," he went on. This information was still nothing new to anyone. Since the Soviet pullout of Afghanistan the country ended up in civil war. With the Soviets there, the tribes had a common enemy. They fought together, side by side in what they called a 'Holy War'. After the Soviets quit and went home, it became a free for all to see who would run the country. The communist government in place did not last long and that took away any infrastructure that the country had left. The country in shambles was any ones for a while. The western powers were not bright enough to jump on that opportunity for fear of getting caught up in that nation's mess. The Russians were there for eleven years and went home with a bloody nose, so why should anybody else care? That was a mistake.

The local group to gain the most power was a band from the south called the Taliban who were hardcore Muslim fundamentalists. They seized power and became the defacto government of Afghanistan. What followed was a disaster. They were intolerant of any religious deviation and outlawed other religions by penalty of death. They also persecuted women to no end. Public executions for women over simple infractions such as leaving the house unescorted by a male relative were common. They managed to consolidate power with the help of the Pakistani government and some rich friends in Saudi Arabia, namely Osama Bin Laden. In return, the Taliban allowed Bin Laden to come back and train soldiers for a new 'Holy War' against the west. Even the US government was reluctant to do anything about Afghanistan. The Soviet Union may have been dead, but the Russians were still powerful and operating in their sphere was a political nightmare. Fighting in Afghanistan would be no picnic either. They fought hard against the Soviet occupation like they had during the wars with Britain a hundred years ago. Going back in there was not appealing to anyone.

All the western powers knew Osama was there but it was still a big country. Finding him had proved futile to the Yanks so far. It was a hostile country with even more hostile people. After the history lesson by the OC, we got the idea that we would be doing operations in the worst place in the world. It was far from over yet.

Next up was a briefing by the Green Slime. The officer was accompanied by a representative from MI6, the top secret intelligence department. The officer began by showing training tapes that were recovered from the house that we assaulted at New Years. It was a video tape made in Afghanistan at a camp. The camps were set up to train soldiers how to fight, shoot, make bombs, take hostages and all kinds of other war craft. Osama even has a cameo in the movie. We knew now just how serious they were. The audio was not great but the general idea that they pressed was to use your religious vigor to motivate yourself to do these things.

The Taliban controlled most of the country of Afghanistan but small groups in the north continued to hold out and held small pockets and individual towns. Their biggest problem was lack of cooperation. None of them got along with each other. This was an opportunity. The plan was to send us in to the north and to make friends with the various tribes still fighting the Taliban. We would then get them to join forces and cooperate in an alliance against their common foe. We would also help them to procure any resources necessary to fight, including weapons and give them any training that could help them. The Taliban controlled most of the old Soviet weapons left behind, but they had no air power, and no advanced systems. We would not want to be advertised as being there so the entire operation would be quiet and of course, top secret. The government made arrangements with the Russians and with Turkmenistan for us to 'train' in southern Turkmenistan. We had good relations as of late with the Russians based on some advice and help we gave them on combating terrorists in their own country. That would allow our boys a border to cross into Afghanistan. A lot of the northern tribes in Afghanistan were ethnic Turkmen which worked heavily in our favor.

Both Mobility Troop and Boat Troop were selected for this operation of creating a northern alliance. Mountain Troop was selected for another task. They were to act as eyes behind the lines. They would infiltrate into Afghanistan behind the Taliban positions and report to our boys in the north of Taliban movements. If they happened to sabotage a few things along the way, that was fine but their main purpose was reconnaissance. Finally, my troop, Free Fall Troop, was selected to be the back up. Our job was to stand by. If anything got out of control for any of our troops, we would be flown in to act as rescue. Our job sounded the most boring to me. Others in the troop were visibly upset as well. Sitting about and waiting for the shite to hit the fan would be like watching paint dry. Still, it was the most sensible selection based on our intrusion skills.

The Squadron commander went on in great detail about the plan. Operations and Intelligence officers added even more details. The other three troops certainly had their work cut out for them. We, on the other hand had a more conventional and familiar task. It appeared that if all went well then we would have nothing to do at all. When it was over, we were broken up into troops to discuss Troop preparation and training for our different assignments. There was a lot of grumbling within the troop about our lack luster assignment but many relished the idea that we had the easiest detail. We broke for dinner and resumed the meetings in the afternoon. Most of our briefing involved training schedules. When it was over, Major Harvey came by and instructed my patrol to stay behind. The others left and went about their business. Dave, Mike, Eddie and I waited patiently for the room to clear. We were surprised even more when some new guests entered the room.

Once again, I got that feeling that all eyes were on me. It seemed that way. We were joined this time by two MI6 agents and the commanding officer. The way they looked at me sent a cool chill up my spine. It was my danger sense. It had me feeling very ill at ease. The agents got started. A sickly looking man, with thin hair, and bad skin, wearing an ugly brown suit started things off. "Troopers, as you are aware, an active al Qaeda cell was brought down at New Years thanks in part to yourselves," he began.

"Ya, we know, and your welcome," I thought to myself. The man put up a video slide of Kadari, the two Yemeni men and the Jordanian bomb maker. I immediately remembered their faces just before I turned them into hamburger.

"The two young blokes were suicide volunteers who came almost directly from camps in Afghanistan. This other man on the left is a student teacher from London University who was recruited locally by Kadari to built the device," he continued. I had to snicker as he cleansed his words. Device sounds like a bleeding walkman instead of a radioactive bomb.

"Kadari here, is the key man. He is the manager. He was likely picked by Bin Laden himself or another high ranking member of the network to manage the operations. He was in Britain for over a year, which adds this plan was long thought out and well organized. However; Kadari himself did not finance this operation or the other."

"Or the other?" Dave spoke out loud, echoing all of our thoughts.

"Yes, it was kept compartmentalized but another cell was taken down by Alpha Squadron in Edinburgh the day after your raid. Much like yours, they had a similar cell; suicide volunteers, a logistics or technical expert and a manager. Unfortunately, none of those bastards survived. We do have Kadari. We have not been able to squeeze much out of him as you will see," the agent added as he set up a tape. The tape showed an interrogation room. The camera was taping him from behind a two way mirror. Kadari looked haggard from lack of sleep and poor treatment. His clothes were prison jumpers and he had lost weight since being captured. I had memories of my three day ordeal on selection and grimaced. He been held for four months and he was still hanging in there. They asked him over and over about Afghan bases, financing the operations and locations and names of contacts. He was not budging an inch, however. He would not answer any questions but only replied by swearing and cursing his captors. He spat at them regularly too which often brought about a smack or having his chair kicked out from under him in 'self defense'. He openly prayed to Allah for his own death and to the death to his enemies. He was hard core and he was not about to break. He was an enemy but you had to admire the balls this guy had.

The CO interrupted the briefing to talk to us. "Lads, we are going to give the MI6 boys a hand in gathering up information. We want to penetrate the network as deep as we can. We will be a great asset to the Squadron in finding those secret training bases and the key figures in this network, mostly Osama Bin Laden. It was no secret that we gave your troop the easer operation, it will free you up to help gather intelligence. These lads will explain how."

The MI6 agent took over again. "We have always believed that if you follow the money you will find your quarry. In Kadari's case we checked all of his bank accounts and have found nothing out of the ordinary. His school pay goes in, and he pays only rent, utilities and not much else. He was still carrying three thousands pounds on him when we pinched him which he will not tell us where it came from. We know the airline tickets for the two Yemeni boys were paid for with cash by Kadari as well. This operation and the other one that was foiled in Edinburgh were financed privately but we don't know how yet. Bin Laden's private funds were seized by the Yanks in 1994 and we are pretty sure that he is using wealthy people friendly to his cause. If we can find them, we will be one step closer to Bin Laden." It made a lot of sense but I couldn't yet see how we would do that. The others were all listening intently and seemed eager to into some good James Bond shit. It seemed like these intelligence boys had a plan but they were not giving it up yet.

"What we want to do is use the clues that Kadari and his dead companions have left us and go from there. We have Kadari's laptop, which as of yet has not been overly helpful. He was very careful," the agent revealed before pausing uncomfortably. He looked at me for a second and seemed uncomfortable about continuing. He then looked up at our CO for help. It was extremely confusing and was beginning to piss me off.

The Colonel got up from his seat and suggested that we all take a break for tea. It seemed like a good idea but waiting any longer for some answers was going to kill me. "Corporal, why don't you stay here with the MI6 boys and help them sort some things out. I'll bring the others back after tea," he said to me suspiciously. It was odd that he noted my rank instead of my name. That was rare in the Regiment and I was distressed even more. Why was the old man trying so hard to be nice to me? It was strange indeed! I obviously had no choice but still looked to Dave for signal. He could tell that I was perplexed and gave me a smile and nod as if to say that it was alright.

"Sure, ...uh, yes sir of course, I'll do what I can," I muttered. With that the CO ushered the others out of the room and left me alone with the spooks from MI6. The two men went about preparing more information. A new file was pulled out for the first time.

Condescendingly, I asked," So what can I help you with?" which caught both men off guard and made them pause.

"We are waiting for one more person," the sickly looking agent replied. I shrugged and sat back in my chair quite uncomfortably. After what seemed an eternity but what was really only a few minutes the door opened and in walked a mild mannered looking woman in a grey skirt suit. As I admired the brown haired woman for her fashion choice and her delightful fragrance, I realized that the woman was Maggie O'Neil, my comrade from Belfast.

I was still doing a double take when she addressed me, "How have you been then Ryan?" I was still in shock and did not answer straight off. I was noticing that she looked better, wearing eye makeup and lipstick. Her hair was styled up a bit. Her skirt was higher than I remembered her usually wearing and tighter as was her jacket and white blouse. Her shoes were black leather with three inch stiletto heels. I must have been almost drooling. "Oh, sorry, what is it that your friends call you then, Blondie, is it?" she went on following my silence. "I hear that congratulations are in order." Again, they were trying to play up the promotion. If it was all just cheese to lure me in, then I had to expect a trap.

I gave my head a shake. "Fancy meeting you here of all places, what the hell's going on?" I replied cooly. It was too late but I felt partially redeemed.

"When this business came down New Years, I got moved over to the case," Maggie answered. "We have found an opening that could help us out. There were some clues left behind by Kadari that we had a look at."

"Alright, should you be waiting for the others to come back before continuing?" I asked her.

"No, this part concerns only you," she answered bluntly. Now I was really feeling anxious. The hair on my neck felt as if it were standing up and goose pimples formed on my arms. She stared directly at me with her brown eyes telling me that she was serious. The other two blokes were looking equally serious.

She went on, "Your Colonel knows about this and is giving his own version to the others. This mission can only succeed with your full cooperation and requires that you take some personal risks voluntarily."

"Voluntarily?" I thought to myself. If the CO wanted me to do a job, he just had to give an order. That's how the chain of command works. As a soldier we don't have the luxury of picking and choosing what we want to do or where. "Well, go on then, what do you want me to do? Wack this Kadari fucker?" I asked coldly.

Maggie paused to keep her serious edge. She cleared her throat and continued, "We found this matchbook in Kadari's cigarettes when we pinched him." She tossed me the matchbook cover. It read 'Club Glitter' and had a Hammersmith address and telephone number on it. I examined it but it looked quite normal. I was half waiting for it to do some James Bond trick of some kind.

"You don't know this place?" Maggie asked me as if I should. I tried desperately to recall if I ever had. I had been out to a few clubs, vary rarely, but I was certain that I had not been to this one.

"No, can't say if I've ever even been to Hammersmith area," I told her confidently as I tossed the match book back to her. "This Kadari bastard hang out there or something?" trying to sound helpful.

"We don't know for sure. We had a look at the place with our people. We sent in different agents at different times and asked some of the staff and some of the regular crowd but no one seems to know anything about him," Maggie said.

"Maybe he just popped in for a pint one day," I answered which seemed like a very logical explanation.

"Well, we know Kadari is a devout Moslem and doesn't drink. Secondly, it's not the place you just pop into for a pint," Maggie answered.

"We also did a background check on the owners and the staff of the club and found everybody to be clean, not even one paki in the lot," the grim man added profanely.

The quiet agent who operated the video gear put up some new pictures. Photos from inside the Club Glitter. They were taken with an intrusive camera and had fair quality images. It looked like a packed dance club. There were an abundance of tall beautiful women in tight, short dresses dancing and a few blokes here and there. It looked like a place to check out if I ever got into that neighborhood.

"Notice anything about the girls in this place?" Maggie asked as she dragged out the word 'girls'. I looked a bit harder but the photos were not easy make out. I honestly could not spot anything from them other than they were generally tall. Maybe they were fashion models? I shook my head in ignorant bliss.

Maggie filled in the blanks," Club Glitter is a transvestite disco in London's gay village. None of these women are actually women," she said with a normal tone. Suddenly, bells were going off in my head. I was beginning to see where this was all going.

"Maybe he just fancies boys in frocks," I interrupted. Again, I thought it sounded like a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"We thought of that, but from our interrogation with Kadari, we don't agree with that assumption," the male agent answered. "There is more to it. Kadari used every ploy that he could to avoid talking about the place and denies ever being there. His profiling shows no signs of being a 'tranny chaser' either. He is desperate not to talk about it and it is not due to an embarrassing habit," he added coyly. It was obvious that everyone in the room was aware of my previous hobby.

"Maybe, none of it means anything and its all just a waste of energy?" I prophesied.

"Well, that possibility had occurred to us," spoke Maggie, "until we found the exact same book of matches with 'Club Glitter' on it, a drink caddy with the same moniker, and a map with directions on how to get to Club Glitter in the flat that was raided in Edinburgh." She produced the evidence.

I examined the evidence. Why did they wait so long to show this to me? It had to be part of the sneaky spy strategy in some way.

"So you think that they met there, to talk about the plans?" I asked.

The grey boney agent answered, "We think that there has to be more to it than that. Managers would not meet in such an inconvenient place to both of them. We figure that their financial backer may have provided a money drop at that club. Judging by the evidence, we think that they met there in early December. Our student bomb maker showed an increase in his personal account on December the eighth and he payed off his student fees with cash the next day."

It was beginning to make some sense. But then I had to ask the obvious question out loud, "So what?"

"Funny you should ask," Maggie jumped in with a large grin, " What we need you to do for us is simply to start frequenting the place on a regular basis as a patron and try to find out more. Some people are uptight about talking to authorities but with someone on the inside, we might find a clue."

"As a patron?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Please tell me that you're just taking the piss."

"Honestly, we know your background. You have a file as you are aware of," Maggie reminded me. "The Colonel is the only one who knows and he thinks that this is a good plan," she added. "No one else needs to know about your file. That's why you would be volunteering of course. It was my idea after all, from working with you before. I saw the potential in you, and thought of you first when we started looking for a candidate."

"So it's blackmail then?" I blurted. "Why can't you just find your own girly agent from inside your ranks?" I fumed. "What about him then?" I shouted pointing to the agent working the video gear who was not the most masculine bloke the world had ever seen either.

"We need a soldier, a killer for when it gets serious," Maggie shouted back to insult her counterpart. She had turned very serious and her Irish temper was beginning to show. "This is bigger than you can imagine. We have a chance to grab it by the bollocks right now. Finding the money man here in the UK could bring us closer to Bin Laden then a hundred troopers combing the wilderness of Afghanistan. It may save some of their lives," she added a bit over dramatically.

I calmed down and began pondering the idea. My biggest fear was losing the respect that I had worked so hard to build up. Maggie could tell I was thinking about it. The tension was high.

"What about my patrol? My mates?" I asked.

She gladly added," They will be with you at all times. The others will have you in sight at all times and ready to back you up. It is a team mission but we must have you to make it work. You will have all the expert help that we can put together for you as well. You will have this agencies resources at your disposal" She had a desperate look of her own now. I summarized that there must have been a lot of pressure put on her and the others to recruit me for this.

I thought to myself, "What if I refuse? Then what? Does my 'file' become public? Will the CO keep me in the Regiment? I could be returned to my old unit, or be drummed out of the army all together. Could I be that important? What if one trooper, a friend, were killed in the Afghan mountains while I stood by doing nothing? What the fuck else could I do?" The questions all weighed me down.

I sighed. "Can I have some time to think about it?" I yielded.

 

I caught up with the others who had been finished with the CO for some time. They were waiting for me in the Squadron room. I had to fight the unconscious desire to blush but was losing the battle. They were already into their first pint. I grabbed one and joined them.

"You're mess tab is open just so you know," Mike informed me.

"Thanks, I guessed as much," I answered knowing that you can't fight some traditions. I joined them and had trouble making eye contact. I was not sure just how much the CO had told them. They all looked at me with baited breath waiting for me to speak. Curiosity had to wait until I was a pint down, then I had enough courage to speak to them.

"How much did the old man tell you?" I asked them, but had directed the question at Dave with a pessimistic frown.

"He said that the spooks had a mission in mind that called on some special expertise of yours. He said that we would only proceed with it if you volunteered to do some black work for them," referring to undercover covert operations. Dave then asked, "So what is this special skill? Some signals thing, is it?"

I took a deep breath and another pull on my ale. "So, do you fancy doing a spook job down in London? It might be dull," I delayed.

"Anything beats waiting around here for something to happen. Whatever it is I'm in," Eddie answered first.

I looked at Mike. "Whatever it is, I am behind you all the way mate," he told me sincerely. I studied both of their eyes and trusted their honesty.

I then turned to Dave, my mentor, my boss, and a friend. He was smiling without grinning. "Look lad, we don't know what they asked of you but we are a team, and as a team we are unstoppable, no matter what we have to do. If you have any doubts about your own abilities, forget it, that's why we are here. What ever you decide, all of us are on your side." He paused then took a big swig and drained out his pint. "Now tell us what the fuck is going on Blondie before we beat the living piss out you," he tacked on. The other two laughed but I was worried by Dave's cold stare that he might just have been serious.

I laughed along with the others for a second, then broke out, "So, you queers ever wonder what I might look like in a dress?" The laughing continued for a minute until they all realized that I was not taking the piss with them. It was time for me to take charge. So 'Operation Stiletto' began.

 

I met with agent Patricia, who just happened to be the ginger haired woman who gave me the rough time on the escape and evade portion of selection. She met with me at my flat in Hereford. Dave had taken Mike and Eddie into London to secure a good flat in Hammersmith with an adjacent flat where he could set up an operations base. It would be fairly close to Club Glitter. They would also be familiarizing themselves to the local area, no different than if it were the jungle or the mountains.

Patricia brought a lot of magazines, mostly fashion and beauty magazines but some were distinct 'how-to' guides for wannabe transvestites. "These will help you out a little bit, if you stuck with your eye shadow or something or learning how to tuck it away," the blunt worded vixen told me. "I'll try to help you out the first few times."

Patricia had brought a few articles of clothing for me to try on also. "Let's get a good look at you first," she told me as she gave me a thorough exam. "No more exercising, your muscle definition is too masculine. No weightlifting, press ups, no training. Just watch what you eat. Keep it light and not too much meat, fish is okay, but not fish and chips, baked," she started. I was never the weight lifting type, not many of us were, more of an American thing, but we knew it didn't really help you much. I kinda liked the idea of softening up a bit. In my days since I joined the army, I had beefed up a little, putting on maybe five kilos, of muscle, now I was supposed to give it up. She suggested a regular diet and exercise that would fit my needs.

"How often do you shave?" she asked.

"My growth is quite fair still, but I shave it every other day," I told her as I stroked my own chin. Patricia's hand replaced mine. Her soft hand caressed my face and I began to get excited. She had produced that effect on me before as I remembered.

"It will have to do for now, make sure that you always use a triple blade, take your time to get it close. I will see if I can arrange a laser hair removal. That will work better," she added. I could see that they were prepared to go all out for this. "You're eyebrows are quite fair, but I still want to pluck them," Patricia continued. "The lashes look long enough, I think we can manage without false ones." She studied me for a bit longer and finished with, "We will work on the makeup later, let's move onto the body."

With that I was once again made to strip down in front of her into my birthday suit. Once again the effect was exactly the same. "Get it out of your mind right now, I'm not going to fuck you!" Patricia told me sternly. "You'll just have to relieve yourself later after I leave," she said.

My penis started to deflate at the knowledge that it was not going to get lucky with this ravishing redhead. "Not much body hair, that's good. You'll have to shave your arm pits, pubic hair and legs. I actually have a cream for the legs that lasts longer than shaving, I'll bring it by." The inventory went on, next were my nails.

"Your finger nails are atrocious, you have to start letting them grow out. I'll get you some false ones for now. Your feet are small enough but look awful. You'll need a professional pedicure," she commented as I maintained mental notes. "No more running for a while!" she added.

After examining my body she moved to my hair. "Now your hair is probably your best natural feature," she said as she ran her fingers through my blond tresses. The length had got down to my shoulder tops and covered my ears. The front was shorter so I could work. I had usually kept it in a ponytail while on the job but it was down now. She played with it and pulled it out from my face.

"I want you to let the front grow a lot more. I can get some extensions for now. I also think we will get your ears pierced," Patricia added. It made me realize that permanent change was part of the role. I took a deep breath and accepted the suggestion.

After the inspection she gave me a few articles of clothing to try on for size. The idea was to see what sizes I could wear. I had never considered that before. I had just put on my mother's stuff and lived with the fit. I wasn't going out in public wearing those clothes so I could see how it would matter. I tried on three different skirts, half a dozen tops, and three different dresses. I also got fitted for nylon size. I hadn't realized that they came in different sizes. Patricia also measured my feet. She had two pairs that fit me. One was a pair of boots with a three inch heel. The other was a pair of black four inch stiletto heels. They were sexy but difficult to stand in, let alone walk.

There were a few more items that my instructor had me try on. One was a corset, which pulled my waist line in more which gave my hips more definition. I looked in the mirror and saw that it made my already round bum stick out even more. There was also a thong panty which was designed for men that when worn correctly held all the tackle up tight in a 'tuck'. The last odd piece of gear were two gelly breast forms. They were flesh colored and shaped like a real breast, including a nipple, all made from silicon. Brilliant!

"Leave the undergarments on, you need to get used to them, the shoes as well," she told me. "Practice walking about your flat, and watch yourself in the mirror." She demonstrated the correct walk. She even mimicked how men usually tried to walk, emphasizing the mistakes. After the lesson it was time to sit in front of the mirror. She had brought along a makeup mirror. It was bigger than my wash closet mirror and had lights on both sides. It was magnified for close ups.

"First thing, the eyebrows," Patricia stated and got to work plucking out hair after hair in slow, painful torture. I had endured plenty of pain in my life but that plucking had made me tear up.

"Don't be such a baby, being a woman is hard work and takes lots of pain," she chastised me. After forty minutes of hell she finished and my brows looked thin and sculpted. She left a thin line in a bow shape that were perfectly symmetrical. After that she gave me brief makeup lesson. It was mainly about which pencil did what and which brush to use with which powder.

Looking at me in the mirror, Patricia smiled at the progress. She played with my hair some more. "So, have you picked out a nice girly name yet? We can't go round calling you Ryan," she asked.

The thought had crossed my mind a few times. I loved so many different names, but I had one in mind. "Shannon," I said simply.

"Your mother's middle name, good choice. Shannon it is then," Patricia replied having obviously done her homework.

"Right, I have to go now, back here tomorrow for ten hundred hours. Be shaved, cleaned up and in these undergarments. We'll finish you up and then its out shopping. Get loads of sleep, its good for the eyes, otherwise they'll look puffy." With that she gathered her things and left. First thing I did was head to the loo and had a good wank. It only took a minute.

The next day I slept longer as instructed. I started with a hot bath and put the razor to work on the small amounts of hair that I had. Then I gave my face a good close shave and was careful not to nick myself. After washing my hair, I used a hot air dryer to build it out. I used a skin cream on my face and on my legs and the other shaved areas of my body. I felt like a newborn baby, I was so smooth. I put on the white panties and tucked myself up. I put on my white corset and pulled the laces tight. I inserted the fleshy tits into the cups of the corset. They weren't overly large, but considering my body shape, they were probably larger than average. I put my bath robe on overtop and went over to the makeup mirror.

I began with the coverup cream. The color was fair although not quite as pale as my natural tone. I applied it liberally with a sponge. I then added setting powder with a fine wide brush. Next, I worked on my brows, using a liner pencil to define them. I worked some soft blue eyeshadow on my eyelids and an ivory color underneath. I lined my eyes with the black pencil and brushed my lashes with mascara. I brushed on some mauve blush on my cheekbones and ended up changing it to a lighter color. I lined my lips with a light purple and finally colored in my lips with a hot pink. It helped a lot having taken a lesson. I looked much more feminine and realistic than I ever had before from winging it. I left my hair, not really sure how to style it. I slipped on the four inch shoes again and worked some more on my walk. I had practiced for a few hours the night before until I couldn't walk anymore.

The time must have flown by because before I knew it was ten and the knock on the door was prompt. I cautiously opened the door and was surprised to find Patricia accompanied by my Belfast lover Maggie.

"Good morning Shannon. Thought I would come by and see the progress myself," Maggie informed me. The two women looked pleasantly accepting of my efforts. Both women were dressed proper, with knee length blue skirts, white blouses and jackets. They both sported hose and respectable black pumps. They looked wonderful. They had makeup on and their hair was down, instead of the usual 'tight in a bun' look. After playing with my makeup and doing some touch ups, Patricia, brushed out my hair and sprayed it to stay put. She then produced a hair extension piece, blond, attached to a hair band. When put on, it gave me loner bangs and tendrils giving me a more feminine image. Patricia unwrapped a white and peach, floral print dress. It looked soft and pretty. I slipped out of my robe and into the dress. It was a perfect fit. The hemline came to my knee. The shoulders were a bit snug but it covered my arms down to my elbows. It had a small scoop neckline. Patricia handed me a white silk scarf which covered my small adams apple.

After getting dressed, I paraded and modeled for my female judges. They appeared satisfied enough and told me to put on my boots. I zipped up the calf length black boots which didn't really go well with the dress but I had limited choices.

"So now what?" I asked.

Maggie answered, "Let's go, we're off to the shops." I took a deep breath and gulped. I would have to walk out of my flat dressed like that. I quickly realized that most of the other troopers should be on duty by that time. Still, it was nerve racking going out in broad daylight like that. I was a bit taller than Maggie, but Patricia matched my height so I wouldn't stand out too much. I put on a pair of sunglasses just the same. We made it to Patricia's Saab without any witnesses.

 

(continued)

  

  

  

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