Trooper Blondie

by Marty S

 

The room was spinning and my head was pounding with pain. The sounds in the room began drowning out the ringing in my ears. I was not alone. I didn't open my eyes right away, playing as if I was still unconscious, to see if I could gain an advantage. They were talking in Arabic, two men at least. One man, whom I am sure was Faquir was telling the other man to wait, wait for his phone call. The other man was angry and wanted to do something immediately. He began cursing in Arabic, calling me a dog, shite, and dog shite. I worked out that they were far enough away from me to pry one eye open. I could see their images, the two men, it was Faquir and Omar. Omar was holding a pistol. I closed my eyes again and reassessed my condition. I could feel sharp pains in my ribs, and assumed that I had taken a punch or kick there. My face was sore too. I probably took a kick to the face. I could not move my arms. I began moving my hands and realized that they were tied up. I was on the bed and my hands were in a pair of handcuffs. My feet were bound together at the ankles with a silk necktie. I was well restrained but I was alive. I had that to work with.

I then had to assess my situation. I was still in Faquir's room. I had an assassin in the room with me, armed and dangerous. I was momentarily defenseless and injured. I could see light coming in from the window. It was still daytime. How long had I been out? What time was it? My team? Where was my team? On my side were an elite team able to take on a small army but where were they? If it were the next morning, I been out of contact for a long time. Dave was supposed to have been watching me. He would be in contact with Eddie and Mike and our CIA contact, Tony. I had to wonder why I hadn't been rescued. The best explanation was that they didn't want to risk my life with a quick assault but were patiently working on a plan to get me out. Sooner or later, they would come bursting into the room from the windows or through the wall or the door. It made the most sense. I had no one to blame for my current predicament but myself. I should have been more careful at the door. I had taken too much for granted.

Daytime? Shite! It just dawned on me that the information I had discovered was for an attack on the United States on the morning of September eleventh. If I had only been out for a few hours, then it was already the morning of the eleventh. Egypt is seven hours ahead of New York so it might not have happened yet. I did get the information out to Dave. He would have gave it to the Americans and they could catch the men trying to board those four flights. I had to be positive that Dave was able to get the message through. All the channels were in place. With such an important discovery, the whole intelligence and military network must have been in full swing. My individual fate was a minor concern. If the higher powers had made me a low priority than it made perfect sense. I would have to try to help myself some how. I wasn't doing my team or my side any favors by remaining helpless. I had to try to free myself.

The door opened again and I heard the voice of Reza. He was yelling at Faquir to get moving. They were going to try to get away. He rushed around the room frantically grabbing left behind items. I pried one eye open to see as much as possible. Reza had his arms full of Faquir's things, including his laptop. I saw Faquir who looked as bad as I felt. He must have been having a bad hangover from the drug I had slipped him. He looked disheveled and had his clothes on but without a tie. They were all in a state of panic and in a hurry. I then sensed somebody very close and faked unconsciousness again. I heard the sound of someone heaving up a great gob. Then the warm, wet felling of spit splattered across my face. I wasn't ready for it and involuntarily jumped.

"The bitch is awake!" said Reza who had been the one who gobbed on me. "Let me do it now, I want to do it," he proclaimed with a blood thirsty desire.

"No! Not yet, I cannot be anywhere near here. Your brother will take of this business. Remember Omar, not until I call," instructed Faquir.

They knew that I was awake now, so I opened my eyes wider and took in more information. I played it meek and vulnerable. I did not want to appear threatening in any way if I wanted to live another minute. It was their mistake not to blindfold me. I looked for a clock. There had been one plugged in on the night stand. The face was black so, it must have been unplugged. I could not tell what time it was. The blinds were pulled enough so that no one could see in and we could not see out but enough natural light was radiating in to tell that it was daylight. Reza was again trying to hurry Faquir. My ex-lover stood near the end of the bed with an angry and disappointed look on his face. He urged up a great spit as well and heaved it in my direction. Reza grabbed his arm and they raced from the room. Good! Now that they were out of the room, our boys would certainly scoop them up. They had to have a trap set for them.

I had to figure that I was on my own now and would have to do what I could to help myself. Omar stood across the room. He was even more menacing looking than his brother. This was the man who killed Marila. He would have no problem shooting me. Sympathy was not a workable angle. He had my Sig Saur in his hand. I had to assume that he had at least one more weapon on him. He was wearing a brown sport jacket with matching trousers and a white shirt. He could easily be concealing another pistol. I had time. Faquir had told Omar to wait for his phone call before killing me. How long that would be was unknown. Would he wait until he was out of the country or just until he was clear of the building? Maybe, Omar had the same sick lust as his deviant brother. I might have a chance to work that angle.

"So, you're Reza's brother?" I softly spoke. "You're much better looking then he is," I flirted. If I could get him close enough to me, I had a chance. He didn't bite my bait.

"Shut up you piece of garbage," was his casual reply in broken English.

"Hey, no reason to be like that. I just thought that maybe we could have some fun while we are here waiting for Ras," I said without letting on that I understood their Arabic conversations.

"No more talk or I gag your mouth!" Omar shouted at me giving me his answer to that idea. I had until the phone rang so I had to come up with another plan. Only my ankles were tied. My wrists were bound in manacle handcuffs around the bedpost. There was no way to get then off the bedpost without lifting the entire bed. That was impossible because I was on top of it.

Omar, meanwhile, had set down my Sig and reached into his jacket and pulled out a Glock 9mm with a silencer attached to the barrel. It would be quiet. No one would hear the shots as they entered my skull.

I thought that if I could get out of the cuffs then I might have a chance. I could see no key and had to assume that Omar had it on him or got rid of it. My head was slow to clear away the haze from being knocked out but if I could have kicked myself I would have. I had locksmith training. I looked about the bed for anything that I could use. Nothing. I thought about what I had on me that might work. I casual rubbed my head as if to feel the bump on my skull. I brushed my ear. Yes, my earrings were still in. They were long, dangling silver but had a long hook that past through my ear lobe. My long, curly hair had concealed them. Omar may have removed them if he had seen them.

Omar was staring right at me. I couldn't make a move without him catching me. I needed a distraction. I had to think about untying my feet too. I made it appear that I was uncomfortable and began fussing around. Omar was watching closely but could see that I was just pulling myself up to a more comfortable position. From the sitting position I could hide my wrists behind my long tresses of hair. I then used my bare toes to pull at the cover of the bed. I slipped my feet under the cover and made a shake to indicate that I was cold. Once I was where I wanted to be Omar demanded, "Be still! No more moving around." I nodded and obeyed.

Minutes past. I did not move for a long time as I waited for Omar to stop staring at me. He eventually got bored just staring at me and waiting for his mobile phone to ring. He decided to check the room over again for whatever reason. Restlessly, he moved to the windows and then over to the door. I used the opportunity to move my head over to my bound hands and work my right earring out. I clutched it in my hands then tried to look natural as possible. Omar was not suspicious. I would need another chance to start working the lock. I had to wait him out a bit longer. I decided that if I heard his mobile ringing, I would go all out and not try to hide it. Short of that I would use only the moments where he wasn't watching. He would occasionally look at the window but kept me in the corner of his eye. I used this chance to work on my bound ankles with my toes. They were not tied well and the silk material was slippery enough to manoeuver. I had managed to get a little wiggle room in a short time. It occurred to me that they must not know everything. If they had suspected me of being SAS, I would already be dead. At the very least, they would not have left me with amateur restraints. I was not blindfolded or gagged. The only explanation was that they didn't figure me for a real threat. Most likely, they suspected that I was just pissed off and seeking revenge on Faquir. They probably still thought of me as a silly, stupid Irish transvestite. I had to keep them thinking that way.

Omar was very diligent, he didn't budge from his spot and the time continued to tick on. I was getting more and more worried as the minutes ticked by and no sign of a rescue was apparent. After a couple hours at full consciousness, I was really getting scared. I tried another distraction. "Can we watch the tele while we wait?" I politely asked.

"No, no television!" he simply relied.

"What about the radio, some music? Either that or start singing, this silence is torture. How about I do some singing?" I pestered him. He did nothing for a few minutes then shook his head and went over to the radio. He scanned the channels for some music. I used the time to quickly insert the earring into the cuff locks. I had bent the end at a right angle and forced it into the cylinder. He was finished with the radio and returned to watch me again. The next stand off lasted another agonizing eternity. I asked him if he could change stations but he wouldn't budge. The good news was that I had worked my right heel free of the necktie and was close to getting the rest of my foot out. He didn't suspect anything from my fidgeting under the bed cover.

Omar finally showed a moment of weakness as he could not resist the urge to piss. He pointed the gun at me and said, "No noises or I shot you in the head." He turned his back and went into the toilet. I finished working the lock on the bracelets and forced he hinge open. The ratchet sound was drown out by the roar of Omar's piss. My hands were free and I reached down to finish working my ankle out. Omar was done but I still didn't have time. I resumed my posture with my hands behind my head using my hair to hide the bracelets. My feet went back below the covers. It was the right gamble because Omar was already out of the toilet and had his pistol pointed at me when he emerged. I lay on the bed meek and unthreatening.

"One more distraction," I told myself. I kept looking for an opportunity, patiently waiting for the right moment. Omar was standing four meters away. I could not close that distance fast enough without receiving at least two shots. I waited until Omar looked comfortable again with his guard down just slightly. His gun slightly relaxed. He was not staring directly at me. In the dead quiet, I quickly raised my head and looked toward the window with a sign of shock on my face. My jaw dropped open with surprise and I gasped loudly. He bought it. Omar jumped up and rushed toward the window taking his eyes right off of me.

"Move now!" I told myself and in the quickest motion possible, I sprang up, launching myself off of the bed and crashed into Omar like a missile. The force of the impact sent him into the wall. He was off guard but my impact was not enough to take him out. He pushed me off and tried to raise his gun. I stopped his hand with mine as I jammed my elbow into his throat. His pistol fired a muted thump. It went off into the outside wall of the hotel room. I grabbed his forearm and applied an arm breaking move which he rolled out of. He lost the grip on his pistol making it drop to the floor but he worked himself free of the hold before his arm could snap. His advance training in hand to hand combat was obvious. Omar took the initiative and grabbed a handful of my long hair and spun me around. Using his larger size and strength he slammed me into the wall face first. He then pulled me back and slammed me into it again. My nose and teeth took most of the brunt and I could feel blood running down my face already. I jammed my feet against the wall and pushed off. That sent myself and Omar back landing on the desk. The wooden furniture gave way to our impact and we went down to the floor. I was vulnerable. My long hair was defeating me and I was giving up a massive amount of size and weight to the big Egyptian. The fact that I was only wearing a cotton dress did me no favors either. This was a death struggle and I was not about to go lightly. I grabbed a splinter of the table and jammed it into Omar's armpit which was the only thing I could reach. It forced him to let my hair go and I brought my balled up fist fully accessorized with the steel police manacles down into Omar's face. I connected with two good punches before Omar returned a punch landing a hard right into my face sending me off of him. I had his face bleeding now. I could taste the coppery flavor of my own blood in my mouth.

Omar came at me again, lunging at my head. I hiked up my dress and swept his leg while bringing my fist up into his testicles. He still managed to get a handful of my hair and threw me across the room sending me into the wall. He was not quick to follow up as he grimaced from the pain in his groin. He reached his pistol that he had dropped and almost had it up to aim as he turned and found a television set coming down hard onto his head. I hit him with it as hard as I could. The glass from the screen diced up Omar's face and he dropped the gun again. I wound up with all my strength and booted him in the bullocks once more. He knelt motionless with blood free flowing down his face like lava from a volcano. I quickly recovered the pistol from the floor and wasted no time giving Omar a double tap square in his forehead. His lifeless body fell backwards on the floor with a pool of blood surrounding his head. Omar was dead. I fell back onto the bed, weak from the fight and tried to catch my breath. I spat out some of my own blood from my mouth and tore off a piece of my dress to wipe the crimson mess from my face.

My heart was pounding and the adrenaline was coursing through me. I had to collect my thoughts despite the pain coming from all over my body. I located the other pistol and I grabbed Omar's mobile phone. I then ran over to the room phone and picked it up. "Hello room service, Dave!" I shouted into the phone. The tap would still be live and if Dave was there he should answer. If he wasn't there then the CIA man would still be on site to pick up. There was no answer until the front desk finally answered and I hung up the line. Something was not right. I carefully opened the door to the hallway, with both pistols at the alert. No one was around. I carefully made my way down to the suite we had set up as our staging area. I knocked frantically on the door, but no answer. I pounded on the door. No answer. I had no key to unlock the door. I picked up Omar's mobile and dialed up the emergency number for Dave's mobile. It rang but no answer came. I then tried Eddie's mobile. After two rings he cautiously answered. "Hello, who is this?" The number would have appeared on his display screen as a strange contact.

"Eddie, its me, Blondie, where are you?" I blurted into the phone.

"Two kilometers from the hotel, stuck in traffic. What is going on? Why haven't you or Dave contacted us for hours," Eddie inquired back.

"Dave's not with you? Where is he?" I shouted in panic.

"I don't know, we have been following Faquir's hired help all over hell and back..."

"Never mind, just get back here now, on foot if you have to, hurry, meet me upstairs in the hallway by the room," I ordered and closed up the phone. I had fully suspected that the hotel staff would be up on our floor by now reacting to all the noise from the fight with Omar. I went back to the room and covered up the corpse with a bed cover. If anyone did show up I didn't want them to see the body. I was amazed that no one had reacted to it yet.

I could see the elevator coming up and fully expected it to be hotel staff but I had my pistol at the alert just in case. Eddie and Mike stepped off. "Are you two alone?" I asked.

"Yah," Eddie replied in stunned amazement at my roughed up state. "What the fuck happened to you mate?"

"I'll catch you up in a second, we have to get into the room, now," I instructed. We all had our pistols ready as Eddie swiped the key and we burst into the room. It was dark and empty. We quickly searched through the room. "Blood on the carpet!" I announced at a splotch of dry blood near my feet. "... and its not mine," I added to eliminate the obvious follow up question.

"Over here, in the bath tub," Mike shouted. We all raced in. The body of CIA man Tony Sharp lay in the tub with two holes in the skull. He was shot at close range from a pistol, likely the Glock that I had in my hand.

"Where is Dave?" Eddie asked again. My heart was pounding fast. I searched the main room again. Our equipment had been smashed. Bits of our satellite set were in pieces on the floor. Our laptop was missing. Something was very wrong.

"Blondie, what the fuck is going on?" Eddie asked me again with panic beginning to rise in his own voice.

"Omar, he was here, he almost killed me, his body is in Faquir's suite. His corpse is still warm," I replied. "Where are Faquir and his men? Did they get away?" I asked my partners.

Mike, the calmer of the two, filled in some of the details."We followed Reza, Ramhire and Mohammed out of the city. Our car broke down about thirty kilometers away. They got away from us. We inspected the car and found that it had been sabotaged. The radiator hose had been cut and the engine over heated when the coolant ran dry. We tried calling Dave but there was no answer. We then tried Tony, but again there was no answer. About an half an hour later a car passed by us and shots were fired at us from the windows. The car was the same Mercedes we had been following with Reza and the boys in it. We weren't hit but we had trouble getting help out in the middle of nowhere. We got the car going after it cooled down and we put some water in it. We came back as soon as we could but the traffic has been total kayos. I have seen bad rush hour traffic here before but it totally insane right now."

"Now? What time is it anyway? I have been out cold for a while, I've lost track," I asked as I swallowed a thick mouthful of my own bloody saliva.

"Sixteen forty-five local, why?" Mike asked.

" And the day?" I asked in pure panic.

"The eleventh of course," he replied with a confused look.

"Oh, fuck me Jesus! Please tell me that Dave got the message out," I begged.

"What message?" Mike retorted.

I grabbed the cellular phone again and dialed Dave's number as fast as I could. "Answer, dammit! Answer!" I screamed.

"What fucking message Blondie? Would you mind telling us what the fuck is going on," Mike asked impatiently.

"Wait a minute. I hear ringing," Eddie burst out. We all fell silent. There it was, a ringing noise. It was faint but it seemed to be coming from the hallway. The three of us rushed out into the hallway. It was louder. We moved up the hallway closer to the sound. We stood outside the electrical closet. The ringing was coming from the other side. We all stood ready with our pistols. Eddie pulled open the door. The sight was not easy on any of us. My lip even began to quiver. A tear pooled up in my eye. My heart sank. Dave's body lay limp in a rubbish bin inside the closet. His head had two holes in the back of it from two close range subsonic shots. Omar had to have got to him. But when?

As Eddie searched with futility for any life signs I reached into Dave's pocket where I saw him slip the message that I had given to him much earlier. I pulled out the scrap of paper with the information on it as fresh as I wrote it. My hand was shaking. Eddie pulled the message from my hand. "What's this?" he asked with utter suspense. His face turned pale. "The traffic!" he exclaimed. He looked at Mike as if his brain just caught on fire. He rushed back into the room and turned on the television. Every channel was showing the same scene. The World Trade Center buildings collapsing in New York and the Pentagon being hit by a jet liner.

"No, no fucking way!" was all Eddie could say as we all hung our heads in disbelieve.

"The fuckers actually went ahead and did it!" Mike added. After several minutes of staring at the images on the screen in shock and disbelief we all started to get a grip again.

"Let's grab Dave's body and get the fuck out of here. British Consulate is our best bet. We need to be switched on now so pull your fingers out," I ordered and that was it.

 

Hereford, England September 16^th, 2001

 

"Colonel, I was under the impression that there have never been any women in the SAS," the distinguished member of the Royal family asked our CO as he stared down at me from his place beside the Commanding Officer of the Regiment. There was a large turn out of unit members, Army brass and various political and Royal VIPS at the military funeral of Staff Sergeant Dave Smith.

"There haven't been and there are none," the Colonel simply replied without even turning his head to look at me. We had only been back in England a couple days after escaping from Alexandria. The spooks did not want the Egyptians to clue into our operation as the politicians were frantically trying to bring as many Arab and Muslim countries over to our side as they could manage. Our extraction with a dead team mate was no easy task but we had little choice. My personal status was still in limbo. My body was that of a woman to the casual observer. I had no time yet to make any changes. The funeral could not wait any longer so it was a full military honors procession for Dave. His daughter came up from London and I stood with her. I was wearing a women's Army Corps uniform which fit me better than my male uniform. The brown skirt and tunic were not the most flattering thing in the world but with the nylons it still made me look every inch a woman. My hair was pulled up into a big blond bun. I wore makeup more to cover up my bruised face than for vanity. I would not, on this occasion, hide the fact that I was a soldier in the worlds most elite unit. My sleeve carried my Lance Corporal stripe and my tunic carried my wings and my medals. I proudly wore the sand colored beret with the winged dagger cap badge of the Regiment. The confusion on the behalf of the Royal was acceptable.

Following a long silence from the Colonel and several more stares my way from the guest, the Royal simply justified, "Right then, must be some top secret thing. Moms the word." The Colonel gave a slight half grin and left it at that.

Both Darlene, Dave's daughter, and I could not hold back a tear when the piper played Amazing Grace on the bagpipes. I held her hand tight. The parade was bleak and mournful. Eddie was selected from our team as pall bearer. It started to rain. We roughed out the rain as we made our way to the clock tower at the center of the Base. Names of unit members who were killed in the line of duty are inscribed on the base of the clock tower. They were the ones who didn't beat the clock. Staff Sergeant Dave Smith's name was added that day. Darlene and I had a pleasant chat after the funeral. She was only fourteen but she was bright and as brash as her father and she carried the same bright gleam in her pretty blue eyes. "My dad spoke very highly of you Shannon," Darlene told me. Apparently, she was convinced that I was a real woman. "He told me that he was in love with you when I saw him the last time in July," she continued. "I finally got to meet you. I thought that I might have to wait for the wedding," the innocent girl told me.

Again, I had to choke back the emotional pain burning me up. "Darlin', your father was the greatest man I have ever met and I assure you that you alone are the only true love he knew," I assured her. I gave her a tender kiss on the forehead and a hug. "I wish that I could have known you before, you're a perfect angel," I added. I could only take solace in the fact that the Army pension and insurance in Dave's name would be looking after that girl for many years to come.

English funerals are much more grim than the ones I had been to in Ireland. Even after all the mess cleared out, Maggie, Eddie, Mike and I kept on drinking toasts to our best friend. Mike passed out before long which was our queue to finish up but I gave one last toast my leader, my mentor, my friend and my lover.

 

November 10^th, 2001

 

The situation in Afghanistan had fully evolved in less than two months since the horrifying attacks on New York and Washington. The Americans were no nonsense now and the gloves were right off. Nobody blamed myself or our team for our failure in Alexandria. We beat ourselves up more than anybody. The Yanks were too embarrassed at their own apathy to the intelligence that we had been sending them. Our country was just worried that we had possibly gone too far in our pursuit and had come close to endangering relations with Egypt. The Regiment was even lenient on us which was out of character and beyond our expectations. They must have realized that Dave's loss meant more to us three than anybody. The official report after the investigation stated that more resources should have been put into the mission, including a Troop sized reaction team and that the strength of the al-Qaeda forces were grossly underestimated. We got off easy. Even the CO was giving me another chance. I figured that my career in the SAS was over the day after the funeral. Instead, the CO informed me that my business with Faquir was not over yet. His airplane had made it into Afghanistan on September 11^th. Since that day the Americans had been joining our teams embedded within the Northern Alliance. There was no attempt to hide ours or their presence any more.

American Special Forces operators brought with them the massive firepower of their Air Force. They were calling in targets upon sight and aircraft loaded with the most high tech arsenal would quickly make short work of them. The Americans and the Afghan alliance forces had begun a drive for Kabul, the capital, and making speedy progress. Our SAS boys who had been so diligent in staying unseen for months were now given the green light to engage as they saw fit. On the thirteenth of September, three of our brothers in Mountain Troop were shot up during a firefight with the Taliban but made it out alive.

After that day, our Army HQ handed over the mission to the Americans and gave the offer of our unilateral support. After the funeral it was time train hard for the bitter and hostile Afghan environment. We received our new Patrol Commander, Allen, whom we knew from within the Troop and whom I had worked with in Belize before. Allen was all business. He turned a blind eye at my initial appearance. I did go and get most of my hair cut off right away. It was almost as short as my Para days but not quite. I had no time to have my breast implants removed. The surgery would do too much tissue damage and would put me on the sidelines for months. I had a full schedule of range time, field exercises and parachute jumps right after Allen joined us and leading up to our entry into the fray. If I had them removed right away I would have had to miss the whole thing. Major Harvey told me that as long as I could hold my own and keep on during the training, than I would still be included on the mission. I never worked so hard in my life.

"Gentlemen, the Taliban have given up on the capital. They are, as I speak, retreating to the south and east of Kabul," came the sitrep (Situation Report) from our Operations Officer. He had a huge six foot by four foot map of Afghanistan on the wall with red and blue boxes and lines indicating where enemy and friendly forces were located, respectfully. My Troop mates and I listened in carefully as we received details of the previous days fighting. We had regular updates like these daily in the main helicopter hanger as we waited for the orders to come for our full participation. Up until then, the Americans and our forces already over there had been getting all of the action. We were still waiting for our turn. "To the east is a range called the Spin Mountains which separate Afghanistan from Pakistan. It was in these hills that the Mujahideen fighters hid and launched their attacks against the Soviet Army during the Eighties," the Major described. "The American intelligence reports that Osama Bin Laden himself is likely in that location."

"Our boys are carefully marking the Taliban movement and American air power is doing its best to check their progress. Northern Alliance Troops and US Army Rangers are in pursuit on the ground," he stated about our friendly forces. "Your job," he finally stated, " is to cut off this force before they can cross the border into Pakistan." That was it. "Your Troop will HALO jump onto this DZ marked here on the map and meet up with advance members of Mountain Troop who will give you an operational sitrep when you arrive. Wheels up in three hours," was the final operational instruction.

The flight was bumpy and rough as hell. The C-5 Galaxy cargo plane on loan from the Yanks was not built for comfort. We refueled along the way and our jump gear was on and off several times. Our exit would be from twenty-five thousand feet at night in zero degrees temperature in a mountainous region. We each had to jump with our main and reserve chutes, an oxygen bottle, rifle or machine gun, and a hundred and fifty pound bergen. We also had to jump with a container with extra ammo and kit. My bergen contained the patrol radio which added even more weight. I could barely stand on my feet when climbing onto the aircraft and more than once got some help from Eddie. Somehow I managed. Once aboard the aeroplane I could relax and not worry until it came time to jump.

It was bitter cold stepping off the back ramp into the frigid night air but once into free fall, I was at least rid of the burden of holding all that weight up on my feet. The jump went off without a hitch. Even Mike was perfect and had the incident that caused his hand injury far behind him. As his jump partner, I kept my eyes glued on him and was proud of flawless technique. After a two minute free fall, we made landing as a group on a beacon set up by an advance patrol from Mountain Troop. After an all round defense and reorganization, we made our way out of the drop zone to a lay up where we could call home for the time being.

There was no doubt that we were in a hostile combat environment. At day break, a Taliban patrol came within our camp perimeter. They were caught completely off guard and must never have expected our presence. They were cut down immediately by 5.56mm fire from the sentries on stag. All members of the Troop went to their 'stand-to' positions. That patrol was followed up by a larger contingent of fighters eager to get into the fray, led on by the sounds of the gun fire. They were no match for our marksmanship and tactics and within an hour we had driven them off and counted fourteen of their men dead and five left behind with injuries. Not one of our boys received even a scratch.

Our role was that of a fighting patrol so we engaged targets whenever they presented themselves. For the next few days we fought running firefights all along the base of the Spin Mountains. The risk of blue on blue engagements was still very high. The Americans had almost killed as many of their own as the enemy had. We eventually met up with some US Special Forces at a camp they called 'the Alamo' who we kept in close contact with so that they always knew where we were and vice versa. We also had ground to air radio to talk with the pilots who could easily take out a dozen men or more with just one of their bombs.

We made a habit of wearing a balaclava in the chilly hills to both keep us warm and to cover our faces. It was part of the shock effect in a close range fight. It also came in very useful whenever we were around strangers, either Americans or locals. My cargo vest and clothing did well to hide my body shape but the mask was even more essential. Allen did most of the talking for our patrol anyway but I still had many strange stares from the Yanks whenever we were around them. It was even more vital with the locals. The Afghans were devote Muslims and if they thought for a second that a woman was amongst our numbers than their loyalties might easily have swung away from any alliances that we had working.

We had worked our way into a region called 'Tora Bora' by the locals. We had noticed an increase in the firefights and intelligence reports indicated that the fighters were holding up in caves and waiting in ambush. Someone from higher up thought that they may want to make their final stand on this ground. Our Troop Commander had came back from an orders group where he received instructions to send us on reconnaissance patrols up into the hills. As each of our four man teams were assigned our individual routes, Major Harvey paid us a special visit.

"I thought that you four might be interested in this little piece of information," our officer told us. "One of the local goat herders was telling the slime that one of the al-Qaeda patrols that passed through here recently was a party of four Egyptians with two Pashtun guides," he continued. The news sparked our interest. We listened very closely. "He remarked that one of the Egyptians was an older, more portly fellow," the Major informed us. No one said a word as we waited for more information. It seemed too good to be true. "There is a chance that this could be your fellow. The herder showed me where he remembers the men headed out from. I am giving your patrol this route. Good luck!"

Our trek took us up into the high mountains. Along the way we endured cruel weather, rough ground and no sleep. We pushed on higher and higher. Tora Bora was every bit as painful as the American had described.

On our third morning we carefully rounded a blind turn on a high trail leading down into a valley. Eddie was in the lead and he carefully and quietly probed the dangerous position. Only slightly exposed, a shot was heard from off in the distance. A pile of rocks flew up fifteen feet away from Eddie. He returned a blast of automatic fire toward the shot before ducking back around the rock. Clearly someone ahead of us was aware of our presence and was sending a message to keep back. An anti ambush drill was out of the question as we could not close with the unseen shooter fast enough without taking several hits. The vulnerable position made us change course and we headed straight up a slope to get a better view of the valley without being drawn into any ones cross hairs. The manoeuver put us off several hours but we were all still alive. It also kept us fully alert as we prodded forward. The possibility of a booby trap or an ambush was very high.

Air attacks were going on all throughout the valley and on the slopes of the mountains. Other patrols were sighting targets and calling in fast air to obliterate them. We had to be equally careful not to get blown to bits by our own aircraft as we did facing a determined enemy.

Finally Eddie, our lead, motioned for us to halt with his upturned fist. Holding in place with my weapon pointed up to my left I scanned the night sky through my night vision site for any signs of movement. As much as I wanted to look and see what Eddie had stopped for, my training and discipline forced me to cover my arch.

In my peripheral vision I caught a hand signal from Mike, the number three man in our four man patrol, relayed from our team leader Allan, signaling me to come forward. We had individual patrol radios to communicate to each other with but we must have been dangerously close to our targets to use hand signals only. I passed Mike who took over my responsibility for covering our rear. As soon as I reached Allan, he took hold of the strap on my web belt and lead me forward to Eddies position. Eddie, a big man was huddled behind a mammoth rock. He slowly lowered his night vision goggles and turned to me. He pointed carefully in a direction to our lower left, and held up two fingers. Two fingers signified two hundred meters, so I used my night vision glasses and quietly but deliberately rose up to peer over the rock in the direction that Eddie indicated. The first thing that I saw was the bright light coming from torches. Our adversaries were there and insisted on lighting their way with little tactical discipline. I could see five men roughly two hundred meters ahead, three carrying AK-47s, all wearing local tribal rags. I recognized three of them right away. Ramhire, Mohammad, and Reza, the body guards. There was no mistaking their mannerisms, and their faces were unmistakable to me. The other two I did not recognize but could only assume to be the Pashtun guides they hired. I noticed them all looking to their right and sure enough two more figures appeared from around a random boulder. The first man looked like another Pashtun guide but the second man was more familiar. To say familiar was an understatement. The shorter, slightly overweight man could not disguise his identity despite the false Pashtun garments that he wore. The man seemed quite out of place in the high Spin mountains of Afghanistan, way too posh for such an inhospitable environment. I had to swallow a throat full of bile as I suppressed the urge to stand up and blow him clean off the face of the earth. It was definitely him, it was Faquir, our quarry.

I lowly whispered to myself, "I have you where I want you now, you bastard."

 

"Blondie, wake up! H hour minus forty, better get your finger out," was my greeting from Allen. "Some fireworks have started already. Word from the Yanks that they opened two holes already, ahead of schedule," Allen added with some bitterness.

Mike put his word in, "Bloody Yanks, probably gave their own position away so they could go cowboy and not have wait so fucking long." Mike had a good point. That was exactly what I felt like doing.

My heart wanted to say, "Piss on the generals, I have my own war to get to and I will bloody well start whenever I please."

"Right!" Allen interrupted. "Last minute run through," Allen began running off the orders group one final time and each of us had to add our own piece of the puzzle so that we were coordinated and confident that we all on the same page and that no one would fuck anything up. We made sure that our weapons and gear were ready to move. Our weapons were always ready but it never hurt to check again. My M-16/203 was ready and I had a full mag of 5.56 ammo ready and loaded. We gulped down the last of the tea and moved to our stand by positions. I looked at Mike and he gave me a wink of confidence. A final radio check ensured good communications throughout the net. We were ready. "H hour minus five, stand by," came the signal. The familiar taste of adrenaline filled the back of my throat.

The radio came alive, "All stations delta, this is delta zero, stand by, stand by, go!"

I watched as D40 tossed grenades into the cave entrance from both sides. Everyone turned and waited for the blast. I had cover behind a large rock. I had to be ready to hit anything coming up from the right flank. Mike was five meters away from me also at the ready. 'BOOM! BOOM!' came the thunderous concussions from the cave.

Men began racing in amid the smoke and rubble. Long blasts of automatic fire came screaming through the morning air. The firefight inside had to be brutal. More explosions followed. The automatic fire returned immediately there after. Mike screamed to me, "Right seventy, three of them," and began shooting. I spotted the targets; three men in dish-dash robes with AK-47s running toward the cave entrance to cut off our men from behind. I began squeezing off rounds with Mike. All three of them went down like dominoes. Three more Pushtan fighters appeared from the far hill top and began spraying fire in our general direction without much aiming. One of our snipers picked off the lead bastard and Mike and I made short work of the next two.

The sounds of fire diminished after fifteen minutes. No more enemy came into our sights. There was silence for ten minutes or so as we waited for more word. D20 finally moved up and then Allen called us all in together. "I handed our position over, we are sweeping up!"

"Music to my ears," I remarked as the four of us double timed to the cave entrance. We turned our torches on and kept the barrels of our rifles low. The most likely contacts ahead of us would be our own boys and we didn't want any blue on blue incidents. Allen received the rendezvous instructions from D40 and we carefully made our way inside. Ten meters inside was a steaming pile of guts that was once a man or two. Bloody trails lead to corpses all along the cave corridor. Taliban fighters lay dead every few feet and our boots waded in the stew of body parts and the ooze of blood. We discovered the bodies of Ramhire and Mohammed amongst the dead. About sixty meters inside we made contact with the sentry from D40. He was breathing heavy and was still switched on with the adrenaline of a close quarter battle.

"Hey Blondie, over here, you might want to see this," one of fighting patrol yelled. I hurried over in his direction in the dark space. Allen, Eddie and Mike met me at the origin of the call. "Right here mate, somebody you know maybe," the soldier told me once he had confirmed my presence. We pointed our torches to the figure on the ground he was referring to. It was a live man. His face was bloody and his clothes were dirty. A bullet wound to the abdomen appeared to be the source of his pain. He was fat and had a bushy moustache. It was Faquir. He was alive and breathing and in critical shock. He stared into our lights like an animal crossing the road at night. Behind Faquir lay the body of Reza. He had two bullet holes in his chest and another through his leg. His life had run out before I could get to him.

D40 exited the cave through a back escape route that ended up on the far side of the mountain. Allen pulled Mike and Eddie away from the vulnerable man on the ground. "Come on lads, let's find as much as we can, Blondie can watch over the prisoner," our leader told them. They moved away and began searching around the cave. Mike would find our stolen laptop amongst the kit strewn about.

Faquir continued to just stare up into the torch light, not knowing what to expect. I moved in closer to the shaking and now very timid man. I pulled my balaclava off of my head and shook out my blond hair. I moved closer into my own light so that Faquir could get a good, close look at my face. He stared at me for several seconds before it began to sink in. His eyes turned a different shade of horror as the reality sunk in. I smiled and said to him with my heavier male tone, "Did you miss me darlin'?" He gulped for air as a panic grew inside of him. "You should have known better than to leave me alive in that hotel room with your friend, who is very dead now by the way," I taunted.

"Shannon?....but how? You can't be here now, how?" he spat out in confusion between bloody coughs.

"Actually, my name is really Ryan but I usually go by Trooper Blondie, you sick, greasy bastard. My friends and I came all the way over here just to see you and to bring a message from our old pal Dave," I continued. Faquir continued to look up at me with confusion and fear. I drew out my 9mm pistol from my holster and put it up to Faquir's crotch. My grin grew larger.

'Bang!' the shot rang out. Faquir's eyes widened.'Bang!' a second shot split Faquir's skull between his eyes. I passed by Reza's body and aimed at his bullocks. I cracked a shot off even though it was too late for him to feel the pain. I wished I had been the one to do him too.

"Everything alright then Blondie?" Allen asked me as I calmly holstered my pistol. I nodded. "And the prisoner?" he added.

"Funny thing that," I said. "He didn't make it."

"Yah! He didn't look so good, oh well then, let's get a move on, shall we," my boss casually commented as we finished our sweep and left the cave. If Bin Laden was in that cave, he was long gone out the escape route. The US soldiers who were acting as cutoff had not shown up on time and some of the inhabitants had slipped through their lines. Our job was over for now. Our transport was waiting one kilometer away and we tabbed it hard to make our extraction. The helicopter took us out of Tora Bora and I turned my back for the last time on that son-of-a-bitch.

 

The war and my action in Afghanistan continued for another month and we saw more action in and around Kandahar. It all felt pretty empty after the experience in Tora Bora and made me begin to wonder. I hadn't felt like that since I grew bored of Signals and the Paras. I reached the pinnacle of soldiering by being a Trooper in the SAS. What more was left for me out there. I was only satisfied when being challenged physically and mentally.

Upon return to the UK I was given a week off and when I came back I was supposed to go in for the surgery to have my breast implants removed. I lay in my bed for two days tossing and turning over the notion that I would once again return to my old male self once again. I was welcome back in the Regiment and there was even a rumor that I might again be promoted to full Corporal. I attended Squadron meetings and heard about new planning for an operation in Iraq. The Yanks were determined to head back in there and Britain was eager to fallow their new best mates. I knew that as a soldier I was not supposed to care who or where we were fighting but I immediately had a real disinterest about going on any such adventure.

I managed to get my BMW motorbike fired up and took the bike on the road up to Birmingham to visit the grave site of my friend Marila. I brought some flowers and laid them there for her. It made me think about our close friendship and the good times that I had in the London flat and at club Glitter. I had a warm glow on me and I touched my breasts through my leather jacket and heavy sweater wondering if it would be the last time. I was sad. I tried to imagine myself without them again. I tried to imagine myself with short, masculine hair, maybe with a moustache and perhaps with a hairy chest. It was getting me depressed. I gave my best wishes to my friend and headed back to Hereford.

I found out when I returned that I had messages waiting for me, or Shannon did at least from Dave Smith's daughter, Darlene. She wanted to meet up with Shannon to chat some more about her dad. I hated the idea of breaking the news to her that I was no longer a woman, or that Shannon didn't exist anymore. I was getting knots in my stomach churning all of these things over in my head. I even had messages from my mother, whom I hadn't spoken with in over a year, wondering if I was still alive. I finally called up Maggie O'Neil and asked her to come and see me.

Maggie was the closest any person was to me outside of my patrol. "So, I heard that you're headed back over the water soon?" I asked her on the news that her assignment with us was finished.

"True, true, but you're not supposed to know about that," she said towing the usual spook line. "Rough go of it you had over there in Afghanistan, I heard," she questioned me back.

"Actually, I managed all right. It wasn't as horrible as you think," I said. We paused and we both began to giggle. "Who am I kidding, it was a fecking nightmare," I laughed.

"I guess you'll be going away again soon. Probably won't see you again for a long time," she mused.

"I was thinking about that actually. Remember that job offer you had for me one time; If I ever left the Regiment?" I proposed. Maggie's doe like brown eyes widened. Her cheeks even blushed.

"For real?" she asked with total surprise.

"Sure! I would want to be able to keep my identity as Shannon if I do and I would want to able to keep everything I have right now," I said in reference to my breasts.

"Well, sure, that would be the idea," she replied with some tone of glee in her voice.

"That's it then, I'm in!" I decided just like that. "MI6 has itself a new spook. Do I get to pick my own number? If I do, I will want to be 069," I kidded.

"We can give your CO the good news in the morning," Maggie stated. "Why don't we head down to the pub for a pint to celebrate. We can stop at the chemist along the way and pick up some hormone pills."

A few days later I telephoned me ma. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph son! I thought that you were dead. I was worried when I hadn't heard from you on two Christmases. I was sure that you had been killed in that Army job of yours," she went on in hysterics.

"Calm down Ma! You kept receiving the payments every month from the Army, that should have told you that I was still alive and working," I shouted into the phone. "I was overseas for some time and the mission I was on was sensitive enough that I could not even call home," I reassured her. "Look, I wanted to tell you something," I said with a pause. "I want you to know that I will be out of the Army in a month. I even landed a good government job back home in Belfast. I will be coming home to see you as soon as I am cleared," I told her as I listened to her cries of joy over the telephone line.

"Baby, I am so happy. You have no idea how miserable it made me every day, knowing you had that job," she squeaked out between tear filled sniffs.

"There is something else Ma," I interrupted. "I have been going through some changes. I am afraid you might not even recognize me when you see me."

"Are you scared or maimed?" she burst out in horror.

"No! Nothing like that at all Ma. Nothing to worry about anyway. You'll be surprised for certain. I won't say anything more that might spoil the surprise but I thought I should give you a fair warning," I told her as I wrapped up our conversation. I then went to the closest to pick out some outfits to wear to both my luncheon with Darlene and for my arrival back in Belfast. "Ah, the Burberry skirt suit! That will do it," I told myself and proceeded to model the outfit in front of my full standing mirror. Shannon was back!

 

© 2006 Mary-Margret Callahan

  

  

  

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