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SNAFU Part 10

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

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My parents phoned before they left and I felt sad. At times I really missed them. Today was one such occasion. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. My hand, though very sore, was healing well, but it meant I couldn’t do any ward duty. At the same time, I didn’t feel sick. In fact, I didn’t know if I was supposed to be on sick leave or in work. So I thought I’d better go and find out.

At the school of nursing, I bumped into Captain Brice. “Ah, Nurse Curtis, just the person I want to see. I believe we have a conversation outstanding on the subject of lions. Would you care to come into my office?”

As I had no choice, the question was, of course, rhetorical, I followed her into the office I had entered several times before. I recalled how helpful she had always been to me, and that wonderful couple of days when she had helped me to tell my parents. I looked around, I knew she had been widowed several years ago. Her husband had been with the Parachute Regiment and had been killed in action. It was alleged he was actually in the SAS, who are amongst the most elite armed forces in the world.

The Special Air Service was formed during the Second World War, apparently from a long-range desert group. They caused the Germans so much trouble that it was reputed that German High command ordered the immediate execution of any who were captured. There are hundreds of myths about them and probably some have a basis in fact. At the same time, some of the stuff purported to have happened has since been shown to be fiction. I had a vague recollection of seeing a documentary which showed much of the stories published by an ex Gulf War, SAS soldier, were impossible and conflicted with recollections of actual eye-witnesses. But knowing this was not going to get me off the hook at this moment.

I looked around the room as Sheila Brice seated herself behind her desk. “If I may say so ma’am, your husband was very good looking.”

“You have said so, and if memory serves me right, have done so several times. Stop bullshitting, Jamie, you are not going to distract me into talking about my husband or his Military Cross.”

I had forgotten all about that, how could I forget that? So she had me cornered by the look of it. I would have to box clever here or pray for a miracle or tell the truth. The latter had some appeal, even if it was seemingly crazy.

“Tell me, Jamie, why did you avoid straight answers to Major Collins’ questions?”
“I don’t think I did, ma’am. I told him what I knew had happened. I had been sent off early because I’d missed my break. I went to bed and when I woke up and went on the ward learned that Nurse Davis had miraculously recovered. No one was more surprised than I.”

“Did you know Nurse Davis before?” So she had done some homework.

“Vaguely, she went to the same school as I did, but she was a year or two older.”

“So it was a vague acquaintance?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why are you lying to me?”

I felt very hot and extremely bothered. “Why do you think I am lying, ma’am?”

“Because I recall you telling me the name of the girl bully who had damaged you. Curiously, it was Pam Davis. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Does it matter that I knew her?” I was looking at the floor avoiding her gaze which I knew could see right through me.

“Maybe, I don’t know. Now for the business of the strange creature seen leaving your room. It was I who saw it. Did you know that ?”

“I was told that, ma’am.”

“Not some drunken squaddie. I was shocked to see something about seven foot tall, obviously female but with a lioness’ head, walking out of your room. It was five hundred hours. How do you explain that?”

“I can’t, ma’am. I was fast asleep at the time.”

“It was the goddess Sekhmet, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know, ma’am, I didn’t actually see it. But from your description, it certainly could have been.”

“How are you linked to this goddess?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was, ma’am.”

“Where did the sand and the animal hairs come from? We have identified the hairs as from a lioness, and the sand could have come from Egypt.”

“I don’t know, ma’am.” I felt very uncomfortable evading issues with her, but I honestly didn’t know the answers to her questions. Sure I had had that peculiar dream and saved Pam, but it was a dream as far as I was concerned. As far as the other lioness appearances, I didn’t know any of it for sure, and what I did know I was going to keep under wraps.

“Jamie, we have had a special relationship since I first met you and the apparent confusion of your status. I have always dealt very fairly with you, perhaps more so than with the other students I have here. I think as well that I have been honest with you and until now, you have reciprocated.”

I felt very bad about things. She was doing a maternal blackmail job on me and it was working.

“So why are you holding back on me now?” She tried to make eye contact with me, but I was still staring at the floor.

“I don’t know what is going on. I had a strange dream the night that Pam recovered, that is all that I know happened.”

“Do you recall the dream?”

“Not really.” I lied because I didn’t think detail would help. “Something about me forgiving her, which is true. I do forgive her.”

“That’s a big step to take. Is that how you feel?” She was still trying to make eye contact and I declined to do so.

“Yes, it is how I feel. For a long time, I carried a detestation of that girl. I hated her and at the same time was terrified of her. I blamed her for ruining my life, for destroying my manhood and everything else that ever went wrong for me. She had after all done me a serious injury and I had never had a chance to get revenge or even restitution.”

“Is that what you wanted?”

“I don’t know what I wanted. Part of me wanted to just be an ordinary boy or man. To have a deep voice, muscles and hairy chest.”

“What about girlfriends?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t get the chance to explore that part of growing up. When all the other boys got spots and croaky voices and hair on their top lips, they tended to shun me when it became obvious that it wasn’t going to happen to me. For a while, I was accepted by the girls, who treated me more like a sister than a boy. I was smaller than most boys and quite a few of the girls, which is crazy because my dad is quite a big chap, as you know.”

“Yes, Jamie, it strikes me as incongruous that a big chap like your dad should have such a small son, especially as your mum isn’t that small is she?”

“No. No, she isn’t. I’m obviously a throw-back to a pygmy variety.”

“I don’t think so, but it does strike me as odd that you are so natural as a girl and it seems life conspired to make sure of it.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” It seems I needed to tell more than I thought.

“I don’t know, why do you ask?”

“Seems that one explanation for gender identity disorder is that individuals from a past life have been unable to let go of their previous gender.”

“I don’t recall seeing it in the textbooks or DSM iv, but I presume you have a reason for mentioning it.”

“I had a dream fairly recently that I had been a priestess in ancient Egypt and that I had done something which bound me to be a female in future lives. Somehow, this also involved Sekhmet, whom you saw leaving my room because it seemed to imply that I was bound to her as well.”

“Hang on a minute. You think this dream explains it all. That all this was destiny or something because of something you did four or five thousand years ago?”

“Apparently.”

“Are you trying to wind me up?” her mouth was laughing but her eyes weren’t.

“No. I am serious.”

“So you were a priestess five thousand years ago to the ‘Lion King’ and that explains everything?”

“It wasn’t to a lion king, but a goddess who takes the form of a lioness – a queenly, but deadly hunter.”

“But all that is just symbolism, a relatively simplistic way to explain the workings of the universe by a people who were less technologically advanced than we are today. Sorry, but it just doesn’t wash.”

“Fine. Can I go?”

“No. Explain why I saw what I did and where the sand came from, we found some in your bed too.”

“I just tried to explain and you won’t believe me. Sekhmet is attached to me in some way, but I have no control over her. It was she who saved Pam Davis after I effectively lifted the curse I had placed upon her.”

“You lifted a curse?”

“Yes I forgave her, I told you. Alright, I dreamt she was on trial, they were weighing her heart against a feather and I knew she would fail. So I stopped them and offered to be tested instead. I expected to be fed to the crocodile but instead, I passed the test and they let us both go.”

“That makes about as much sense to me as a textbook in Japanese. What are you on about?” So I told her bit by bit. She promised to keep things off the record but I had to promise to get rid of the lion. How the hell can I do that, I thought, it isn’t exactly under my control. I was also to perform no more miracles – I didn’t in the first place, and to stop telling the other nurses about seeing dead people.

Of course, I agreed to it, just to get out of her office. It felt very strange to suddenly see a previous ally becoming a persecutor, or was I becoming paranoid? I hadn’t asked for any of this; becoming a girl, being psychic, and seeing dead people, or being linked to Sekhmet and ancient Egypt. It was all beyond my control, so effectively I lied because that was all I could do. I had told the truth and she wouldn’t believe me. I began to understand more and more how some transsexual people must feel because they are treated sometimes as if they live in a different universe or have a separate reality. To date the causes of gender identity disorder are unknown. Suggestions range from the reincarnation one mentioned earlier to possible genetic predisposition, either way, it seems improbable that the individual is directly responsible except in how they deal with it. It seemed my psychic abilities put me into a similar predicament, perhaps doubly so when combined with my medical history. How the hell was John going to cope with me, I was doubly weird.

My group should have been doing ward training but with the wound on my hand, I was prevented from doing so. However, I didn’t consider myself sick so I spent much of the day in the library. By tea time I had accumulated quite a pile of paper of print outs from the US National Library of Medicine through the ‘PubMed’ site. I brushed up on the latest ideas on gender identity disorder although there was nothing new and I’m not quite sure why I was researching it, because in the strictest sense I didn’t have GID nor was I transsexual except by dint of some of the treatment I’d received and would need.

Was that the reason, I wondered? Because it was looking inevitable that I would need to sort myself out down below. At the same time, the thought of surgery and being out of circulation for a few weeks did not encourage me to push for it. I also wondered what would happen regarding my recent bout of hysteria and how that would affect my referral.

As I walked back to my room, I pondered on this. As I was already officially female as far as the army and the Registrar General seemed to be concerned how could a vaginoplasty and associated surgeries be considered sex reassignment surgery? I seemed to be an anomaly even amongst anomalies. I once read an article about spiritual progression which supported by reincarnation, seemed to suggest that we actually chose the lives we had to learn certain lessons. I wasn’t quite sure what the lesson was of this life, but I felt that I must have had an off day when doing the choosing.

Recalling more of the same article, I also remember it saying that suicide was no way out, because having signed up to a life one had to live it completely and to opt-out by suicide meant coming back again to finish that life. How true all this was, I had no idea. I was, however, rather pleased that my flirtation with the idea of killing myself, had been interrupted so effectively. I became conscious of a stinging pain in my hand and realised I’d been screwing into a fist as I’d been thinking these things through. I had enough insight to recognise that there was still some tension associated with this stuff and I needed to see someone about it.

After eating, I went to see my old friend Corporal Kate Henderson, with whom I‘d not had much contact for some weeks. We had a super evening, good conversation washed down with a nice bottle of wine. She tended to see the paranormal stuff in terms of my repressed unconscious. It wasn’t unexpected, we all see the world in terms which make some sense to each of us, and that is naturally going to mean by comparing it with our own contextual understanding and experience. Doing what the psychologists call a ‘trans-derivational search’.

The problem with education is that it can close the mind to possibilities as well as open it. The more you think you know about something, the harder it can be to accept something completely new about it. Science can be visionary or blinkered, often the latter because it isn’t just about objectively looking at data, it frequently involves egos as well, which makes it subjective.

Kate accepted all that I told her but seemed to think that it was all my inner experience. When I asked her how my inner experience could be shared by others, she then came up with mass hallucination. Now if one can explain physical sand and hair as hallucination, then I’d like to see the argument and its evidence. That little detail had her stumped unless of course it was faked. Okay so it could have been, but what would anyone gain from doing it? That was even more bizarre than it being apported there.

At the end of the day, we had to agree to disagree, which is what friends do sometimes, without making value judgements about each other. I sounded her out on my feelings about the fact that because of these strange episodes, I felt different. I likened this to how some genuine GID cases might feel, their transgender situation making them feel isolated or excluded from some sections of society. My researches had also found examples where individuals had felt themselves pressured by others to do things such as have surgery when it wasn’t really what they wanted, some had found themselves on a conveyor belt and unable to get off. As we were discussing this, I suddenly saw a clip from an old black and white film of someone being strapped on a moving belt inexorably towards a circular saw, then the picture jumped to that of James Bond having a laser being directed near his gonads in Goldfinger. Thank goodness my father wasn’t here, we’d have had chapter and verse on both films and ‘life imitating art’ again! It was one of his favourite observations.
Back to my conversation with Kate, she agreed with the sense of exclusion some tg people must feel, and I promised to show her an article I’d downloaded from The Guardian Weekend from July 31st 2004, which showed some of the pressure individuals found themselves under from religious groups, family and simply society at large, it was called, ‘What Happens if you Change Your Sex and then Change Your Mind?’. I found it quite interesting and The Guardian’s archive was easy to navigate, but then I spent quite some time using it.

When the wine bottle became empty, we had a cuppa and then I knew it was time to go home to bed. My dreams that night were very confused as I think I was probably processing lots of what had been talked about by day. Thankfully, there were no lionesses or part human part lion people in any of them, or if there was I didn’t remember it.

The next few days were similar, my hand was very slow healing and I think I got an infection in it, so I ended up on antibiotics which gave me the squits and upset my tummy generally. Consequently, I spent quite a bit of time in the toilet when I wasn’t in the library. I admit it also hit my energy levels and I spent more time asleep than usual.

John had phoned to say he would be away for a few days, working on some case or other. He was always very cagey about telling me exactly what he did. I knew he was a redcap of sorts, but what sort? I tried to put out one or two feelers, but no one seemed to know quite what he did. Several people knew him, he seemed well-liked but what he did in the military police was a mystery.

I concluded that he didn’t talk about his work for one of several reasons. The first was he hated it so much he couldn’t bear to talk about it. It seemed unlikely, so perhaps he wasn’t allowed to talk about it. This could mean he was governed by the Official Secrets Act, so his work could be of importance to national security. I didn’t like that idea very much, because it could come between us. Although I was hanging on to my own little secret, I didn’t enjoy the fact and longed to share it with him. Nevertheless, I heeded my mother’s advice for the moment anyway, awaiting the development of the relationship and the need to know, before I told him.

One morning while reading my newspaper, I came across a big story about the uncovering of a terrorist plot. So the ‘War Against Terror’ wasn’t quite over. Reality tended to suggest it never would be simply because any lunatic who had a grievance with a government anywhere in the world could use violence to air that grievance. If people or property got damaged, then isn’t that terrorism? Especially if it has some wacky political or religious message.

It struck me as so incredibly self-defeating. You don’t convert people to your way of thinking by blowing them up or kidnapping them. Or maybe I was just opposed to the concept of harming people just because they didn’t agree with me. Then in the midst of all this gloom, I remembered a teacher I’d known very well, a really lovely man, well-read and very gentle who used to say, he’d “like to stamp out intolerance.” Appreciating his dry sense of humour, I found it very funny. Sadly, despite his urbanity and gentleness, he killed himself one night, putting a polythene bag over his head then tying his hands so he couldn’t release it.

I still shudder at the thought of it, the sense of such a gentle person resorting to an act of violence, even if it was only against himself. He was a Quaker, and it was the first time I’d ever been to a Quaker funeral, a very interesting experience and very different to the run of the mill things that happen at the local crematorium. It seemed much more inclusive and encouraged participation by the meeting, rather than just some priest fronting it all. When I realised all the work they do for world peace, I developed a lot of respect for the Society of Friends.

I never did understand why the teacher killed himself, but it seems people do. In fact, I had so nearly done so myself a week or two before. Contemplating my own experience and trying to see that of others who had gone through with it left me feeling very unsettled. Instead of doing my required reading of the physiology of the digestive system, I managed to find a book on why people commit suicide and read quite a large chunk of it.

At eighteen I was only too aware that my experience was limited and that I knew so little about so much, which isn’t necessarily a common adolescent attitude. But there seemed to be so much I wanted to learn about. The mind fascinated me and I was beginning to think I might like to study psychology. Despite my apparent abilities in nursing, I began to feel it wasn’t for me. The episode with my hand enabled me to withdraw just a little from my colleagues and observe what was going on. Some of them took to it like ducks to water, some seemed to flounder and one or two were rejected before they drowned. Even here I seemed different. I could swim with the best of them, yet I wasn’t a duck. I was something very different, but quite what I had yet to discover.

The wound on my hand eventually healed and life returned to normal. John phoned on an irregular basis, but he said it was when he could. I would leave messages on his voice mail. It was now three weeks since I had last seen him and I didn’t even know where he was. He assured me he wasn’t seeing anyone else, but I was so green when it came to dealing with men, that I believed him but questioned whether I was right to do so. He did tell me he hadn’t seen anything other than zebras crossing the road, so I reminded him he might also have seen a pelican crossing*. He laughed at my joke. (*In the UK crossings with pedestrian controlled traffic lights are called pelican crossings).

I was missing him even though we’d hardly had a chance to really start a relationship, which I suppose gave rise to my fears about him seeing someone else. When I discussed with Kate, she suggested that it was quite a normal thing especially as the relationship bond was still forming.

“You like this guy, don’t you?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Of course I do. I did at first sight. When I first met him, I got so excited I threw up all over myself!” I recalled the moment and decided it wasn’t the memory I wanted to keep, the proximity to the attack was too close. So even though he had done his ‘errant knight’ saving this damsel in distress, it wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.

I then recalled my ‘swoon’ in front of him. That was just far enough away from me to find amusing and I chuckled a little. Kate of course demanded that I share the joke. When I told her about his note re bashing my head on his car door, she roared with laughter. I was pleased that I managed to recover the flowers he sent me, from the ward. They had lasted quite well even in the rather warm atmosphere of the nurse’s home.

Kate and I were joining some of the others for a girlie night out. They did it fairly regularly but I’d only gone once before, and that time they went to a club that had male strippers. While not averse to seeing well-maintained bodies flexing their muscles to music, however contrived it seemed, I did feel embarrassed by the behaviour of the women who seemed to throw all decorum out the window. They screamed obscenities and made improper suggestions which weren’t terribly funny for the most part, and attempted to touch the performers in places where the sun rarely shines. When I was asked this time I checked out where we going first.

It transpired it was going to be just to a club with a disco. I wasn’t sure what to wear, I haven’t been out to dances that often. But with Kate’s help, I hoped I wouldn’t appear too out of place. I wore a straight black skirt with a blue ruched top. The top showed a little bit of cleavage and was sleeveless, both garments had a shimmering effect in certain lights. I wore some black sandals with about a three-inch heel and took my black leather jacket along as well.

We set off in a mini-bus Sharon had arranged, it cost us a fiver each but meant no one had to drive and altogether I think there were twelve of us. By the time we got on the bus some of my colleagues were in a state which may best be described as uninhibited through use of alcohol. I couldn’t quite understand why. Maybe I appear to some as a prude, but I have never felt the need to get plastered to have a good time. For some, it seems that if they can remember it, they didn’t drink enough or have a good time. Britain was the binge-drinking capital of the world, and that alarmed me.

The use of date rape drugs also worried me, and it was now common practice not to accept drinks from strangers unless you saw the top come off the bottle, and you didn’t leave your drink unattended at any time. What a world in which we live! Drinking from the bottle seemed somewhat vulgar to me, but it made a certain sense given the threats above.
On the bus ride, it was hard to chat simply because of the noise of a dozen women all talking at once and the hum of the diesel engine. Sharon asked me, “’ow me ’and was?” and I was able to show her it had healed, with just a slightly red flare left across the palm. I had been quite lucky that no lasting damage was done. We talked a bit about the course and I promised to help her with some anatomy, although it wasn’t my favourite subject. Anatomy is a bit like learning a language, just all these names of bones and muscles and organs, which all had lesser bits with even more names to learn, greater trochanter or tubercle of the tibia, hardly phrases you can use in everyday conversation. “Hey, I think you have a lovely set of gluteals.” “Would you like to come and inspect my insertions? Or, grab a feel of this carotid pulse.”

To me anatomy was a necessary evil, like a road map, it helps to find your way around. Surgeons and physiotherapists and podiatrists have to learn biomechanics, which is anatomy with attitude! Yuck, all this makes psychology seem very inviting. I mean can you imagine trying to fiddle about with someone’s sweaty feet doing a biomechanical assessment? Not for me, but podiatrists don’t seem to worry about it. I met one in the hospital library, she seemed almost normal, although I didn’t shake hands with her all the same! She had a nice badge on her uniform, which was what made me notice her, “Society of Chiropodists and Podiatrists” it said. I asked what was the difference, and she said chiropodist has one more letter, otherwise, the words are synonymous. Educational this isn’t it?

Back to the bus, we got to the club about eight-thirty, and the bus would collect us at twelve-thirty. To my mind, the thought of four hours of loud music, passive smoking, and oppressive heat did not fill me with enthusiasm. But some of my fears were relieved to discover it was a non-smoking establishment.

The club was called “Bennie’s” and the outside was covered in all sorts of garish decoration, with flashing coloured lights and some photographs of people having ‘a good time’. I’d never been there before, but was assured it was good and the drinks weren’t too expensive. We’d all agreed to buy our own because using a pool system means those on expensive drinks do better than those on cheaper ones. It also encourages everyone to drink at the same rate which isn’t so useful for the slower drinkers.

We went in and after a foyer, where we were waved through, we went downstairs. “How come we didn’t have to pay?” I asked naively. “Sharon knows the owner,” someone hissed from behind me,” he likes nurses.”

The main auditorium was a large room, dark with flashing lights synchronised to the music. The main dance area was in the middle of the room with tables and chairs surrounding it on three sides and the fourth was the disco equipment with a large coloured DJ doing the honours. As he changed the record, so there appeared a large plasma screen behind him which changed colours and shapes dependent upon the music tone and beat. I have something like it on my computer, but this was a very impressive state of the art equipment.
We commandeered two tables and put them together, the place was only half full yet, which was why we were here now, to get a good table and use the ‘happy hour’, of cheap drinks. We each bought two, in my case a lager and mineral water. That cost me six pounds, so what the full price was worried me. I tried to remind myself that I didn’t do this very often, so just forget it and enjoy. The music was too loud to allow conversation of anything but a short shouted form, so after a few sips half of us went on the dance floor while the others watched the drinks, it was an agreed formula.

The music was old stuff, real retro from the seventies, but I grew up with some of it through my parents. When they played ‘Baby I don’t care” by Transvision Vamp, I just had to have a strut. Kate stayed with the drinks, while Sharon and I did our stuff on the dance floor along with another three or four of the nurses.

We stayed there for ‘Honky tonk women’ by the Rolling Stones, and some Status Quo track, which I couldn’t quite place, but then they all sounded the same to me, and were good for dancing to. We gave it all we had, the music was fast and rocking and soon I was well loosened up, but also rather warm and in need of some water. We went back to the table, where someone was trying to tell a dirty joke, but I couldn’t hear what was being said. So I tried just listening to the music.

The evening went on faster than I expected, we, Sharon and I that is, had a plan not to dance to the slower ones, which quite pleased me. I didn’t want to be picked up by anything other than the mini-bus, and as Sharon had a steady, neither did she. So it was preventive rather than curative strategy, we called it our prophylaxis method. Well, Sharon actually called it something different, but we won’t go into that now.

Although we came from different backgrounds and had very different maps of the world, we were quite good friends. I was grateful to her for her care during my early periods of distress, and she had kept a ‘big sisterly’ watch over me ever since. She had been very supportive after my attack, and her non-judgemental attitude to my attempted suicide was wonderful. I was always glad of her streetwise knowledge and compared to which, I was as green as grass. We looked after each other, I helped her with academic stuff, she helped to keep me out of trouble.

While we were sat down, for some unknown reason, I checked my texts on my mobile. I had one from John, he was coming home at last. I showed it to Sharon, we hugged and jumped up and down. When the DJ played ‘Fat bottomed girls’ by Queen, we took to the dance floor again, shaking our derrieres to the music and laughing ourselves silly.
We had resisted offers to dance and for drinks from several would-be suitors, and were just happy enjoying ourselves within the group. It was now moving on towards midnight and the place was heaving. I’d bought myself another bottle of water for four pounds something. It was a rip-off, I could get exactly the same one for about sixty pence at the local supermarket, but I was thirsty so I paid up. With the dancing, I hadn’t needed to visit the ladies, but when Sharon said she needed to go, I went with her. Okay so it’s a girl thing, one pees we all pee. Safety in numbers, check your make up, wash your hands, whatever. But we navigated our way to the loos, through a sea of swaying bodies or static ones swaying not so much from the music but the effects of fermented grain or some equally lethal substance. In the toilets, someone was trying to buy Ecstasy tablets, another was grumbling about the no-smoking policy. We queued and peed, then checked our makeup and hair, I was a bit sweaty around the hairline so tidied myself up with a tissue, some fresh lippy and off we went.

As we came out of the toilets and along the corridor, I mentioned how quiet it had gone. Sharon suggested a power cut, and we both laughed when I pointed out that the lights were still on, such as they were. As we approached the main auditorium, people were screaming and bedlam seemed to be happening, a voice on the tannoy was asking for people to stay calm. I raised my arm and Sharon paused with me. We listened to the voice.

“Everyone just keep calm, and no one else will get hurt, for god’s sake shut that stupid cow up.”

We exchanged glances, what was happening out there. Whatever it was we had to go through the main room to get out, we were effectively trapped. With beating hearts, mine recently migrated to my throat and butterflies filling my abdominal areas, we crept along the corridor. I was desperately trying to recall the fire exits, both were off the main room. Then there was the sound of a bang, like a firework.

A different voice came over the sound system and was nearly drowned by the screams of women, another bang, more screams. “Stay still, Don’t nobody do nuffin. Keep fuckin’ still you stupid bitch.” There were more screams.

“Sounds like someone has a gun,” I whispered to Sharon. I looked behind her two or three women had fled back to the toilets. “Stay here, while I take a look.”

I edged myself along the wall and took out my handbag mirror, as I got near the end, I inched the mirror beyond the wall and tried to see what was happening. Everyone was sitting down, one or two were lying down, some were weeping. Near the disco equipment, the DJ was sat on the floor and in front of him,some man was lying face down. At the microphone was a big black man brandishing a revolver. “Shit” I heard myself whisper under my breath. I saw another standing by the stairs, and the door staff were stood in front of them. Whatever was going down, we were stuck until the men with guns left.
I crept back to Sharon, “There are at least two men with guns. Looks like someone has been shot.” We moved back towards the toilets, creeping on tiptoe in case our footsteps were heard. I dialled triple nine.

“Emergency, which service do you require?”

“Police and ambulance.”

“Hello, police.”

“Hi, we’re at Bennie’s club, someone has been shot, there are at least two men with guns. Please hurry, but be careful.”

“We are aware of this incident, someone is on their way to deal with it. Can I have your name please?"

“Just tell them there are guns here.” I switched off my phone. “The plod is coming.” I whispered to Sharon. It looked like it was going to be a long night. Just then someone made a noise in the toilet and one of the gunmen was sent to investigate, of course, we were caught and along with another four women, one of whom was nearly hysterical, were paraded onto the now empty dance floor.

“What we got ‘ere?” asked the man at the microphone.

“They wuz hidin’ in the bogs.” Called the other in response.

“Why’s you hidin'? Don'cha like me?” None of us answered, except the near-hysterical woman now did become hysterical. “Shut the bitch up or I’ll hurt her.” Said the man with the microphone.

Sharon took the woman and sitting her down tried to calm her down, she was having mixed luck by the whimpering that was coming from behind me. “I asked you a question, bitch.” He said looking straight at me. My stomach did a somersault and ended somewhere in my throat, fighting for space with my heart which was already in residence somewhere near there.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t realise you were talking to me.”

“Who’dya tink I was talkin’ to? Myself?” He glared at me, and I felt very afraid. “Why was you hidin’, bitch?”

Although my mouth felt dry I spoke with a much calmer and strong voice than I thought possible. “I had gone to the toilet with my friend when all this happened. We weren’t hiding, at the same time we did not think it wise to come rushing into a room in which guns are being fired.”

He walked over to me. I stood perfectly still but could feel the sweat running down my back. “You one pretty bitch. How you like to fuck with a real man?”

I felt a shudder of horror run through me for two reasons if he did anything my secret would be discovered and he might kill me anyway, and second, he made my flesh creep.
I stood there while he ran the barrel of the gun up my neck. I could feel its coldness on my skin and I was desperately trying not to tremble although that was what my body wanted to do. I took deep slow breaths trying to keep still. I also tried to link with Sekhmet, I needed that lioness strength more than ever. He lifted my chin up with the gun. “You one pretty bitch, what you called?”

I felt the fear in me, then I felt something else, a warmth suffusing through me as if I’d just swallowed a large, stiff drink, like a brandy. I knew then I could deal with this creep. He continued to rub the gun up and down my face, while I felt the ancient power welling up in me. He was going to be in for a surprise or I could be about to start my next phase of reincarnation, I just wanted this creep away from me. He began to speak to me again when there was a noise from outside, it was the police.

Why he and his cronies didn’t just run off after doing whatever they were going to do completely mystified me. But I knew we were now in a hostage situation. It was becoming more dangerous. We both knew there would be an armed response unit even perhaps a swat team outside, with marksmen and their laser-guided rifles and all sorts of other weapons. Common sense said they couldn’t possibly win against such firepower, but sadly they didn’t seem to have much of it.

A phone rang, it rang and rang. No one went to answer it. We all knew it would be the police. One of the gunmen ripped it from the wall and smashed it on the floor. Oops! I thought they are getting nervous and that makes them more dangerous.
They talked amongst themselves and I could see looks being made in my direction. I had a horrible feeling they were going to try and make a run for it using us as shields. I hoped the police had good eyesight.

There were three gunmen and each decided to go out of a separate fire exit, hoping to confuse the authorities waiting for them. As I expected they each grabbed a female hostage. Why do they always grab women? Do they hope it will make the marksmen more inclined to hesitate, in which case they were wasting their time.

I was led to the rear fire exit. I had no idea where it led. One of them tried to force his exit firing at a policeman, so I later learned and was shot dead on the spot. There was much screaming from the hostage who was unhurt. The other two gunmen reconsidered their options.

“C’mon, bitch.” He slowly released the door opening, then threw me outside. Nothing happened. I had dropped to my knees to minimise target size, so some of my army training was working. Maybe I could remember how to disarm someone with a small gun. I doubted it as I’d messed it up in practice anyway, I was too small and feeble. I recall the sergeant training us saying to me, “Look, Curtis, if you are going to fight like a bloody woman, just scratch his bloody eyes out or kick him in the bollocks.” At the time, if you recall I was supposed to be a man.

Back to the present, my would-be escapee was still peeping around the door and no one was there to stop him. We were in some sort of alleyway, with lots of piles of rubbish and industrial bins. The gunman came out, he couldn’t believe his luck, nor could I. What he hadn’t seen, but I had was a large lioness standing about twenty yards away.

The gunman came out and dragged me to my feet, “Get walkin’, bitch.” I took a step and there was a loud growl. He suddenly saw the lioness, as it moved towards him. He pushed me away onto a dustbin, as the lioness moved towards him, he began to shoot at it, but his bullets were having no effect, as his gun clicked on empty, I launched myself backwards at him and brought the side of the dustbin lid across his face with as much force as I could muster, it made a tremendous clang. He stumbled backwards muttering at me and as he moved forwards to hit me with the gun, a single shot rang out, he froze as blood began to pour out of his chest. Then he fell in slow motion backwards.

A voice called out, “Armed police, don’t move. Put your hands up.”

I did as I was told, and two officers came running, both were armed, one was calling instructions for paramedics. I was led away, from the now dying gunman. I saw him leave his body, I knew he was dead. Where he went I don’t know, but I didn’t really have time to think about it. I was taken from the alley and into a police car. Suddenly I realised how cold I was and began to tremble uncontrollably.

Someone put a blanket around me, I was taken to an ambulance and checked out by a friendly woman paramedic. “I’m okay.” I said, “The gunman is dead.”

“How do you know?” she asked me.

“He was hit in the heart.” I replied, “Some shot.”

“How do you know?”

“I was stood not more than a couple of feet from him.”

“Oh.” she said, “You one of the hostages?”

“Yes.”

A senior policeman arrived. “Were you one of the hostages?”

“Yes.” I responded, still shaking.

“How many were there of them?”

“Three I think.”

“We’ve got two. The other one must be inside.”

“They shot someone in the club. I don’t know if he’s dead or still alive.”

“Sorry I can’t risk it until we’ve neutralised the threat. Describe the building, we’re still waiting for plans to arrive.”

I did as I was told. There were now two entrances available for entry, but storming it was potentially very dangerous for all concerned. However, I had friends inside there and I wasn’t going anywhere until they were safe.

“I know my way around the building, been there lots of times.” I offered, “I could lead your men in.”

“Don’t be daft, woman.” Said the police chief.

“I’m a soldier.”

“So what,” he spat at me.

“Give me a flak jacket and a gun and I’ll go and get him for you.”

“Take this woman away from here, Now,” he shouted. I was led away and told to wait by an ambulance.

The paramedic was busy with someone else, so I sneaked back towards the alley. From the back of a police car I snatched up a bullet-proof vest and put it on. Knowing I was heading for big trouble, not with the gunman but with the police, I kept on sailing towards the iceberg.

The police were still in the alley, nothing had been done including the removal of the body, they didn’t recognise me, seeing the police jacket I was allowed through. I presume they thought I was police or medical staff.

I slipped in the door, just as they realised what was happening. An officer came after me but I was running by then, towards the main staircase. I could see, the gunman standing holding a woman in front of him. He was at the foot of the stairs. He was now trapped.
“Come any closer, copper, and she gets it.”

I stood absolutely still and said to him. “You realise that if she gets hurt you are dead. You still have a chance to live, take it and throw down your gun.”

“I’ll kill her first.”

“If you do I shall tear out your liver and heart and eat them before your eyes.” I felt the power rising in me again, I snarled at him and he whimpered. His hand holding the gun was shaking. I knew he was seeing something far bigger than me, walking down those stairs. I snarled again and he dropped the gun and ran, straight into a bottle wielded by one of the imprisoned clubbers. He was overpowered and arrested.

To cut a long story the man who’d been shot originally was dead. It was a drugs thing, so I felt little sympathy. The remaining man of the gang was for some reason terrified of me, kept saying something about me turning into a lion. The police were very cross with me, even though I’d disabled two of the gang, and I was to be charged with obstructing police investigations. I knew that wouldn’t stick. Reckless behaviour maybe.

It was a long night. Statements were taken from everyone present before we could leave. Mine was probably the most entertaining.

“So, Miss Curtis, you told me you were a soldier.”

“I am. Well sort of, I’m a military nursing student.”

“Hardly qualifies as a soldier.”

“I did my basic. I could have loaded a gun and shot him.”

“ Having been rescued by my officers why did you enter the building again?”

“I had helped disable the man your officers shot.”

“How was that?” he asked so I told him about how he’d fired at shadows in the alley, then when his gun was empty I hit him with the dustbin lid. “He did have a wound across his face.” Said another policeman.

“Why did you re-enter the building, when I specifically told you not to?”

“I knew I could make the other man give himself up.”

“How could you possibly know that. He could just as easily blown your head off.”

“I knew he’d been using drugs, and I’d heard him talking about some superstition. I knew that I could frighten him into believing he was doomed.”

“If he got that frightened he could just as easily shot you.”

“But he didn’t, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“I effectively hypnotised him into believing I was much larger and turning into a lion. He swallowed it, and the rest is history.”

“So if this technique is so effective, why didn’t you do it before and save us the bother of coming at all?”

“You’d be complaining about job security then.”

“Sign your statement and get out of my sight before I have you arrested for obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty.” His eyes were sparkling.

As I left he said quietly, ”You’ve got some bottle, girl, but don’t ever do anything as stupid again.”

“I won’t” I promised.