Soldier of Missfortune. Part 1 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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It wasn’t as if I’d volunteered, I’d been picked–that in itself was a laugh–I was never picked. It was like back in school when they were picking teams for cricket or rugby, I was always last to be picked because I wasn’t very good at sports. The same was true of the army–I was small and slightly built. It took me umpteen goes to get over the wall on the training course, which was a source of some amusement to the rest of the squad.

Hell, I’d only joined the army to learn a trade–this fighting for Queen and country stuff left me cold–worse it could leave me dead. I wanted to be a technician, play with helicopters or some other electronic toys. Seems I joined the wrong branch of REME, this lot were fighting men, unlike me–I come from a long line of cowards–long lived cowards, not short lived heroes.
The final joke was my name, Alexander Montgomery, two fine generals and me a squaddie without a clue. I did my six weeks basic, then off to school to learn about electronics and mechanics–another six weeks–then we get to play with things, and at last I’m starting to make people notice me for the right reasons–I was good at this, and with some of the stuff we were doing my small fingers and hands could do things the bigger blokes couldn’t. I actually began to think I might not have made such a mistake after all.

I was sent for some advanced training–the only one from my squad–and realised I was being trained to sabotage enemy equipment, so that it malfunctioned and did a variety of things which would be useful to us. Seeing it as a challenge, I got a bit carried away and proved I could do whatever they wanted me to do with it and we’re talking rather expensive missiles and other projectiles. They all get programmed–I could reprogram them to do what I wanted. There were three others on the course but I made sure I came top on everything–I had shown the world at last. Then discovered that last might be the operative word. I was called into Major Sheridan’s office–he ran the course we’d been on.

I stood at attention before the major and this other officer. “Relax, Montgomery.”

I did, standing at ease with my hands behind my back.

“So this is the one, is it?” asked the stranger.

“Yes, Sir, Montgomery was head and shoulders above the rest.”

“And we have no women for this job?”

“No, Sir, none made the training this far.”

“We have two months to prepare him,” the stranger stood up and walked around me, “strip off your uniform, private.”

I looked at the major and he nodded, I began undressing.

“Come along, we don’t have all day,” urged the stranger, finally I was down to my Marks and Spencer underpants. “Those as well.” I blushed and took them off. At the best of times my equipment was below standard issue, now while I was nervous I suspect my nipples stuck out more than junior did.

The stranger walked round me again, “Hmm, looks very possible. Read this,” he shoved a piece of card in front of me.

‘There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.

I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.

The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; saying, "She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner-- something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were--she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children."

"What does Bessie say I have done?" I asked.

"Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent."

“Read it out aloud, you clot.” He said sarcastically, which I didn’t think I deserved as I was doing what he’d asked me to do. I blushed and something got even smaller, I could almost feel it trying to crawl back into my groin.

It so happens, I wasn’t too bad at reading aloud, and had done it for things in both junior and high school, so I tried to do it as well as I could.

He looked at me again, “Hmm, needs a bit of work but not too bad, a nip and tuck here and there. Okay, we’ll take her.”

I looked at him in astonishment. “Get dressed, get your kit and report back here in half an hour. We have a job for you.”

“Might I ask what sort of job, Sir?”

“No, now hurry up or I’ll stick you on a charge.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I dressed and scrambled to my room–yes we actually had single rooms–packed everything I could carry into my kitbag and suitcase and was back at the major’s office in twenty five minutes.

The stranger directed me to his car and told me to dump my possessions in the boot, which I did. Ten minutes later we were driving, but to where I had no idea. Whenever I asked anything he gave me a hard stare and I went back into silent mode. Surely it wasn’t anything hush hush, I mean I was the lowest of the low, so I was quite surprised when I recognised signs for Aldermaston–where they do the nuclear stuff, bomb and missiles and such like. Shit, what was I getting into.

The car went through a checkpoint but not at the main centre, this was a small place quite a way past the main buildings–like a couple of miles beyond. The stranger showed his ID and I gave mine, the sentry checked us against a list he had on a clipboard and raised the barrier, we drove on down a narrow lane stopping in front of an old house, as in country houses–you know straight out of Charlotte bloody Bronte.

“Follow me,” I was instructed and without stopping to collect my kit from the back of the car, I walked quickly after the man. He knew where he was going and I tagged along down corridors which had once been some very rich family’s home–now it was more institutionalised, lino over tiled or blocked floors, that sort of thing, however, the paintwork was clean and in good order so someone was taking some care of the place.

We arrived at a door where I was told to wait while he went inside. I watched one or two girls go past carrying bits of paper–presumably office wallahs–well it is the army, everything in triplicate despite having computers big enough to control a whole battlefield, they were still using paper.

I was called into the office. “So this is her, is it?” said a woman officer. I looked around to see if I’d missed something or someone. “Okay, soldier, strip–” twice in one day and I don’t think she was wanting me as a sperm donor.

I stood there bollock naked while she poked and prodded, fingered my doodah, which twitched in her hand much to her amusement, and touched my nipples making hums and haws to herself. “She might just do, Colonel.” So I was being chauffeured by a full colonel–no wonder he kept treating me as if he’d stepped in something.

“When did you last eat?” asked the woman who it seemed was a doctor. I was hoping for some food, my stomach was rumbling.

“Breakfast, ma’am.”

“Which was?”

“Six hundred hours, ma’am.”

“Good, we can start it now, here, put this on,” she threw me a hospital type gown. “Leave your clothes there, c’mon girl, we haven’t got much time.”

I was becoming a bit concerned that people were referring to me in the female, and while I might not be Tarzan personified I was still a man, albeit a smallish one.

I was led to medical room and asked a whole pile of questions about my family history, you know the stuff diabetes, heart disease, mental illness, drug allergies and any other sensitivities. I felt like declaring cowardice but thought better of it–these two didn’t look like they had much sense of humour.

Next thing my wrist is swabbed and a cannula was shoved into a vein, by some bloke in scrubs. They ask me to sit on the table–an operating table–and my nerve began to fail me.

“Just what are you going to do to me? I haven’t signed any consent forms.”

“Just lie back and think of England,” said a large man in blue scrubs, someone injected something into my cannula and...

I came to wondering where the hell I was, but as I was still sleepy, I didn’t care and slipped back into sleep. Eventually, I woke enough to ask for water, only my throat was sore, my face felt funny and my chest and groin hurt.

“Here we are, just sip it gently, me darlin’.” I wouldn’t have minded if some twenty year old nurse had been saying this, but it was thirty something male medical orderly.

He gave me some pills and an injection. I was attached to a drip and had one of those oxygen pipe thingies under my nose. I went off to sleep again and was woken by the big bloke who was still in scrubs–goodness, his dress sense was worse than mine.

“Don’t try to talk for a couple of days, we did a small procedure on your vocal chords. How do you feel?”

I mimed ‘terrible’ and he smiled a set of huge white gnashers and I wondered if they were his own or had been improved.

He said something to the orderly who gave me yet another pill. I sat up to take it and discovered that my chest felt larger than it had when I arrived–what the hell was going on? I tried to fit the glass of water to my mouth, but my lips felt like I’d been to the dentist and had a jab for a filling. I also became aware that my groin felt very strange.

I put my hand down to it and couldn’t feel my little weaner, I gasped and someone jabbed me in the leg and the lights went out.

The next time I woke up, I was wearing a nightdress–yes, a bloody nightie, and what felt like a bra. The woman medical officer came to see me. “Ah, Miss Montgomery, how do you feel?”

“Miss?” I squeaked and gasped at my voice.

“For the moment, yes it’s Miss.”

“Why?” I squeaked again, sounding like an enraged Minnie Mouse.

“They need you to do a mission.”

“So why have they done this to me?”

“They needed you to look like a female.”

“Oh, so that’s alright then,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m glad you think so, it’ll make things much easier.”

“No I don’t think so,” I sounded like a ten year old girl.

“Oh, too bad–you should have considered this before you volunteered for Special Ops.”

“I didn’t volunteer–what have they done to my voice?”

“Just tightened your vocal chords a little–want to know what else?”

I nodded dreading that she was going to say they’d cut it off and turned me into a woman.

“They did a shave of your thyroid cartilage,” when I looked blankly at her, she elaborated, “Adam’s apple–you don’t have one anymore.”

I was waiting for this to be said of down below.

“You now have a pair of breasts which they need to enlarge to match the rest of your frame–don’t worry, once this is all over, they can remove them again.”

Well that was something I suppose.

“They did liposuction round your waist which gives you one a bit more pronounced than before, and they shoved the fat into your hips and bum–so you have a decent sized tush now.”

Gee thanks–all I ever wanted was a bubble butt, not.

“Down below, they did a little procedure which will hurt for a while but you will find it gets easier.”

This was it–the sixty four dollar question–and I asked it, “What did they do?”

“Effectively, they gave you a false pudenda.”

“A what?”

“Once it’s settled down, it’ll look like you have labia–a fanny?”

I nodded. I knew what labia were, I just didn’t have any before–not down there anyway.

“Don’t worry, they didn’t cut anything off, just disguised it. Essentially, you were lucky you’re such a little guy, they pushed the testes back up into you abdomen, and pretty much did the same with your penis, then they stitched the penis into place and stitched your empty scrotum around it, so you can pee, or will do when we take the catheter out, but you’ll have to sit to do it. It can all be restored once the job is over, hopefully with no harmful effects.”

“What if I get excited?” It seemed unlikely seeing as it sounded as if they turned me inside out and it felt like it too, all done with a nail gun.

“Ah, yes, you won’t, they gave you an implant to stop that.”

“What sort of implant?”

“An oestrogen one, like they do for contraceptives for women–it’s no big deal, but it will stop your little fellow becoming a slightly less little fellow.” She laughed at her own joke. I didn’t think it was funny.

“I don’t remember consenting to any of this,” I said as menacingly as possible, but with my squeaky high pitched voice it sounded more querulous–but that’s how I felt, very querulous. In fact, if I hadn’t been in bed, I’d have stamped my foot to show how angry I felt–that would show ‘em.

“You didn’t directly, but you agreed when you came over to S.O. that you’d do whatever was required by the unit. I mean, most of our team are prepared to die for the success of the unit if they have to, so this whinging about a few cosmetic procedures, seems very juvenile.”
“What? I don’t think it’s juvenile to complain that you’ve turned me into a bloody woman without my say so.”

“You’re not a bloody woman–menstruation is not possible.”

“Halleluiah–thank goodness for small mercies.”

“Miss Montgomery, you are getting very close to insubordination.”

“Well I think you lot are guilty of GBH with a medical licence, and I’m not, Miss.”
“According to your records and ID you are, Miss Alexandra Montgomery and work for the Inland Revenue as a clerk.”

I went to say something when I remembered my mouth felt funny, “What happened to my lips–they feel like I’ve been to the dentist?”

“They gave you collagen implants–they tend to disappear over six months or so, but you actually have a lovely mouth now, which is just as well because you’re going to need to kiss a few frogs to get your way to our target.”

“Why couldn’t they use a normal woman–why mess me about?”

“It was quicker to change you than it would be to train a female operative to your level of expertise with weapons systems.”

“What am I going to do–give a blow job to a missile?”

“No, to the bloke who will be trying to fire it at us, after you’ve reprogrammed it to self detonate.”

“I’m not kissing any bloke–I’m not a poofter.”

“No, you’re an honorary female, so it isn’t homosexual–and don’t worry, we’ll train you in the seduction stuff.”

“What if I refuse?”

“We can’t let you go, now I’m afraid...”

“So you’ll kill me?”

“If you’d let me finish, I’d have said we couldn’t let you go until after the operation is over–assuming we can find a replacement for you.”

“You’d better start looking then, because I don’t feel particularly cooperative–must be on my period.” I sat and folded my arms and pouted.

“That is so precious, Alexandra, absolutely all girl.”

“Oh piss off,” I said and pulled the bedclothes over my head.

“You wait until the Colonel comes back.”

I waved my second finger at her, palm up.

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This is an idea that came into my head this afternoon - dunno if I'll continue it or pull it. Opinions please as comments or PMs.

Soldier of Missfortune 2 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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By the time the colonel arrived: I had been pulled out of bed; showered, de-haired under my oxters, and dressed in a bra, panties, skirt and top with a pair of shoes with two inch heels. In addition they had pierced my ears and plonked a wig on my head.

To say I felt a complete idiot would be an understatement. In the shower, I did get to see the tiny wounds under my breasts where the saline bags had been inserted and they somehow knew how to inflate them with more salt water, because they did so while I watched. Apparently, they’d have to increase them daily, which meant sticking a syringe full of saline into the breast but in a place where it wouldn’t leak out afterwards. They were tender but not as much as down below, and I doubted I’d be riding a bike for a while with junior being incarcerated by his own scrotum–talk about ironic or whatever.

The catheter came out–no it didn’t, they took it out, and it felt like they were going to pull my bladder with it. Boy did my eyes water, and it hurt to pee afterwards for a couple of hours or so. Now I think I know what cystitis feels like–my mum used to get it a lot at one time. I could, however, pee or wee as I was told to describe it, men pee, girlies wee apparently. Bet you didn’t know that. My voice still sounded like a six year old on steroids–so after my shower I was literally squeaky and clean, and I felt at a distinct disadvantage arguing with them, so I let them get on with things until the makeup. Then I sulked.

“You’re not making me look like some painted trollop,” I squeaked at them.

“Alexandra, please cooperate, we’re going to teach you how to do your own makeup.”

“Why do I want to know that?”

“Like you’re a woman and nearly all of them wear some sort of warpaint now and again.”

“I prefer a natural look,” I squeaked.

“Tough, now shut it and learn.” I sulked but she carried on regardless and I learned there was a bit more to it than just plonking on eye shadow and lipstick.

“You’re lucky, young lady, you have quite good skin and no beard shadow.”

That was probably because I had no beard, when I was in school half the boys had more hair round their dicks than I had on my whole face or body, come to think of it some of the girls had more hair on their faces than I did–I had this peach fuzz–which is still the case. I did try shaving it once or twice to try and toughen it up but all that happened was I came out in a shaving rash which itched like buggery, so I didn’t bother again.

By the time Leonardo had finished painting my face, I looked similar but different. I could see me, but it was like a girl had been painted over the top of me. It would have been fascinating if they hadn’t been doing it to me.

At midday the colonel arrived. “Right, give her a jacket or something.”

“What for, I’m not cold?”

“Here you are Alex, sweetie,” one of the women working with me held a blue fleece jacket for me to slip my hands into, and then gave me a handbag to match the black court shoes I had on.

“Follow me, Montgomery,” the colonel turned on his heel and walked out of the building.

“I can’t go out like this,” I protested in my silly high-pitched voice.

“Get in the car, God, I hate whining women. Shut up, Montgomery and do as you’re told.”

I didn’t have much option, so I got in his large Vauxhall car and pulled the seat belt over my tender tits. Sitting down wasn’t exactly a bundle of laughs either–it hurt and also was as prickly as if I was trying to mount a hedgehog.

“Right, I’m taking you to the officer’s mess for lunch. I expect you to act like a lady, not some scrubber off the streets. If you don’t, then if you think life is uncomfortable now, just wait–I have the power to make life very difficult.”

“You don’t think going to sleep as a man an' waking up like this isn’t?”

“We all have sacrifices to make, Montgomery, if all you lose is your balls–then I’d say the mission was a success.”

“Would you be so positive if it were your balls on the line, sir?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve risked more than that, loads of times.”

I sat and pouted, pretending to look out of the window.

The drive was a short one and before we got out of the car, I asked him, “Why have we got to come here, sir?”

“I want you to start socialising as a female.”

“Is it wise to come here, sir? I mean, even if I try my best, I’ve never done this before, and you might get embarrassed–accidentally, I mean I wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

He looked at me and thought over my comment. “Okay, Montgomery, there’s a pub a mile or two down the road, we’ll go there. If you are thinking of starting something or legging it, I shall make life not just difficult–it’ll become impossible, especially in the glasshouse with all those randy squaddies.”

I shivered despite the sunshine. “You’ll have nothing to worry about, sir, I’ll do my best to act like a woman.”

“Alright, Montgomery, the pub it is then.” He started up his car and we drove on to the pub, which was a little country one. The New Inn or something equally bland, but if this was a new inn, the other ones must be very old, because this one looked about two hundred years if it was a day.

We alighted from the car and he waited for me to walk round to him, “Off we go, Montgomery, ladies first.” He pulled open the door and waved me through.

“Hello,” said a cheery young barmaid.

I smiled back and the colonel offered a verbal greeting back to her. “What would you like to drink?”

“Could I just have a fruit juice, sir?”

“A pint of Old Peculiar for me and a fruit juice for the lady.”

“Which juice would you like?” asked the smiling woman.

“Um–orange, please.” I squeaked and blushed–goodness, multitasking already, must be the implants.

We took our drinks and sat at a table in the corner, it was just as well the glass wasn’t filled to the top because my hands were shaking as I picked it up and carried it to the table.
The colonel drank some of his pint and then excused himself to go to the loo. The barmaid came over to me. “Is everything alright, you seem very nervous?”

Oh poo, what do I do here? “Yes, I’m fine thanks, he’s my boss and I don’t know him that well.” My squeaky voice began to sound more little girl than Minnie Mouse.

“As long as you’re okay, that’s fine–will you be eating?”

“I think so.”

She went back to the bar and came back with two menus, “Depending on how hungry you are, the stilton and broccoli soup is pretty good, and the bread is fresh baked.”

“Thanks, I might try some.”

The colonel came back and saw me chatting with the barmaid, who went back to serve a customer. “What was all that about?” he asked gruffly.

“She asked if we were eating and recommended the soup.”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Yes please, I think I would.”

He rose and went to order the food. “It’s on its way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I suspect it might be better if you called me, Mr Stone, or Harry.”

“Yes, sir, Mr Stone.” Poo, no wonder he acted like a nutter, he was a total psycho–at least by reputation he was. Even the tabloids call him The Flint, which means we of course call him Fred Flintstone, yabba dabba bloody doo. He’s from the Paras and they’re all barking mad–hard as nails and about as bright. Nah, I’ll stick with the techies–at least we have a few brain cells functioning–I reckon it must be all that hitting the ground from forty thousand feet or whatever they do for kicks–apart from killing people that is. Thank God were not at Aldershot.

I caught him staring at me, “Is everything alright, s–um Mr Stone?”

“Um–what? Yes fine–if you pull this job off, it’ll save hundreds if not thousands of lives.”

“I’ll do my best, Colonel.”

“Good m–um–girl. You know, you have a potential to make quite a reasonable looking female, Montgomery.”

“Mr Stone, my name is Alex or Ms Montgomery.”

“Yes, alright, you’ve made your point.”

“So have you, Colonel.”

“One soup, one ploughman’s,” said the barmaid delivering the food and eating irons. She was spot on, the soup was really tasty and just as well I didn’t have too much because even though I was wearing a girdle thing under my skirt–you have to support the tissue that’s been lipo-ed or it goes all wrinkly–the waistband of my skirt was getting tight.

We ate in comparative silence. Then I asked the question. “What exactly is this job I have to do.”

“I’d have thought you’d been in the army long enough to know that you don’t ask stupid questions, Mizzz Montgomery.”

“Seeing as I’m taking all the risks, I’d have thought I had a right to know.”

“It’s just as well we’re in a public place, Montgomery, because I’d have happily slapped that pretty face into the middle of next week for impudence. You have no idea how many are at risk just to get you close to the target. Now shut your stupid painted mouth unless you can say something sensible.”

I felt myself get very hot and tears filled my eyes–I hadn’t cried since I was in the year ten at school when some bastard called Bevan kicked me rather hard in the balls–but I was close to bursting into tears; very close.

I picked up my bag and walked–no–I ran to the toilets–and straight into the gents. “Next door, love,” said some bloke who was zipping up his fly.

Shit–I can’t do anything right, can I? I backed out apologising and felt tears run down my face.

“Are you alright, love.”

I nodded, and slipped into the ladies and locked myself in a cubicle and the tears came. I howled to myself, but not loudly enough not to hear the door open. It did, and the footsteps, women’s footsteps, sounded on the ceramic floor. “Are you alright, Alex? It’s me Tanya the barmaid.” She tapped on the door of my cubicle. “Alex?”

I was trying to hold my breath and shudder silently, sitting on the toilet and shaking.

“Alex, I know you’re in there–are you alright?”

I sniffed and gave the game away. “I’m alright–just my time–you know.”

“D’you want some paracetamols, I’ve got some in my bag.”

“No, I’ll be okay, thanks for caring.”

“Well of course I do, we girls’ve gotta stick together.”

“Yeah, solidarity sister,” I said pulling up my panties and tights before flushing the loo.

“Your boss asked me to check on you, you’ve been in here about quarter of an hour you know.”

“Have I?” Serves the bastard right.

I emerged from the stall and went to wash my hands after wiping what was left of my prickly genitals–the stitches were pulling.

“Better sort out your makeup, I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

I nodded and felt like crying again–from the glance in the mirror I had rivulets of mascara down my cheeks and my lipstick was worn off after eating. In short, I was a total mess.
I wiped most of the mess off with toilet tissue and powdered over the cracks, then I added a bit of lipstick to my bottom lip and rubbed them together–it improved things a bit without me getting it all over my face.

A woman came in to use the loo and I smiled and left.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” asked an irate colonel as we walked back to the car, “I had a bloody good mind to leave you here. Get in,” he spat opening the car remotely.

Sat in the car and burst into tears again. He sighed loudly and as he drove off, he muttered to himself, “What the hell have we created?” That made me feel really wanted.

Over the next few days, apart from saline injections and anti-testosterone jabs, I realised that my emotions were possibly stirred up by the hormones–no wonder women are so unbalanced if they have these bloody things circulating round them all the time–I didn’t really do emo before–but have I made up for it since?

My hair was bleached to match some blonde wigs they gave me. I was drilled in speech, movement, deportment, gesture, makeup and personal care. My bra size had gone up from a thirty four A to a thirty four D–yeah, I didn’t wear a bra, I used a wheelbarrow until they can get the scaffolding delivered.

All the bloody surgeon said was, “Think how lucky you are, at least your tits are the same size, most women’s aren’t.” Then added, “You won’t be lying on your face for a while, will you?”

I wanted to say all sorts of nasty things to him, but that just made me enemies, so I held my tongue. I continued with the programme, developing a reasonably good appearance and manner as a female, even the colonel was pleased.

I also gleaned a little about the job–and I decided I wasn’t up for it–I had to kill someone–no way. I don’t care who they were, I’m a technician not an assassin, and the more girly I got, the less I wanted part of it. We’re Brits, we don’t go round popping people off–do we? Well this one doesn’t.

Because of my apparent progress, yeah, I was a real girly now, I was allowed to come and go as I pleased. I hadn’t spent anything for weeks, so I went into the town centre every day and drew out some money. I set up an account with a different bank under the name Alison Bright and they accepted my home address–I explained I was a technician with the MOD and would transfer my other account over in the next month or two. Meanwhile, I shoved in over two thousand pounds and kept a further five hundred on my person. I might be working with spooks but I could be sneaky too.

I’d made my mind up, despite how much it hurt my pride and transgressed everything I thought I believed in about serving my country–I was going to desert. All I had to do now was pick my time. It had to be as a woman, because that’s what my body was now, so was part of my mindset–although had I changed that much?

I lay in my bed churning things over in my mind–perhaps I hadn’t changed so much–or was I just too close to see. I wanted to see my parents but they’d be watching for me there–unless I was clever. I knew they’d support me if they heard my side of the story before the army told them a pack of lies.

My dad would be disgusted if he thought I was some sort of freak through my own choice and as for deserting, well that would just about send him loopy, which is exactly what they would tell him.

I’d have to chance it–let him know he now had a rather curvy bit of totty for a son, and let him know it wasn’t me who did this to me.

I felt so alone and very soon I’d be even, more lonely as I went on the run.

Soldier of Missfortune Part 3 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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I slept badly that night, tossing and turning with the agony of my decision to desert but I could see no alternative. Maybe, I should talk to the colonel and tell him that I can’t do this. I certainly couldn’t seduce a man anyway, no matter how voluptuous my body seemed to be getting, besides I didn’t have the requisite orifice–so that was that–it was all a waste of time.

I rolled over to my side and felt my breasts move and my nipples rubbed against the nightdress. I found myself touching them gently and it was quite pleasant, the sensation centring in the middle of my body behind my neutralised penis. I rolled back into a supine position and rubbed both nipples, imagining it was someone else doing it–at first I thought of some girl or other, then it became less important who it was or what they were–so long as it was someone. I felt my legs become tense and deep inside me something happened–just for a moment but it seemed to emanate outwards like a ripple of intensity–then it was gone. A short while later I had to go for a wee and discovered a little wet spot in my knickers and blushed.

My nipples felt slightly tender the next day and I rubbed some cream into them after I’d showered–I blushed again while I was doing it. I dressed and went to get some breakfast at the small dining room they had in the house.

I was taking my tray back to the dirty crocks area when a young man in civvies came up to me. “Are you Alexandra Montgomery?”

“Yes I am, who are you?”

“I’m Steve, mind if you wait while I grab a bite, I’m absolutely famished?”

“No, I’ll have another cuppa while I wait.”

We queued at the hatch and he ate a full cooked breakfast while I sipped my coffee.

“What d’you want with me?” I asked him as he finished wiping the plate with his bread.

“I’m here as an instructor.”

“Oh–to teach me what?”

“This is a bit public,” he said glancing around the place.

“Oh, okay.” Perhaps I was going to learn what this was exactly about in a short while.

We walked back towards the rooms where I’d been staying–I had a room with its own en suite and beyond it were the offices of this group and the other rooms they used for teaching me various things about impersonating the female and also where they’d checked my competency with various weapons systems on a computerised simulator. I assumed he was something to do with that.

“Alex, if I might call you that? You’re a rather attractive woman.”

“Eh?” I gasped, he was an alright guy, but I didn’t fancy him–at the same time I felt this itching in my nipples. What the hell was going on? Were the pills making me queer?

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“You blushed and shuddered a little back there.”

“Yes–I’m fine–someone walked on my grave–you know?”

“No–sounds a bit weird to me.”

“It’s an expression that’s all, something makes you shiver–an’ you don’t know what–that’s all.”

“Oh, well it’s quite warm in here, otherwise I’d have said perhaps a draught blew up your legs–that is rather a short skirt–mind you, it does wonders for your bum.”

I stopped–“I’m not sure where this is leading, but I think you’d better stop it right now.”

“Oh, sorry–I just find you a very sexy and attractive woman–can’t help me ‘ormones now can I?”

“Are you taking the piss?” I asked as we walked into an empty room. The next moment he pushed me against the wall and forced his mouth over mine and his tongue pushed into my mouth, and his hand rubbed my breast.

I was overwhelmed by total confusion–part of me was saying this is wrong I’m a man–another part was saying, that feels so good, especially when his second hand went to my other breast and his fingers played with my nipples. That sensation deep inside me happened again only stronger and longer lasting–bloody hell, I’d had an orgasm. I pulled my face away from him and repulsed him–“No–stop it,” said firmly and pushed him away.

“Sorry, got a bit carried away,” the bulge in his trousers tended to agree with him.

“Just what are you here to instruct me in?” I checked my makeup in my compact mirror, I had to wipe off my lipstick and reapply it–no big deal–except in how it had got smudged. I handed him a tissue.

“What’s that for?”

“You have lipstick on your face.”

“Well I can’t see it, you’d better wipe it off.” I did and he gripped my wrist, squeezed it and let it go. I cleaned him up, my mind buzzing with what had just happened and the fact that I needed to go to wee again. I settled him down and excused myself. There was another little wet spot in my panties–oh shit–was going queer?

He stood as I re-entered the room–nice manners–men don’t do that much today–what am I thinking? This place is messing with my head.

“I’ve come to teach you how to use this,” he opened a small case and took out a thing about the size of an average mobile phone.

“A mobile?”

“No, it looks like one, but that it quite deliberate–it’s a tracking and seeking system.”

“How very James Bond,” I said sarcastically.

“Extremely, the Q lab they show in the films exists, it isn’t anything like the silliness they show in the films, much more sedate and boring.”

“So you don’t have a John Cleese character running it?” I joked–mind you Steve was far more interesting than John Cleese–at least to look at–What was I saying?

“No, just boring run of the mill inventive geniuses.”

“Like you?” I smiled at him, aware that playing with my hair was probably making his underpants feel tight. I‘d had no real social contact since I’d been there–it was all official. If anyone touched me, it was for a reason–checking my health, doing my hair or showing me how to. This person found me attractive–I couldn’t think why–except for two good reasons which were pointing at him right now–and he was giving them a lecture on mobile phones–crazy or what?

“Um–me–nah, I’m just a backroom boy–but they had to send someone to show you how to use this, you’re familiar with the Gemini one and two systems.”

“Yes.”

“Point this thing towards them–so–and if there’s one there–this light’s up.”

“Ooh, that’s clever, what does it pick up on?” I touched his hand as I looked at the display–one you won’t see on a mobile.

“I–um–oh yeah, it’s programmed to detect the EMC–the Gemini have such a specific output.”

“EMC?” I acted such a clot so he could explain to me–dammit–I was doing the girly thing again.

“Are you sure you’re familiar with the systems–the Gemini ones, I mean?”

“Yes–I’m a technician for them and a few other things–like the Delta and Grapeshot systems.”

“You’re army, then?”

“Yeah–what else?”

“I’ll bet you look sexy in your uniform,” he almost purred–subtle he wasn’t.

“I beg your pardon?”

He blushed again, “Sorry, got a bit carried away there.” He cleared his throat. “I was told that you needed to detect Geminis not Delta or Grapeshot. But if you know their EMCs–electromagnetic cycles–you can adjust the detector accordingly, here.” He pressed a combination of buttons and the display changed.

“What sort of range does this have?” I tried to concentrate on the business in hand, only I wanted hands to touch my breasts again and I felt my own hand gently squeezing the pen I was holding–bloody hell–did someone put queer pills or Viagra in my coffee? I know they’re whacking hormones into me–is that what’s doing it?”

“Depending on environmentals–up to a hundred metres.”

“That’s pretty sensitive then?”

He was staring at my chest and I felt my nipples erecting–“Oh yeah, very sensitive.”

“And that little thing does all that? Shows that size isn’t important, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t get many complaints,” he said and blushed even more deeply.

The door opened and in walked the colonel–what did he want? “Ah, Mr Blomquist, I see you’re earlier than we expected–is that the Domino nine detector?”

“This is, Colonel Stone,” I added when Steve looked a bit perplexed.

“Oh yes, sorry, Colonel, I’m a bit brain boggled, drove down from Scotland overnight, we’re short staffed–cuts an’ all that.”

“I’ve ordered some coffee, perhaps you could run across and see where it is, Alex?”

“I thought, Mr Blomquist was here to see me, sir?”

“Coffee–there’s a good girl.” His breezy tone was belied by the angry expression he flashed at me–sexist old fart. Aware that Steve would be watching my derriere as I left I wiggled out of the room and went in search of the missing caffeine.

As I walked back I remembered that I was still on her majesty’s payroll, so I cut the insolence and poured the coffees when I got back with the tray.

“You pour a nice cup of coffee, Alex,” offered Steve while Colonel Stone cleared his throat in dissent. “Oh and my favourite biscuits,” he snaffled one of the fruit shortcakes–“How did you know?” as he said these, unsubtle pick up lines Stone nearly choked on his Kenyan mild roast.

I just felt my nipples perk–like some sex detector–or should that be distractor–because Steve had great trouble focusing on explaining the machine to the Colonel, especially when I touched his hand and took the machine to show I had been listening.

Steve went off to the loo, and Stone glared at me. “He doesn’t know anything about you except what he sees. However, seeing as seduction is part of your remit–only with your target–we’ll use his uncontrolled urges for your practice session. I want you to seduce him.”

“What?” I gasped although the idea wasn’t so far from my own mind and it was a minor distraction from my thoughts of desertion. It was beginning to feel like a Carry On film, and I got the Barbara Windsor role by the look of it–I suppose he was the Jim Dale character and Stone–he was just a pain in the arse.

“I think you heard what I said.”

“But how?”

“Seeing as you’ve been winding him up ever since I got here, I’ll let you work that out for yourself.”

“If you recall, sir, I’m kind of lacking an essential ingredient.”

“Tell him you’re on your period and improvise.”

“Tell him what?”

“You heard–that’s an order.”

Steve returned just as Stone gave me the equivalent of a cold shower. He sat down finished his coffee and ate another biscuit, then yawned. “Oh, pardon me.”

“Mr Blomquist, we’ve booked you into the local pub for tonight, I’m having a simulator brought over tonight and hidden on a training site, so Miss Montgomery can practice her stuff tomorrow, naturally, we’ll need you there in case she needs assistance.”

“I’ll have to clear it with my office but otherwise, that’s fine.”

“I’ve already instructed your office to approve it.”

“We’re very short staffed, Colonel.”

“If they hadn’t approved it, they’d be short of a head of department. Now let’s get some lunch–we’ll use the pub–then you can instruct Miss Montgomery on this machine until she can do it blindfold–and I mean blindfold. I trust you have a scarf or something that can be used, Alexandra?”

I nodded, “Yes sir.”

“Good, we’ll take both cars–make sure you lock that thing away securely in your boot, won’t you, Mr Blomquist?” As Stone said this I glanced at Steve’s groin then realised the instruction was about his little electronic toy.

“If you’re not going to eat those potatoes, can I have them?” I nodded and Steve speared them with his fork and took them to his plate. Stone looked on disapprovingly.

The truth was I had no appetite, what with my dilemma of doing a bunk or sticking things out. Then there was the problem with my parents. They’d been told I’d been posted at short notice–normally you have some leave before that happens.

I presume Stone must have considered my eating only two mouthfuls of food was precipitated by his instruction to seduce Steve. That was another factor. But it wasn’t Steve I was thinking about–it was how I insisted that I see my parents before I did this job, if I didn’t jump ship beforehand.

Steve went up to see his room and sign the register at the pub. I took the opportunity to speak with Stone. “Tomorrow, sir, I presume I can wear my usual fatigues–they're in my kitbag–it was in your car?”

“They’ll have a uniform for you, don’t worry, Montgomery.”

“Thank you, sir. Oh, sir, I have a question.”

“I have one for you too, Montgomery.”

“Sir, as this job is potentially risky, I’d like to see my parents before I do it.”

“That could be arranged–yes, we could organise that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, that’s fair enough. Now tell me, who is Alison Bright, and why are you transferring money into her account?”

I felt sick–is there nothing sacred anymore? I felt my head swimming and sipped some water. “I set it up as a tax dodge, sir.”

“I don’t see how, because any money there will be taxed at the usual rate anyway. Is that the real reason–I mean you weren’t thinking of leaving us, were you?”

“Good lord, sir, that would be desertion–that’s an offence, sir.”

“It’s treated with great severity, in your case I’d make sure of that, and we’d get you sent to a male prison–mind you, do well with young Blomquist, and you might have a whale of a time there.”

I shuddered.

Steve came back down and the colonel said he had to go to a meeting, could Steve run me back afterwards? His eyes grew wide and he nodded he would.

We had to either go back to the base or use his room, he could hardly rerun his machine in a corner of the local pub. He suggested we could use his room, which suddenly I dreaded.

Stone had seen through my plans–were they that obvious? Or is it something they do regularly to their operatives–that’s what he’d called me earlier to Steve. He’d said that I wasn’t as much of a bimbo as I appeared–perhaps he was wrong.

We had a tray of tea sent up and retired to his room, which was very nice for a pub–I remember one I stayed in a couple of years ago that was as rough as a cat’s tongue–mind you it was cheap, but the price was all it had going for it, and a nice line in bedbugs. We had to get the council in, in the end, to fumigate the whole house.

We played with his Domino machine until I was seeing spots before my eyes. We had to improvise about the blindfold–I wrapped a towel round my head and still managed it.

“You’re an amazing girl, Alex, you did that better blindfold than I could have sighted. Those fingers of yours must be so sensitive.”

I said subtlety wasn’t his modus operandi, and he could do with a few lessons in pick up lines, but now had a job to do–improvise the man said.

Steve touched me hand and the hairs on my arm stood up–they were only fine things–but my spine was also having little shivers running up and down it–what did that mean?

He drew me too him and I let him kiss me, several times. “Steve, I can’t have sex with you.”

“Why not, we’re both over the age of consent?”

“Two reasons–I’m on, secondly, I’m not on the pill and my regular boyfriend would kill me if he found out.”

“Look, I don’t mind it messy–”

“I do,” I said indignantly.

“Oh bugger,” he sighed.

That was an option I was not offering. “Maybe we could just have a cuddle and a kiss.”

“Okay, it’s better than nothing, but you have an amazing body, Alex,” he said grasping at straws.

Soldier of Missfortune 4 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

When he yawned, I had a brainwave. “It’s no good, I can’t do this without having a drink first.”

“D’you want me to order some more tea?” he asked looking disappointed.

“No, let’s have some red wine–that always gets me going–if you know what I mean,” I winked at him.

“Okay,” he sighed, and went down to the bar to get us one. Once he was back with the bottle and two glasses, I poured us each a glass and got him to drink it down quite quickly.

I made sure he had most of the bottle and at one point I began to assume he was one of those that alcohol wakes up–however, after some kissing and cuddling on the bed, he went off into quite a deep sleep. Deep enough for me to be able to open his trouser zip and after painting my hand with lipstick, rubbed it on his you know what.

I left him a note:

Dear Steve,
You are a veritable sperm fountain. I won’t need to eat any tea tonight.
See you tomorrow,
Sexy Lexi

He’d told me I was sexy Alex, which then became Lexi, which evolved or degenerated into Sexy Lexi; that was obviously before he passed out. I wasn’t sure if he’d know I hadn’t actually done anything except con him–hopefully, his ego would bypass his brain when he was bragging to his friends back in work or at home. Then after making sure I left nothing behind, I went downstairs and got them to call me a taxi.

I drew out some of the money from Alison’s account and stashed it safely–I was trying to keep my options open. I got back to the base and went to my room. I was so uncertain about all of this–and I desperately wanted to see my parents and explain I wasn’t going queer on them and that they soon have me back again, large as life and twice as ugly–well twice as ugly as I am now.

I showered to get rid of all the contamination I felt after being pawed and sucked and kissed. Okay, so I enjoyed someone playing with my tits, I wasn’t gay so I’d need to find a friendly lesbian for things to really work, but then she wouldn’t want me, would she? Bugger, what do trannies do for a bit of how’s yer father? I’d never thought of it until now–must be a bit sad if you’ve been taking hormones and nothing works any more. Having said that, when I played with myself in the shower–my boobs, that is, I nearly fell over–I had another of those slow burn orgasms which came from somewhere deep inside and well–everything went in slow motion for a second or two.

I found the uniform–a woman’s one and it fitted–essentially a shirt and trousers with boots, socks and jacket. I wore the boots for the rest of the evening–they reminded me of how things used to be–and felt rather heavy compared to my courts–they also rubbed the back of my heel–so I had to stick some tape on my leg for that.

I was nervous about seeing Steve the next day–in case he realised I’d lied to him–in lots of ways–but especially about his sexual prowess. If I stopped and thought about it, he was a total arsehole who deserved to catch something nasty, or get caught on the job by a rather large husband or boyfriend–he might feel less inclined to sow his wild oats after that. Still, although I know he was only trying to get into my knickers–he was the only one who’d said anything nice to me in weeks–so I did have a smidgeon of affection for him, well my tits did–they liked him rather a lot.

I managed to force down a breakfast–I was told it could be a long morning and to eat a proper breakfast. I couldn’t–the girdle thing I had to wear to support where they’d done the lipo–was okay as long as I didn’t eat too much. I forced down some scrambled eggs with a couple of rashers of bacon and a slice of toast. Some coffee completed my repast and I was back in my room half an hour later–sat on the loo–it went straight through me. If I’m like this with friendlies–well relatively so, how am I going to cope with hostiles?

When my bowels stopped doing the tango I reported to the briefing room, where we’d had the meeting the day before, Colonel Stone was already there with Steve.

“Sorry I’m late gentlemen, bit of tummy trouble.”

“Women’s problems, eh?” said Stone smirking.

“Um–yes sir, but I should be okay for the demo thing.”

“Okay, I’ll run through what you’ll be doing, while young Blonquist here waits in case you need assistance. Obviously in the field that won’t happen unless you’re working as a team–as far as I know, your next op Ms Montgomery is a solo.”

“So I understand, sir.” And he’s surprised that I want out, why couldn’t he have picked me for netball or something, at least I’d have had some support? The way I felt at present, the only support I got round here was from my bra.

We went off to the training range and I discovered that it was going to take place in a large building in which there were several rooms but no lights.

“Your orders, Private Montgomery, is get in there, use the Domino to find the system or systems neutralise it by reprogramming it to explode on take-off and get out as quickly as you can.”

“How long do I have, sir?”

“In real life–as long as it takes you to make a mistake or them to find you afterwards.” He smirked again, Steve looked aghast.

“Do I have a weapon, sir?”

“Unlikely unless you can steal one.”

Steve put his arm round me, “Good luck, Lexi,” he winked and shoved something warm and hard into my hand. I shoved it in my pocket before Stone could see it.

Stone told Steve to give me the Domino, and I took it and made my way nervously into the building. It was pitch dark and the first thing I did was walk smack into a wall–God, did that hurt my chest. I also dropped the Domino and it took me several moments to find it. It seemed to be working at any rate.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and I learned to put my hand out in front of me I began to find my way about. The Domino showed something up ahead, but I stopped and reprogrammed it–there were two systems to neutralise.

I had to go backwards to get to the second system–but as that one was displaying, that was the one I went after first. Apart from another obstacle, I fell over a chair I couldn’t see, I found the Delta system and sorted it.

I rubbed my bruised hip and discovered the thing Steve had given me–I pulled it out. It was a pen torch–and it worked. Being able to see what obstacles there were made it much easier and I found and fixed the second system very quickly.

It was only as I was coming back out that I saw the infra red cameras. Oh well, I’d get a bollocking but at this stage did I care? Did I hell?

I did think about fixing them but it wasn’t worth the effort and I was in enough trouble as it was.

Stone was not impressed, “Where did you get the torch from?”

“I always have one with me, sometimes need a light to see inside machines.”

“How come we didn’t see it when we scanned you–we picked up the coins in your pockets but no torch?”

“I tucked it in my boot, sir. Did you scan that far down?”

“I don’t think we did. Okay, mission accomplished and the Domino worked on two systems. I like the initiative, Montgomery–at least it proves you can think a little outside the box. Right let’s go back to the officer’s mess for lunch, if that’s okay with you, Ms Montgomery?”

“Will they let me in like this, sir?” I indicated the uniform.

“Yes, I’ve booked the table.”

After quite a nice meal, although I only ate the soup and roll, we said goodbye to Steve, who kissed me before he left. I went to give him back his torch but he told me to have it as a keepsake and present for the best blowjob he’d ever had. To say I blushed was an understatement–I’m surprised they didn’t have cameras for that as well.

Over the next week, they provided me with a best uniform–why I didn’t know; it was a skirt one with dark tights but I was able to wear my courts with it–I’d got quite used to walking in a two inch heel now and in fact had a pair of three inch courts in red.

Looking at myself wearing the dress uniform, I suddenly realised that it was the wrong one. It wasn’t a REME one. Just then Stone knocked and entered. “Good fit, eh, Montgomery?”

“Yes, sir, but it’s wrong–I’m in REME.”

“Not any more, you’ve been attached to the Royal Logistical Corps.”

“But that’s bomb disposal, sir?”

“Amongst other things, yes. We’ve also got you an acting corporal’s stripe, plus a pay rise–don’t put it in Alison Bright’s account unless you want to change your name officially.”

“No, sir, Alex Montgomery is fine for me.”

“Good. Right keep it tidy, you’re going to see your parents tomorrow.” With that he was gone.

By the time the shock had hit me, I was too late to ask any details. I went in search of the office and his secretary.

“You look smart, Alex,” she said smiling at me.

“Thanks, um–Colonel Stone said something about seeing my parents tomorrow?”

“Did he?” She shook her head and picked up his diary. “Oh yeah, car coming to pick you up about eight–so, early breakfast, girl.”

“I guess so, thanks.” I went back to my room and after hanging up my dress uniform, pulled on some sweat clothes and went over the gym for half an hour and almost wrecked myself on the machines. I didn’t have the muscle anymore and I felt like crying. How the hell was I going to explain myself to my parents?

Dad would be expecting the conquering hero and Mum, just her boy. Look at me, huge bloody knockers, tiny waist and fat arse, plus I’m blonde. Just as well I’ve got some waterproof mascara–‘cos it’s gona get some testing tomorrow.

I tossed and turned much of the night or that’s how it felt when my alarm went off. I crawled into the shower and washed myself and my hair–it was quite a bit longer and in need of touching up the roots. I dried it and pulled on the wig–I think I’ll ask them for extentions, they’ve got to be cooler than this bloody thing. I pinned it on and used some spirit gum to stick it down in the front. It looked very real, but was just rather warm.

I dressed in my best underwear–I’d bought some nice frillies from a boutique in the town, in a very light mushroom grey they called oyster. It was okay under the white shirt of the uniform. I’d sewn on my stripes the night before and felt quite pleased, even if they bring me back to the ground if I survived the mission they wanted me to do.

I went down to the canteen and ate some toast and that was difficult–the coffee, I needed to wake me up. “Ooh very posh,” said one of the women at the hatch of the canteen.

“Yeah, official duties.”

“You look really smart, Alex, not wearing any makeup then?”

“Oh shit, I forgot.” I dashed back to my room–it was ten to eight. I threw it on, eyeliner, mascara and lipstick, sprayed some perfume, pulled on my little gold bracelet and then my jacket. After picking up my regulation shoulder bag and checking I had my purse and lipstick in it, plus one of those small handbag size packs of tissue I was ready as I heard someone knocking on my door.

It was a young woman driver, “C’mon, Corp, don’t keep ’im waitin’.”

I followed her out to the front of the building and inside a large Ford, was sitting Colonel Stone. “In ya’get, Montgomery.”

“I thought I was doing this myself, sir?”

“Good lord, no, we’re a team, Montgomery, watch each other’s backs and so on.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about him being there, yet he was about the same age as my dad, so it might help, especially when he explains how much I’m sacrificing for the country.

My home was about an hour and a half’s drive from the base and it seemed to drag for the first hour, then it was going too quickly. The closer we got, the worse my stomach churned. I’d taken some anti-diarrhoea pills, but I wasn’t convinced they’d keep back the tide.

We stopped at the end of my road–the driver was really good, better at it than I am.

“Okay, here’s the plan–I go in and speak to them first–explain things, then I’ll come out and get you–okay, Montgomery?”

“Yes, sir.” Not that I had much choice. I felt like one of the Light Brigade in wossisame’s poem–oh yeah, Tennyson.

“So woss goin’ down then, Corp?” asked the driver.

“Can’t say, I’m sorry.”

“What–‘ush-‘ush, like?”

“Yeah, me an’ the colonel are goin’ to Afghanistan to sort it out, could be a bit dangerous as they don’t ‘ave tea bags–well not Earl Grey–so we’re gonna convert ‘em.”

“You’re gonna win the Afghan war with Earl Grey?”

“Well, nothin’ else ’as worked, ’as it–so gotta be worth a try. The colonel’s just explaining all this to my mum an’ dad, in case I get captured by white slavers or some local tribal leader wants t’ marry me.”

“I say one thing, Corp, you ain’t ’arf got a sense of ’umour.”

I jumped when the colonel tapped on the window. He led me into the house and I nearly fainted. Was it only five months since I lived here?

My father’s eyeballs nearly exploded when he saw me and my mother’s jaw gaped.

“Hello, Mum, Dad,” I said in my new higher pitched voice and my mother passed out.

Soldier of Missfortune 5 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

It took a while to get my mother sorted, she’d fainted fortunately falling onto the sofa before rolling gently on to the carpet, by which time despite the tight skirt on my dress uniform, I’d got across the floor and helped her back onto the couch.

I sent my dad out for water and he came back with a glass which he shakily handed to me . I placed it on the floor and talking to my mum and stroking her hand I brought her round, her eyes flickering before she opened them fully and peered at me. She sipped the water I helped hold for her.

“Sorry if I gave you a bit of a shock, Mum.”

“Is that really you, Alex?” she asked with a quavering voice.

“Yes, Mum, it’s me.”

“What have you done to yourself?” she asked and burst into tears.

I could understand why she was upset–it must have been a shock registering about 9 on the Richter scale–I did look a bit different–I mean my chest now gets to places about two seconds before the rest of me.

I tried to give her a hug, but my dad intervened. “I think you’d better go,” he said and I wanted to cry as well.

“Why? It’s me, Alex–I live here remember?”

“Not any more–and don’t come back here looking like that. I don’t know what you think you’re doing–in my day the army would have kicked you out–not pandered to your perversions. This bloody human rights business has gone stupid.”

“Dad–please...”

“Just go and leave us in peace.”

I started to protest but Colonel Stone grabbed my arm and said, “Come along, Alexandra, I think we’d better go.”

“But I wanted to expl...”

“Maybe another time, your mother doesn’t look up to it today.” With that I was almost dragged outside and back into the car.

“What did you tell them?” I demanded of Stone.

“Just that you were doing a job for us and that your appearance had changed somewhat.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Montgomery, I happen to be your commanding officer, I don’t set out to upset the families of my men–or women–it affects their morale–which affects their performance.”

I didn’t believe a word of it–the way they responded–especially my dad, it appeared to me that he told them this was all my idea–like I was some sort of gender bender that the army was humouring because of the Strasbourg Court. The look I gave him told him that.

He looked at his watch–“Okay, driver, I spotted a nice looking pub back a couple of miles–let’s go and get something to eat and perhaps a drink for little Lexi here.”

I sulked all the way to the pub. Sitting in a corner, I sipped the glass of wine having downed a brandy before it. The booze went straight to my head and I sat back on the seat–one of those corner unit things they have in pubs–and nodded to sleep. They let me snooze for about twenty minutes–then woke me to have something to eat.

I opted for a jacket potato and while Stone went to order it the woman driver said, “I didn’t realise you were a transsexual–you look pretty real to me.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’ta guessed otherwise.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not a tranny?”

“No.”

“Oh, well that’s alright then, innit?”

“That man is a moron,” I said just before he returned.

After we got back to the base I realised what he’d done and I could have killed him. He was making sure I didn’t leg it. By alienating my parents, it reduced the number of contacts I’d have if I did do a runner. Cunning he might have been–human–I had increasing doubts–the man was a machine.

I sat on my bed wondering how best to try and repair the damage to my relationship with my parents–I doubted that they’d talk with me even on the phone–and they didn’t do email, which was a shame, so it would have to be good ol’ snail mail.

I began writing what was probably the most difficult thing I’d ever written, even tougher than my A-level physics paper.

‘Dear Mum and Dad,

I don’t know what Colonel Stone told you but it probably wasn’t the truth. I’m not a transvestite or transsexual or any of those gender confused types, I’m still me, your son, Alex. I’m only looking like this temporarily because the army wants me to do a special job for them undercover and I have to pretend to be a woman. They’ve had to give me special training as well, which has been weird but interesting. I suspect I’ll think differently about women in the future.

I know it sounds far-fetched, but all the things they’ve done are supposed to be reversible–least that’s what they told me. I wanted to see you because this job is dangerous and I might not make it back in one piece. I’m sorry that things got misconstrued–I hope we can sort it all out when I get home again.

Your loving son,

Alexander.'

I went to bed and slept badly, seeing my mother collapse again and again and hearing my father order me out of my own home. That was so hurtful. I hoped my short but informative letter would resolve some of the issues.

The next day I put the letter in an envelope and dropped it in the post box at the base–which was a mistake-it was intercepted and what was sent instead was a note from Colonel Stone and a forgery of my letter using my handwriting as a guide to the forgery.

‘Dear Mr & Mrs Montgomery,

I’m sorry that meeting up with Lexi, as she likes to be called, was rather traumatic, but she insisted she wanted to see you to show you her new lifestyle.

In accordance with the army’s efforts to meet the government standards of equality and diversity, we now accommodate lesbian, homosexual and transgender personnel as much as we can, providing they are able to continue their existing jobs.

Lexi is a very good technician and we very much want to keep her in our employment, and of course are sympathetic to her transition to female, which she has apparently wanted for some years and this has been encouraged by her boyfriend Steve, who is also supportive of her.
I’m sure in the fullness of time, you’ll become accustomed to having a rather attractive daughter, but meanwhile if we can help with any issues arising, don’t hesitate to contact us.

Yours sincerely,

Col. Stone

The army is an equal opportunities employer, regardless of race, religion, gender or sex orientation.'

~~~~~

‘ Dear Mum & Dad,

I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk when I came to see you. What I wanted to say was that I’ve wished I was a girl as long as I can remember. I told this to my C.O. a few months ago and he sent me to see the M.O. and after some checking, they agreed I could start living and dressing as a woman without losing my job–good isn’t it.

So far I’ve had a few bits and bobs done to me, including breast implants and my vocal chords altered–that was really funny at first–I sounded like Minnie Mouse–it’s a bit better now, although I still sound a bit like a little girl rather than a woman.

I have to live for at least a year as a woman before I can have the operation to make me fully the woman I’ve always wanted to be. I hope you’ll understand and perhaps we can resolve our differences before too long.

Your loving daughter,

Lexi.'

~~~~~

Of course I didn’t see either letter but I did see the response from my father which cut me to the quick.

‘Dear Alexander,

Your mother and I have discussed this matter and have decided we want nothing more to do with you.

Please do not attempt to contact us again, our hearts are broken.

Yours,

Henry and Joyce Montgomery.'

After reading this I felt suicidal. I got totally blasted on cheap wine and wanted to kill myself after killing Stone. I won’t go into detail but he humiliated me by disarming me–I had a kitchen knife–quite easily, then he put me over his knee and spanked me. I vomited all over his carpet–served him right. I was then taken to the guardroom and locked up over night. I felt really ill the next day and they had to cancel my training–I stayed in bed with four hourly checks being made on me–presumably in case I fell off my high heels or onto a sharpened eyebrow pencil.

I spent a lonely night wondering what had been said to my parents that they’d ignore my side of things–I felt totally bereft–the two people I’d have thought would have stuck by me through thick and thin had abandoned me, because I apparently looked like something I’m not. It just wasn’t fair–I was being used and abused and no one loved me any more except that dickhead Blomquist. Despite his wanting to use me as much as the others, I’d have given anything to have felt his arms around me that night.

The next morning, I didn’t feel like getting up but they banged on my door and told me to make myself presentable, wear my uniform and get some breakfast. They didn’t state which uniform, so I opted for the day wear one–shirt, trousers and jacket–apart from the fact that they were all women’s, I should have been wearing those all the time anyway–not bloody high heels and cleavage showing tops.

I went for breakfast and was told I was wearing the wrong uniform–they’d meant my best kit. I wolfed down a cup of coffee and grabbing a bacon roll ran back to my room and quickly changed trying not to get grease from roll over the gabardine cloth.

I presented to the briefing room and realised I’d forgotten my makeup–dashed back to my room again, threw on some slap and scurried to the briefing room once more, quite a feat in a tight skirt.

There was no one there. Maybe I’d got the venue wrong–I went to the office. “Hiya Lexi–he’s waiting for you–and he’s not in a good mood–you’re late by the way, which might have something to do with it.”

I knocked on Stone’s office and was bid enter. I pushed open the door, and Stone was sitting there in uniform, of itself an unusual event, along with another officer, also in uniform. I saluted and stood at attention.

“At ease, Montgomery.” I stood easy, hoping my cap wouldn’t fall off, it felt precarious perched on my tied back hair–okay some of it was wig.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“Yes, an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I was waiting at the wrong room.” A part lie but I could live with that.

“What are we going to do with you, Lexi?” He shook his head.

“I don’t know, sir–send me back to my unit?” That was apparently the wrong answer.

“I don’t know if they’d cope with a transsexual colleague–do you?” The look on his face brooked no argument, so I agreed with him, although I wasn’t transsexual and he knew it.

The other bloke, a Major Reynolds, was startled by this revelation.

“But, Colonel, you said you had a woman who could find and reprogram Gemini, Delta and Grapeshot–not a bloke in a dress.” Despite my annoyance at being called transsexual–being described as a bloke in a dress annoyed me even more.

“Permission to speak, sir?” I said to Stone.

“Carry on, Lexi.”

“With due respect to Major Reynolds, I can do the job and I find his remarks insulting.”

“Corporal Montgomery, I don’t give a rat’s arse what you think of my remarks. I was sent here to see a woman perform the tasks we required–and I’ve been handed a bloke in a skirt.”

“Did you realise I wasn’t the real thing until the colonel told you?” I challenged, unconcerned that I was breaching protocols.

“No, that, I’ll give you.”

“I’m pretty sure that if the colonel hadn’t said anything, you’d never have discovered it.”

“Okay, so you fill the uniform pretty well, but the role requires a bit more depth than wearing a skirt and makeup.”

“I think I’m up to your challenge, sir.”

He paused and looked at me. “You can do the technical bits?”

I nodded.

He pondered for a moment. “Dinner tomorrow, at my house. Colonel, if you’d be so good as to bring your wife, and this creature. My wife and daughter will be there–both are very astute–if you can get past them as a woman–I’ll withdraw my criticism. Oh, wear something dressy but not uniform. If you get past this, we’ll arrange a demo of Domino.”

“Right, Lexi, I suggest you go and buy a posh frock and get your hair done or whatever it is that women do before a night out. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow night with my wife. Don’t be late then.”

“No, sir.” I saluted them both and left.

I was being challenged and I didn’t like Reynold’s remarks, they stung like barbed wire in my knickers. Damn it, I was going to charm them all, especially his wife and daughter.

I went back to the office. “That was short meeting, Lexi?”

“Yeah–which is the best hair salon, and can they do extensions?”

“Hair Today, is probably the best, I’ve got their card here somewhere.” She fumbled in her handbag, drew out her purse and handed me the card. “Want me to ring them?”

“Yes, I need an appointment tomorrow.”

“Whoa, tomorrow–extensions take hours and cost a fortune–it’s alright for a squillionaire like Cheryl Cole, but for us ordinary girls–it had better be something special.”

“Oh it is, I am going to piss off one total prick, something rotten.”

“Sounds good to me, not the old man, is it?”

“Not directly, a Major Reynolds?”

“Oh him–he’s a staff officer–watch it, he’d have you chained to the kitchen sink and having babies if he had his way.”

“Fine, at least I wouldn’t be in fear of my life then would I?”

“Oh c’mon girl, we’re all proud of having a woman technician being trained up for Special Ops.”

“But I’m not, am I?”

Sylvia, the woman to whom I was talking gave me a strange look and then looked at her colleague across the office. “Not what, Lexi?”

I paused–they knew what was going on–they’d seen me changing–hadn’t they? Or had they? It had happened so quickly after I got here. But she was Colonel Stone’s secretary. Surely she would know about my origins? I mean it’s so outlandish it would be all over the base in five minutes–wouldn’t it?

“I’m not Special Ops–I’m on secondment–and besides Reynolds seems intent on blocking my mission.”

“If you’ve been seconded–you're one of us, Lexi. Now about this ‘ere ‘air do...” she called and spoke to someone she obviously knew quite well. “Oh c’mon Shar, it’s doing me a favour as well–you will? You are soooo beautiful–right two, tomorrow–her name, yeah, it’s Lexi Montgomery–I’ll tell her. See ya.”

She put the phone down.

“I dunno what training that they had down for you tomorrow, all we get is training in the diary–it’s all too hush hush for us office wallahs–but I’ll cancel it. You need to be at the salon at two and be prepared for at least two or three hours.”

“You’re joking?”

“I’m not–it takes forever if they do it properly, and Sharon will do it properly–it’ll also cost you about two or three hundred.”

The time and the cost were beyond what I’d imagined–but then I didn’t have much idea of the price of things girly. I did now. I also had to find a nice dress and I at least had some ideas for that.

I took the afternoon off–it was only some computer course anyway–and I could do that again–the advantage of online courses. I caught the bus and wandered round the town centre trying to remember where I’d seen the dress shop, then I spotted it.

I casually entered the shop and began browsing their stock–I saw something in velvet, emerald green with red flecks–it probably sounds revolting–but I already had red shoes–yes, it was so outlandish, it would work assuming it fitted of course.

I tried it on and it fitted in all the right places and showed enough cleavage to be inviting but not overly so. Let’s face it, I had two outstanding features and the mood I was in, no one was safe from my charms. I splashed out the seventy quid for the dress and a shawl thing which matched the red to perfection. Now I had to get a bag and some beads, and some lipstick and nail polish to match. I was on a mission–never mind what they had in mind–I had my own target–Major Dickhead Reynolds.

Soldier of Missfortune 6 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

By the time I got back to my room, I’d spent too much money and was committed to spend even more, but at least I’d be rid of the wig–which got very warm–if you’ve never tried one, try wearing a woolly hat all day and see how warm your bonce becomes–my brains were in danger of becoming fully instead of half baked.

I thought about my little world which was shrinking all the time. I needed to do this mission, and get back to my old self. Okay I needed them to remove a few pounds of flesh on my chest and turn my vocal chords back to normal–I can actually sing like a choirboy again–mind you my career in cassocks and surplices ended after the verger told me I looked like a girl in a long dress and did I want to sit on his lap? No I did not–I still wouldn’t–the dirty old git was finally arrested for gross indecency with a less fortunate chorister.

I couldn’t get my head round how unpleasant my parents had been–they had no reason to be so horrible to me, I was doing this for Q&C not some perverse self amusement–so why weren’t they supportive? I felt like sending them a snotty letter telling them where they could get off–but then outside the army, I had nowhere to go now they’d effectively disowned me. I was kinda stuck.

For some reason this mission now mattered–I suppose because I didn’t have anything else to take my energy–it was going to be a challenge on all sorts of levels, but then so was tomorrow evening.

I changed my underwear–I can’t get used to calling it lingerie–and retried the dress. I was happy that it looked as good as it would on anyone else, and with my red heels–yeah–myred heels–stills feels strange–the concept, the shoes don’t they feel fine. They do make you stand differently so my ample bum stuck out more than usual as did my precipitous chest. Looking down I can’t see my feet any more when I’m standing up that is–just these creamy coloured mounds with an inviting gap between them. My nipples twitched as I fell in lust with my own body–waste of time of course–can only get as excited as a door-nail–and they’re proverbially dead. Will these chemicals and hormones do permanent damage there? If they do will the army compensate me? I wonder. I hope someone’s got a record of all they’ve done to me–because I haven’t a clue apart from the boobs, my throat and Alex junior–I hope he recovers–I wonder if they could make it bigger when they sort it out after this mission.

I pouted and posed in front of the mirror–Sexy Lexi–yeah, I quite like that eponym. Being called Lexi rather than Alexandra does make me feel as if it’s not really me, so like a role play thing–which is how this feels–except, standing here, flashing the flesh makes me want to have someone appreciating it and showing that appreciation in a physical way–goodness my boobs want to be touched and played with.

I played with my makeup to take my mind off things, but it didn’t, it made things worse because I was creating this sex-goddess look to annoy Major Reynolds and hopefully Colonel Stone as well–I hadn’t met his wife, but she’s probably as bad as him, cooks the dinner by numbers–make the gravy two three–check the spuds two three.

The lipstick and the red beads looked good together and picked up the fleck in the material of the dress and the shawl. I resisted doing my nails until later tomorrow, in case they got damaged in between–nothing worse than chipped nails.

I sat an looked at myself in my dressing table mirror–I looked quite pretty with a voluptuous mouth and sparkling eyes–I couldn’t see any sign of Alex there anymore–I looked harder, the nose was the same small and freckled but it seemed to have been appropriated by Lexi as did my mouth and eyes. I’d not noticed my cheekbones were so noticeable especially with the right sort of shading, and my small jaw line. Alex had gone–would I be able to get him back. I felt tears form in my eyes and a little later I was crying my heart out–mourning for someone I’d lost and who I might never see again–what had I let them do to me? No wonder my parents felt estranged–I was now this exotic being exuding female sexuality–but unable to deliver–God, was I screwed up.

I had a drink of wine, cleaned myself up, pulled on my nightdress and went to bed slightly the worse for wear–again–I’d have to watch it, or I’d slip further down the slippery slope, and booze is fattening and I didn’t want t lose my reasonable waistline. Shit what was I thinking? This past couple of months has really screwed with my head.

I had uncomfortable dreams–I was actually in someone’s arms, who turned out to be male–and woke up feeling sick. What happened to all the fantasies I had about being with Cheryl Cole or Megan Fox? Had something changed in my brain because of what was being done to me or was it there all along, just waiting for the right time for the switch to be thrown?

How can they expect me to act under stress when I’m already under so much stress simply by the way I’m having to exist. I went to the loo and sat down without even thinking about it; would I still do that when I’m finished with this job? Presumably not–goodness I hoped not. Then panic seized me for a moment–what happens if they can’t undo my little weapon from its hiding place?

Surely they wouldn’t do something to me they couldn’t undo, would they? Then I thought about the way the British government had treated servicemen in the past, using them as experiments with nuclear explosions at Christmas Island, and nerve gas tests at Porton Down. That was in the fifties and sixties, surely things have changed since then–haven’t they?

Or have they? The feeling of sickness had passed so I crept back to my bed and lay there. Suddenly all my doubts had resurfaced. I keep having to prove myself–not as capable of the technical aspects of my job–although Reynolds wants me to prove I can use the equipment–but that I’m woman enough to get there in the first place.

Why couldn’t they just train up a female operative? I’d have thought that would have been easier than training me to be female. I mean, it’s not as if men and women’s brains are different–the old chestnut that women can’t read maps and men can’t read faces–is total nonsense. Isn’t it?

’Course it is–I can’t read maps–okay I can do plans, like blueprints and circuit diagrams–but good ol’ Ordnance Survey, 1:50,000–I get lost working out which way up the map goes. Alright, I’m joking, the writing tells you which way is up but that’s about all I can do–I get confused about which is right and left when I’m actually walking the territory.

I got lost on a training exercise. We had to orientate in groups of three to find a target and return to where we started. To make it interesting, it was at night. I was designated map-reader–yeah, me the one with least skills. We got hopelessly lost and blundered into our target by accident from the wrong direction.

The defenders were all looking the wrong way, so we captured them and by a bit of guile, made them lead us back to where we should have been. So we were able to pretend we used an alternative strategy to achieve our objective–we all knew I’d cocked up, but I was forgiven because it turned out well in the end.

So how come I can read a diagram, which is a sort of map after all? I don’t know, maybe because I understand it, yet I can’t relate blobs on a map to bits of ground. My spatial awareness is useless too–can’t park a car to save my life–but that might be because I don’t drive very often–and I doubt doing it in heels is going to be any easier–plus it marks all the shoes. Why am I worrying about that for–I won’t be wearing them long enough for it to matter–and when it the job is over–they’ll all be going to Oxfam anyway.

I felt disconsolate with life. How had I got into this position–because I’m small, pretty and know a thing or two about weapon systems. Maybe I should leave the army and become a female impersonator–nah, they deride women and having spent a while living as one, I couldn’t do that to my ‘sisters’.

Hark at me–Alex the feminist, I’ll be demanding the right to fight on the front line next–not. I don’t want to do that as a bloke let alone a woman, and I think anyone who does must be bonkers. Life is for living, so unless the enemy come up my street I don’t see myself engaging with them at gun point or otherwise.

So how do I explain this mission? Duh–a momentary aberration, forgot I’m a conscientious coward, got tricked into it–yeah, that’s more like it. I yawned and fell asleep to have more troubling dreams.

In one of my dreams I was being pursued by both Stone and Reynolds–I wasn’t sure what they wanted, but neither was I hanging around to find out. That one ended as my alarm went off. I was quite pleased in some ways–although I awoke all sweaty and tangled up in my bedclothes.
The morning I spent showering and making sure there were no hairs anywhere there shouldn’t be, I did my armpits and checked my legs–there weren’t many there anyway. I polished the red shoes–well, wiped them over with a cloth–they were quite shiny anyway.

I had a small breakfast, I wasn’t very hungry, and the girdle thing is now loose on the previous markings, and I seem to have lost at least an inch from my waist. I did the online course–it was a doddle–least I hope it was, or I’ve got everything I thought was fact wrong. Mind you I got off to a bad start. I tried to log in on my name–Alexander Montgomery with my number. It wouldn’t log on. I tried half a dozen times, then thought–they haven’t have they?–tried with Alexandra–and they had. I wasn’t sure what to think about that. I tried to speak with Stone but he wasn’t in his office and Sylvia didn’t think he’d be in tonight.

At lunchtime, I went into town and found in a charity shop a wide leather belt in shiny red–pretty good match to my shoes–I then went to the hair salon. I’ve never been in one before–actually that’s not quite true–when I was about four my mother took me with her and they all thought I was her little girl. It amused her so she played along. I was so embarrassed I never went there again until now–I feel embarrassed already. I told myself to just relax and act like I came here every week.

Actually, it was quite nice, being pampered: the extensions cost and arm and a leg plus VAT, which is equivalent to most of your fingers. They coloured them to match my hair–which is strawberry blonde–if you remember they did it the first day I was up and about after the bits of medical changes they made.

I discussed what the most appropriate style would be with Sharon, who was really nice and put me at my ease very quickly. The sad thing is they only last a few weeks because the hair they’re attached to grows.

In two hours, I went from bewigged to extended, and it looked so much better. She did a shortish style because she suggested my own hair would grow into it in about a month. That also reduced the cost of the extensions.

They persuaded me to have my nails done and to my amazement transformed them into talons in less than half an hour–bright red talons. Quite how I was supposed to use my fingers, I wasn’t sure, but they made my fingers look very long and thin and unmilitary, but then so did my eyelashes, which were also extended. Looking in the mirror, I think my eyeballs and teeth were the only bits of me not altered.

I got back to my room and after a little wash, did my makeup–the object being to appear as natural as possible, at the same time sexy. I used a pale blusher to highlight my cheekbones, make my nose look smaller and thinner, and soften my jaw.

I already looked feminine, now I looked super fem, and with a touch of mascara and very fine eyeliner, the major attention focused on my red lips, my eyes framed by the extra thick lashes and delicate makeup.

I drank a glass of wine as I finished my transformative session, pulled the girdle tighter and then donned my new lingerie, finally pulling on the ten denier tights, which had me worried about ladders given my long nails.

Then the dress and belt, the shoes, beads my watch and gold bracelet–the only one I had. I spritzed myself with perfume in all the recommended places. Why wrists and knees–blood vessels come close to the surface there and cause it to evaporate so giving you a nice pong as you walk about.

I was dressed to kill by seven o’clock and waiting outside a little later, trying to avoid being picked up by passing soldiers. The colonel and his wife appeared a short time later and he seemed suitably impressed. His wife was a very beautiful lady who had a personality to match, so quite what she saw in him–I’ll never know.

She and I sat together in the back of his car and by the time we got to the Reynolds’ place, we were like old friends. She complimented me on my hair, so I took to her very quickly.

Thankfully she was wearing a grey silk trouser suit, so we didn’t clash on colours.
The Reynolds’ place was a detached house, probably four bedrooms, with a large sitting room and a separate dining room, a study for the self-important, pompous, malevolent Major and a sewing room for his wife. His elder daughter Clare showed us round while Mrs Reynolds, Philippa, completed the meal.

Clare was a delightful girl, and very beautiful–then at nineteen most are, the second daughter, Joy, was seventeen and going through a rebellious stage. She refused to wear a skirt or dress and turned up in jeans which her father was angry about–but she wasn’t going to change and he could hardly threaten to dock her allowance in front of guests–though I’ll bet he made her life a misery after we left.

The food was certainly better than our canteen at work. Homemade pate to start with thin cut toast, a main course of poached sea bream with new potatoes and French beans and tiny sliced mushrooms baked in butter. Pudding, crá¨me caramel and coffee and port afterwards.

Oh did I mention, the other officer–I don’t think I did. He was a Captain Pearce, Todd Pearce and he kept giving me the eye all through the meal, which amused Joy no end. We did a traditional split of the women going off with coffee and wine while the boys drank brandy and smoked cigars.

We decamped to the sitting room and of course there were loads of questions. I’d been given a brief to use to explain my background. I told them I was a technician and operated computers. Once this was out in the open, Joy and Clare grabbed me and asked me to come and see if I could sort their computer.

I don’t know if I felt relieved or terrified to be under the scrutiny of two teenage girls–however, I sorted their problem–a software clash between the driver for the video card and...you don’t want to hear about that, do you?

So I impressed two young women, one of whom I could quite happily fallen in love with–Clare, she was really very beautiful–ash blonde, quite tall like her dad, but with cheekbones to die for and the most amazing dark blue eyes. I’ve never seen any as dark as that before and they lit up when she smiled.

The two elder matriarchs spent half the time telling the rest of us how stupid their respective husbands were, which pleased me greatly, although I was on stickier ground when they asked if I had a current boyfriend–I told them not at present.

“Oh great, Todd seemed to take quite a shine to you, I’ll let him know he’s in with a shout, if you like,” offered Joy. I declined suggesting officers and NCOs mixing could cause problems on the base.

The two older women looked aghast–“That only applies to women officers and male NCOs–and half of them are shagging their corporals,” she said showing the wine beginning to take effect on the Colonel’s wife.

Soldier of Missfortune 7 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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The conversation amongst the women degenerated as the wine flowed. In fear of making mistakes, I made one glass last me all evening, so was the only one sober by the end.

The stories the two older women were telling about their husbands were hair curling if not toe curling too. Stories about their sexual inadequacies or affairs the husbands and their wives had had–I found it embarrassing, to say the least. I mean, I’ve heard a few bar room discussions with men where I found the content difficult to take–partly because of the language. I know we all use the F-word from time to time, but some of the squaddies and NCOs use it all the time as their main adjective, verb, and so on. The women were less crude in their language but just as much so in content.

I was half expecting a discussion based on hair styles or fashion trends, or even the sewing–which Philippa Reynolds obviously enjoyed. The once or twice I tried to raise subjects about such impersonal things, they quickly brought it back to sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll.

“What’s the matter, Lexi, are we embarrassing you?” asked Helen Stone.

“Perhaps she’s still a virgin?” joked Philippa Reynolds.

“You’re not are you?” asked Clare.

“She is,” chuckled Joy–and she was right. I was still a virgin and with my dick sewn into my abdomen, likely to remain that way for a while longer.

They all laughed then, and I went as red as my nails. “I’ll speak to Todd, he’ll sort you,” joked Clare–I hoped she was joking–I also hoped the Colonel hadn’t drunk as much as his wife or I’d have to get a cab home.

I looked at the clock, it was eleven, by now I’d be heading back to my room with my mates from the mess or the pub if we had permits–curfew was midnight. Or I could be on guard duty, wandering round with a gun and no ammo–though whenever there was a raised terrorist alert, we got five rounds which we had to hand back afterwards.

Great, they turn up with AK47s and rifle propelled grenades and we shout bang once our five rounds were used up. I remember Spike Milligan writing about his wartime experiences and his gun crew having no ammunition to practice with, so they’d do the drill and shout bang when they pretended to fire. I must read it again, his war memoirs.

“Ho, dreaming of Todd, are we?” said a rather drunken colonel’s wife.”

“Sorry, ma’am, no–can I help?”

“If you can hold the room still while I just meander across it–oops,” I took her arm and led her out of the room. Colonel Stone heard us and walked out.

“Helen–not pissed again–every time?” he shook his head.

“She’sh not pished, she’sh shtil shtandin’,” Pippa Reynolds offered a rather inebriated opinion.

“Helen, you were supposed to be driving us back–remember?” The colonel said briskly to his wife.

“Ha haha,” she said, “I forgot, silllllleeee meeee, oopsh.”

“I could drive, sir,” I volunteered, more to get home than anything else.

“I don’t think so, Lexi, I’ll have to do it.”

I was going to argue but his stare changed my mind. Oh well, if we all get killed that should cause a few interesting questions to be raised both locally and in Parliament about employing transsexuals–even though I’m not one–I’m undercover–that’s all–deep cover–so bloody deep I can’t see the sun anymore.

“Come on, in the car you stupid cow,” the colonel urged his wife who was giggling and falling all over the place. So that’s what being married to an army officer does to you–remind me not to make that mistake–bloody men.

Just after we’d got her into his car I realised she’d left her wrap behind and I dashed back into the house only to see the tail lights of his car disappearing into the night.

“Oh that’s just bloody wonderful,” I said out loud.

“What is, Lexi?” asked a male voice behind me.

I turned and Major Reynolds was standing there. “The colonel has gone off without me, I came back to get his wife’s wrap, sir.”

“Oh bad show–I can’t take you–had a drink or two, dunno about Todd.” He wandered back into the house.

“If you could call me a cab, sir.” I called after him.

“That’ll cost you a fortune, Lexi, I didn’t think corporals made that much–do they?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll take her,” said Todd Pearce, “I can go back that way–no problemo.”

“That’s very kind, Captain Pearce, but I could easily get a cab.”

“I’m all kindness, especially with sexy young women, Lexi,” he winked at me.

“I’m sure you are, sir, but you’ve been drinking, sir.”

“Not very much–I have to be up early to watch some prat doing something–you know the army–one workman and three officers to watch, make sure they’re doing it properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, Sexy Lexi, in ya get.” He peeped the remote for his car–a Volvo something or other, it looked new and shiny.

I had no escape short of turning tail and running off–and in these shoes–unlike films I was not going to run across fields, woodland and swamps without losing a stiletto–so I got in the car.

“It’s alright, Lexi, I’m not going to eat you–unless you ask me really nicely.”

I swallowed.

He started his car and we drove down the lane to the main road. “We didn’t have much chance to talk did we?”

“No, sir.”

“Dammit, woman, we’re not on duty now–it’s just Todd–okay?”

“Yes, sir, Todd.”

“No, just Todd–you’re a very attractive woman–d’ya know that, Lexi?”

“Ummm–am I, sir–I mean, Todd, sir?”

“Oh yes, and those tits of yours are just calling out to be touched and sucked, aren’t they?” His hand stroked my breast and I paused in my efforts to leave the car at fifty miles an hour. It was nice but what would come with it wouldn’t be.

“Oh, that is so good, Jesus the size of your nipples, girl...”

“Sir, watch out...” I tried to grab the wheel but it was too late, we mounted the kerb and smashed through a hedge before I felt an impact and everything went black.

I had a vague dreamlike feeling of voices and hands easing me onto something flat. I woke up in hospital with tubes in every orifice plus some. “Well young lady, and it is young lady now.”

“What d’you mean?” I croaked.

“You’ve been asleep for a week, we had to do some repairs to your bladder and discovered that your very convincing mock pudenda was just that. We checked with your MO and he said you were transsexual on the list for surgery–so we helped you jump the queue a bit.”

“I’m sorry, sir–I don’t understand.”

“We’ve given you the op–we have a urologist who used to work at Charing Cross.”

“What op, sir?”

“A sex change,” he said quietly shaking his head.

“But I...”I felt my eyes fill with tears and I sobbed.

“Yes, I know you thought you’d have to wait a bit longer–well we thought you’d be pleased.”

I think it was at this point that I passed out or something because I woke up again on my own and had to wait for a nurse to come and help me get a drink.

“There we are, Lexi, sip it gently.”

“What have they done to me, exactly?”

“They did your vaginoplasty and clitoroplasty, so you’ll be able to have reasonable sex–they took a bit of your ileum to do that.

“You had so little for reconstructive surgery that they had to take a bit from your gut, so you’ll have a self-lubricating channel as a vagina.”

“Great,” I said.

“Your bladder got torn when part of a tree stuck into your groin–I’m afraid, that if you’d been a normal man, it would have probably severed everything anyway.”

“Great.”

“It could have been worse, Lexi–just think, you’d have been a bloke without a dick and now you’re a fully formed female–like you wanted to be.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your army medical officer, your commanding officer and your parents–I get the impression they were a bit snotty, but they were your next of kin, and they gave us authority to carry on because they knew it’s what you would have said had you been conscious. You really hit the jackpot, because one of the best surgeons in the country is our consultant urologist.”

“Why is my chest sore?”

“Ah, yes, they had to rebuild it somewhat–the impact damaged your implants, and we managed to get enough fat from your gut to rebuild them with fatty implants–it’s the latest thing–so no bags of saline, it’s all you and you have a waist like a sylph.”

“Great.”

“Initially your boobs will be a bit smaller, but you might well grow a bit with the hormones which will be more effective now you’re not producing much testosterone. I think you’ll have a brilliant body.”

“Great.”

“I suppose it’s just the shock of achieving all this so quickly that’s making you seem unimpressed, is it?”

“Something like that, I suppose.”

“Your parents were notified that you’d regained consciousness but they declined to come and see you.”

That was hardly a surprise–well, whether they like it or not–they now have a daughter. Whether I like it or not–I happen to be that daughter. Oh fuck.

“Your commanding officer is coming in this afternoon, he’s delighted that you’re on the mend.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet he is.”

“Look on the bright side–your colleague who was driving–he’s in a bad way, broke his back–he won’t be walking out of here unless some sort of miracle occurs.”

“Is he still here?”

“On orthopaedics, yeah.”

“Could someone take me to see him?”

“I suppose it could be arranged, we’ll have to check if he’s well enough for you to go.”

“Of course.”

“I’m afraid that because of the nature of the plumbing job we had to do to repair the bladder, you won’t be on solids for a few more days.”

“I don’t think I feel very hungry anyway.”

“No, maybe not–d’you want to sit up?”

I nodded and she pressed some remote control device and the bed began to hum, the back rest lifting me into a sitting position. I sat there listening to the radio in my locker–once again in a private room–this time on women’s surgical.

After a wash–bed-bath variety–and my hair combed, I felt a bit better. I was now wearing one of my own nightdresses so that felt better than a hospital gown. I was still on drips and things and still in a state of shock. My dreams of going back to my normal masculine self were now all to hell. I didn’t hold the doctors to blame–they just did their best for me–or what they were told was the best for me. I’d have quite a bone to pick with Stone when he arrived. One good thing, his stupid idea of this target thing was finished, so it’s all been in vain–ain’t life just wunnerful? Stupid army.

I was black and blue in various places, some of it from the accident, some from the surgery. I felt really beautiful in my white elastic stockings and the missing bits between them. Yeah–I know–they’re still hanging on a tree somewhere.

The nurse returned and told me they could take me down to see Captain Pearce. Somehow, I managed to wriggle into a wheelchair, one that could take my catheter bag and my drip, and with a blanket wrapped over my legs a porter pushed me to the lift and thence to orthopaedics.

Todd Pearce was also in a private room–on an air mattress, with drips and so on. He looked a real mess, his face was all bruised and so was his upper body–he lay naked under the bed linen as far as I could tell.

“Sir, excuse me not saluting.” I said as I was wheeled alongside him.

“Lexi–sorry doll, dunno what happened, but I could walk before I came in here–an’ I never got to shag you–bugger–I won’t now–can’t feel it let alone use it.”

“Tell you what, sir, if ever you do find it works again give me a shout and I’ll see what I can do.” Offering sex to a paraplegic was hardly an act of charity, but compared to him, I had some sort of future–quite what–had yet to be determined.

“Yeah, thanks Lexi, it might be a while–I’ve got a lot to catch up with first–but I’ll keep you in mind.”

“You do that, Captain.”

“I expect they’ll kick me out now–can’t do much bomb disposal from a wheel chair can I?”

“Oh I don’t know, sir...”

“You know the old joke, if your bomb disposal chap is running away, it’s a real emergency. Can’t fuckin’ run fast in a bloody wheel chair, can you?”

“You can get electric ones, sir.”

“Yeah, sure–look beautiful, it’s good to see you’re going to be okay–you actually look really good–even without makeup–you’re quite a looker–do us a favour and piss off–too many memories,” he pointed at his middle, “if you get my drift.”

“Sure, okay.” I reached out the hand without a drip in it and he took it and kissed it and began to cry. I felt rotten and wheeled myself back out to the corridor–where they sent for the porter to take me back to my ward.

Lunch was clear soup, jelly and cup of Bovril–no solid waste–my bowel and bladder are still recovering. Great.

I was dozing when Colonel Stone came in carrying a huge bunch of flowers. “Lexi, you’re looking good.”

“I don’t feel it.”

“No? Well, once they get you back on solids eh? Couple of bacon sarnies–make a...”

“A man of me? Take more than that won’t it? You’ve seen to that.”

“Oh c’mon, Lexi, you were hardly much of a specimen of masculinity, were you?”

“Compared to a dick like you, probably not, but not everyone wants to be a total arsehole like you–some of us like who we are–or were. I wasn’t much of a man, but I was one.” With my girl’s voice it probably sounded absurd, but I at last told him what I thought of him.

“I can understand your anger, Lexi.”

“How dare you say that? How can you possibly conceive how I feel? You’ve still got your genitals, even if your wife says you’re useless in bed.”

“She said what?”

“She told us all how useless you are in bed–after she’d had a few glasses of wine–it’s about all I can remember. I suppose my dress is ruined?”

“You talk about dresses and in the same breath tell me you’re a man? Ha.”

“That dress cost me eighty quid, that’s a lot of money to me.”

“We’ll arrange some sort of compensation package.”

“I should hope so, as far as I’m concerned I was on duty when it happened. Anyway, you can add it to my redundancy package.”

“What redundancy package?”

“Well, you can hardly employ me now, can you? Despite the supposed policies, we all know the army is full of sexist bigots like you, and won’t employ sexual minorities like me–or like I am now.”

“It does and will–that equal opportunities statement is real–and I’ll make sure it’s enforced–but, um–you’re not in a minority group.”

“Come off it, sir, gender benders are hardly hanging off every tree are they–unlike my balls.”

“Officially you’re female–we got a few documents changed to ease the way.”

“Yeah, until we get to DSS and so on.”

“No–everything–birth certificate onwards.”

“So how can I sue for compensation from the accident if you’ve got me down as not having the missing bits in the first place?”

“You won’t–the insurance pay-out will be adequate, for your torn bladder and so on. Don’t worry about that–we’ve got a good chap negotiating for a quick settlement.”

I was astonished.

“But how can I go back to my unit–like this?”

“You won’t, you’ll stay with us, we still need a technician.”

“Oh–so who’s doing the job I was meant to do?”

“You are–we’ve put it back a few weeks–and you’ll be even better able to convince him, won’t you?”

I sat there speechless–no wonder they wanted the surgery done.

“Enjoy the rest, I’m off to see Todd Pearce.” He was gone before I could formulate how I felt about everything.

I sat there weeping quietly–as soon as I was out of here I was going to resign and get a job in civvy street, even if it was on the tills in Tesco. Fuck the army–fuck everyone–this guy–okay, girl is looking out for herself from now on.

I was so lost in my reverie, plotting how I’d enjoy dropping Stone in it that I didn’t notice the figure standing by the door of my room.

“Alexander, may I come in?”

I looked up and nearly died. “Muuum,” I squeaked and she smiled at me.

Soldier of Missfortune 8 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

---

“You look better than I expected,” Mum said as she came in to sit by my bed.

“It’s good to see you–I didn’t expect you–so this is a lovely surprise.”

“I wasn’t sure about coming after I had such a shock the last time we met.”

“Oh that–yeah–I don’t know how much Colonel Stone prepared you for that.”

“He said we’d have a shock–he wasn’t kidding, was he? Your dad’s blood pressure has been up ever since.”

“It didn’t exactly do much for mine.”
“No–but at least you’re getting what you wanted out of it. I don’t know where we went wrong.”

“Hang about–getting what I wanted out of it? I told you in my letter that this was all the army’s fault.”

“You did not, you said how you’d always wanted to be a girl and you hoped we’d understand. Your dad was happy to have a son who wasn’t too butch, but he didn’t think you were gay or anything.”

“I’m not gay.”

“No, you’re in denial aren’t you?”

“No I’m not.”

“You must be if you want a vagina and men to have sex with you–it’s too much for me–and your dad is a broken man–to think we produced you.”

“If that’s what you think why did you come?”

“To try and talk you out of doing anything irrevocable.”

“You’re too late–they’ve done it.”

“You’re a woman?”

“Apparently–wanna look?”

“Don’t be disgusting. So you went ahead with it despite our pleading you not to. I’m sorry Alexander, but I have nothing more to say to you. I had a son–I don’t need a daughter.”

I was so upset I couldn’t seem to answer her, that she was believing the black propaganda–none of which was true–the fact that I left my balls in a tree isn’t even being mentioned–that I was unconscious when they did it–hasn’t been raised–no one is listening to me. Don’t I count in all this somewhere?”

I got so upset, I refused to eat and pulled the drip out twice–they zapped me with a tranquiliser injection and I slept for about twenty hours and woke feeling like I’d been out on the piss all night.

“Hello, sleepyhead.”

I half recognised the voice, I peered and saw Clare, one of Reynolds’ daughters, the elder one.

“Hello,” I said trying to use the energy of her smile to boost my own low levels.

“We heard about the accident–Todd had been drinking hadn’t he?”

“I can’t remember anything about it.”

“And you got a torn bladder?”

“So they say. I can hardly argue can I?”

“I s’pose not. Daddy feels quite upset by it all, inviting you to the dinner party and then nearly getting you killed by friendly fire.”

“That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“Cheer up–at least you didn’t damage your pretty face or those amazing boobs.”

“That seems a strange thing for a girl to say.”

“Does it?” she blushed scarlet.

“Yes, I’d have thought it was the sort of thing that a boy would say.”

“Or a gay woman.”

“I hadn’t got that far, but yes I could imagine one saying it–not that I know any I can ask to verify it.”

“You do now.”

“No, Clare, I said I didn’t know an–oh.” Now it was my turn to blush.

“I tried boys but they didn’t do anything for me–like going out with kids–but girls–we’re so much more mature and well–you know?”

I didn’t actually but was frightened to say I didn’t in case she thought I was a twit.

“But then you’re a virgin, aren’t you?” She continued to make me blush.

“Not any more–they went through there to fix my bladder apparently.”

She blushed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it quite like that–you’re a very pretty girl, Lexi.”

“I didn’t think so,” I said and began to feel my eyes filling with moisture.

“Oh, Lexi, don’t cry–you’re beautiful, really you are.” She gave me a little hug–as much as the drip would allow–and my whole body went all fuzzy. She looked at me and said, “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

I sniffed and nodded, “How d’ya know?”

“Because your nipples are standing out about half a mile.”

“I’m sorry,” I blushed redder than ever.

“It’s okay–do I detect a kindred spirit?”

“You mean–am I–um–l?”

“Lesbian–perhaps a lipstick variety.”

“I dunno–how would I know–I mean I’ve never thought of it before.”

“Oh–most of us just know–so maybe you aren’t.”

“I think I might enjoy finding out,” I blushed even redder and felt like I was about to catch fire.

“Excuse me?” she said and gave me a strange look.

I didn’t know where to look, I felt about six inches tall and wanted to fall into a hole and have it cover me up quickly–yet she was the most exciting person I’d ever seen–if I hadn’t decorated a hedgerow with it–my little thingy would have been standing proud like mini tent pole.

“I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, Clare.”

She gave me another funny look, “What’s that supposed to mean–you fancy me or something?”

I’m sure I could smell burning I was so hot with embarrassment. I blushed and nodded.

“Oh,” she said and looking at her watch said, “I’ve gotta go–see ya.” She rushed off as if she was late for an appointment–perhaps she was. I sat back and wept–I’d probably made a complete fool of myself–I’d lost the opportunity to tell my mother the truth because she was so wrapped up in her own prejudices–and now I’d driven off the most beautiful girl I’d ever met. I was a failure full stop–I pulled out the drip again and the alarm went off–I got another jab and oblivion.

“Miss Montgomery, if you keep removing the drip, how can you expect to recover? Your accident caused you to lose a great deal of blood, we’re still trying to replace that–it’s expensive, and has been donated by decent folk who deserve better than you emptying it all over the floor of this room. Do I make myself clear?”

Mr Sedgewick, the urologist, was reading me the riot act.

“Look, young lady, if you intend to kill yourself I wish you’d told me before I spent nearly ten hours rebuilding your body–I could have more happily spent the time seeing someone who appreciated my efforts, played golf, or even spent time with my wife and family.”

I looked up at him and felt the tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry,” I almost whispered it was so feeble.

“Look, dear girl, I don’t know what’s your problem but they asked me to perform miracles on your rather damaged body. I assumed that because your tiny little willie was stitched up inside your abdomen, that you didn’t have much use for it. The fact is that when I saw it, it had been torn out of its hiding place and was hanging on by a tiny flap of skin–your gonads having since departed this place–courtesy of the piece of tree which pierced your bladder and virtually amputated your penis. I managed to save a tiny bit as a clitoris, and some of the skin–hence the need to use some of your ileum. However, you’ll eventually have a very useable vagina–so do cheer up. You make a very attractive young woman–enjoy yourself–break a few hearts–get laid–life’s too short an’ all that–okay?”

I sniffed and nodded. Whatever happened in future, I was never going to re-grow the bits that were missing so maybe I did need to think of how best to survive with what I now had–or take a running jump off a short pier.

I was apparently the lucky one–Todd had lost more than his manhood–he’d lost his legs–I’d just lost a few inches of flesh and two little spherical things and gained a large hole between my legs–well it didn’t feel that large–it was all dressed in bandages with drains and things coming out and it felt a bit tender, that’s all. Actually it felt rather strange–because part of me felt like I had an erection but of what?

If I decide I want to live–and so far the only reason for doing so is to try and get some justice–I was transformed into whatever I am now against my will–or would have been if they’d actually told me what they were doing. That doesn’t include the surgeon–he did the best he could to sort out what must have been quite a mess. Given how he saw me, and how ill advised he was by others, he did the best he could–quite how I feel about it–I don’t know–I mean about it my new plumbing arrangement–the bit that goes in which should stick out–that bit.

I had no idea how long I’d been in hospital–at least a week–I think they said I’d been out for a week–so how long ago was that?

“Well, Lexi, are you going to wash yourself today?” asked the nurse.

“Exactly how long have I been here?”

“About twelve days, why?”

“Just wondered.”

“If you’d stop pulling the drip out you’d get home sooner.”

“I don’t have a home–my parent’s disowned me.”

“What for?”

“They don’t like having a daughter.”

“That’s plain stupid–you’re a very pretty girl–they should be proud of you instead of sticking their heads up their arses. Bah–people–give me cats any day.”

She left the bowl of warm water and my flannel and towel with it. I waited until she pulled the curtain across before lifting up my nightdress and pulling it off over my head–I couldn’t take it off completely because of my drip. I washed myself as best I could and dried myself. I looked at the bandage hiding the new part of me and blushed. I don’t think I’d ever seen a real pussy, except in photos and in films, and now I had one. It felt really strange–I don’t mean–it literally felt strange–well it did, wrapped up like a Christmas present–I meant–I felt strange about having it. I was so naive and so inexperienced.

I washed under and around my breasts–they so badly wanted someone to touch them–they seemed even more sensitive since my accident. Could I make it as a girl, I hardly did as a boy? I really didn’t know. Did I want to be a lesbian or did I want the hands caressing my breasts to be those of a man? I didn’t know that either. I suppose I was passive–could I be a passive lesbian? I had no idea–and besides, I’d scared off the only person who made me want to love them.

With help, I got my hair washed and that felt better–it looked real and I looked forward to when I could get my hair restyled into something softer and more feminine–hang on–oh forget it–I’m a girl now whether I like it or not–so let’s make the best of it.

They’d taken the drip out–my blood count was up to normal–hoo–bloody–ray. They’d even hinted that the packing would come out tomorrow–down below–you know. I was hoping I’d be allowed up sometime soon as well.

I was reading a book–a chick lit thing, aimed at teenagers I suspect–the plot was ludicrous, about some girl who was in love with–oh forget it. I put it down in exasperation. Once I get out of here, life really gets challenging, and I don’t just mean looking for loos with toilet paper in–boys have it so easy, wee and shake–but I mean, how do I get away from the army? They’re not going to let me go because they’d invested a lot of money in me and presumably have been setting up this hit, I have to do for some time. How do I tell them I’m not going to do it?

I was deep in thought when a familiar voice said, “Oh, you’ve done your hair differently?”

I looked up and there was Clare, “Hi,” I said smiling.

“I brought you some flowers and some chocolate–every girl needs chocolate.”

“Hmm, thanks, this one does at any rate.” She chuckled and I did too. Maybe there was a God after all.

Soldier of Missfortune 9 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Clare had left me with much to think about, some of it positive and some negative. Stone still seemed to think I’d do his little job for him, though why absolutely baffled me. The problem was I couldn’t prove anything against him. I didn’t know what the job was other than reprogramming a bomb somewhere. I didn’t even know what sort of bomb it was—but nuke seemed most likely, in which case I could be killed doing it. That would resolve all his problems the few cinders left of my body wouldn’t even have any DNA left in them and were I wearing dog tags, they’d likely have melted. It wouldn’t be that I’d cease to exist but that I’d almost never have existed. That shocked me.

We all know we’re going to die but there will be records of our lives somewhere, even if it’s only in the tax records in some dusty archive. Would there be anything of Alexander Montgomery left anywhere beyond my school records? I wondered if there was much on Alexandra Montgomery, corporal technician, REME and lately, the Logistics Corps. How would they describe me if I did disappear—AWOL, missing in action? Or would they all cough politely and shred my file. They wouldn’t even have to write to my parents—what a disappointment they were. I had thought of writing to them and getting Clare to post it but were they watching her as well?

No wonder I’d tried to kill myself, my life looked as if it would be short and anything but sweet. How long does a bladder take to heal? I’d been here nearly two weeks so if I were going to do something, that time would need to be soon. I wondered if my room was bugged—quite possibly. I was growing fond of her so didn’t want to endanger her plus of course, the unthinkable—what if she was one of them as well?

I was almost convinced that I was going to do a runner and perhaps expose the unit which could act with so little respect for the law. The only con to that was they probably had ways of rebutting everything I’d be able to say or slap a D notice on it which would claim it was restricted information under the Official Secrets Act, of which I was a signatory.

Just as they did with the character assassination job for my parents, they’d probably do the same for anyone I tried to contact to expose them, claiming I was a mad trannie who’d agreed to everything to get the operation. If I challenged it records would have been lost or rewritten to show I was mistaken or lying. I was up a gum tree without a paddle or even a bloody canoe.

A physio arrived to help me become mobile, she was military as well, so no point in trying to get a message out via her. I also had the impression they had bugged the room I was in.

I hadn’t walked for weeks and I started with a zimmer frame. It felt good to be on my feet again but the way she was trying to teach me to walk seemed very awkward, placing one foot directly in front of the other, but we did an hour of it each day for a week then two hours in heels. By the end of the second week, I couldn’t remember any other way to walk. I was sure I didn’t used to walk like that when we did square bashing as a recruit. But my feet and legs seemed programmed to do this catwalk type mince, waggling my bum and keeping my elbows in to my body.

By the end of the second week I was walking in four inch heels, strutting my stuff like a model. The physio filmed it on a camcorder and I presume went off to show Stone. The doctors pronounced me healed and I was set to be discharged the next day, except Stone arrived the night before and whisked me away to a hotel where he then raped me to check his investment in the surgery. I was left crying and traumatised. If I’d had a weapon I’d have killed him. Sadly I didn’t, so the next morning I was taken back to my quarters.

The surgery and loss of my male bits meant my body had changed so quite a bit of new clothing was required, some of which I was expected to pay for. My body was even more voluptuous and when out of my room was never short of male attention but after Stone’s violation of me, I felt decidedly lesbian.

When I was chided for not flirting more with the men, I told him that even though I seemed to always be dressed to kill in tight clothing, I didn’t fancy men at all. They sent in a psychologist then to make me heterosexual as they saw it, or just enough to seduce the bloke I was supposed to kill and disarm his bomb.

The psychologist was a man called Dr Damien Green and he did at least listen to my complaints, the way I’d been tricked into doing this and the accident, my parents being lied to and finally the rape by Stone. He seemed nice enough and we’d talk a while, he’d ask me questions and I’d look around and he was gone. I’d obviously fallen asleep, though I didn’t find him tedious or boring.

Clare came to see me and we chatted about clothes and things then she kissed me on the lips and I jumped back a little. She looked surprised. “I thought you liked me, Lexi?”

“I do, but as a friend, Clare. I’m definitely into men rather than girls, sorry if that disappoints you.”

“But a couple of weeks ago you told me you hated men.”

“I think you must have misheard me, Clare.”

“They’ve played with your head, haven’t they?”

“No they sent the most darling chap to sort it out, Dr Damien Green, now him I could really go the whole twelve rounds with.”

“He came to dinner once, funny little guy with glasses.”

“I think he’s delicious.”

“Jeez Lexi, he’s played with your brain, he’s a balding little git with thick glasses and a monobrow. How can you find him attractive, I’d rather be celibate than sleep with him. What have they done to my darling Lexi?”

“Nothing, I feel better and sexier than ever. You’re just jealous.”

“I’m wasting my time, Lexi. I thought we had some thing, they’ve obviously screwed that up and you. Sorry girl, but you’ve been reprogrammed. I hope you survive what they’re doing to you, bye girl.” She pecked me on the cheek and left. In the back of my head something was trying desperately to recall something about her, Clare, but it wouldn’t come. Obviously must have been to avoid her if she was gay. Besides all those men and so little time.

For the next two weeks I was tested with the Domino, and managed to remember how to use it to find the Gemini, Delta and Grapeshot systems, even in the dark, mincing about in four inch heels and a tight skirt. Least that’s what I did in the day time, in the evening, I seduced half the men in the offices and the girls who’d always been so friendly seemed much less so. I decided they were all jealous of me and my sex appeal. Each time I did it I had an orgasm so I didn’t care what they thought and none of the men complained.

I was shown maps as they had them of the target site. It was presumed the weapons systems were in one of three places on the site, but no one could be certain as attempts to gain access had caused the deaths of two agents so far confirmed and another who was missing. I was being sent there as a secretary so I was being coached in my typing and word processor speeds.

Two days later I found myself at the airport being shown to the departure lounge. I had a large suitcase full of tight skirts and dresses, swim suits and high heeled shoes—how did I think I couldn’t walk in them? I never wear anything else. My new boss was a Mr Goldberg and his offices were in New York but that wasn’t the target site. He had an island off the coast of Greece. It made sense as a strategic site, he could hit Europe, Russia, Turkey and if they thought the attack came from the others, Russia thinking it was Nato or Turkey thinking it was Russia, World War 3 could happen, the way tensions have been growing, it looked entirely possible.

The US looked to be safe, but what if he had a bomb planted in his offices or apartment? He’d kill thousands and if it was all linked to each other, almost impossible to prevent some catastrophic loss of life. And the United Kingdom government were expecting me, Jane Bond under the guise of a giggly, nympho, secretary-typist to stop it all. They were having a laugh, they had to be.

I knew lots about Goldberg—that wasn’t his original name—a Russian Jew living in New York. He was a billionaire many times over and he got his money from Russian gas and oil and he played the markets—the money markets, big time. It was suggested he caused the crash in Iceland and Cyprus because loads of his ex-colleagues put money into them and he wanted some revenge. He apparently felt his easy earnings had been taken away from him when he crossed swords with their corrupt president and he was lucky to escape with his life. He since had bodyguards with him at pretty well all times and a female assassin had been caught and executed—she was either a GRU or SVR operative. When I saw that in the file I rushed to the toilet and was sick.

Goldberg was a disaffected nasty piece of work with no loyalties anywhere except to himself. He rarely appeared in public any more to avoid risk of assassination spending time either in New York, London or his Greek island. It was reported he’d had antisubmarine defences implanted all round his island and anyone washing up on the beach was likely to be tortured and killed. An armed speedboat also patrolled keeping out anyone he didn’t wish to see, including refugees from Syria and Libya who it was reported, had been machine-gunned by his patrol boat.

US intelligence had suspected he was planning on detonating bombs in Europe, the US and Russia all at the same time. Quite what that would achieve, I had no idea except possibly World War 3 or a total collapse of the industrialised world. It was also suspected North Korea may be involved, so they’d be clapping their hands with glee at the prospect of a major war involving their perceived enemies.

It wasn’t known if Goldberg planned to involve China in his personal war but simple logic suggested if Europe and America were riven by major conflict, China’s two major customers would cease buying and their economy would also suffer.

It struck me as crazy that screwing up the world would serve any purpose and kill or injure loads of people, but I’m not a megalomaniac just someone who was being sent to screw him to death and then screw with his systems. On my day off, I’d...

It also struck me as an omen that the ticket to New York was a single—like they weren’t counting on me returning. No one knew I was on a mission, not even our closest allies in Nato. As he pecked me on the cheek before I was driven to Heathrow, Stone said, “You’re on your own, Lexi, for your own sake, don’t screw it up and don’t call for the cavalry, they won’t be coming. This isn’t James Bond and real people really get killed. If you make it back, you can have anything you want.”

“Colonel, the last time they were seen it was hanging from a tree. So that can’t happen, but seeing you indicted could. Bye, Sir.” He scowled then laughed at me forgetting I’d also been trained in killing people and he was still number two on my list.

I know, I've kept quiet about being turned into an assassin. It happened once I got back to my quarters, and like my attraction to men, it seemed suddenly that killing wasn't anything I should be too squeamish about, least not people, there were too many already, so popping off one or two would be a good thing in ecological terms.

As I sat on the plane looking down on the ocean beneath me - I had a window seat - I wondered about this, the killing bit. I knew I'd been squeamish before because I had a tiny scar on my wrist where I got it cut wrestling with the armaments instructor during basic. He'd told us to see the targets as the enemy coming to kill us and I freaked out, it took two of them to get the gun out of my hands injuring me in the process. So something in me had changed because that incident was a clear memory. Then I thought back to Clare and my response to her kissing me and it felt wrong. My head was trying to override my feelings and I felt a tear escape and trickle down my face. I reckoned I'd been hypnotised or something like that, programmed at any rate to be a nympho and to kill.

I also wondered how I could escape dying yet complete my mission. If I disarmed the bomb, which may not be nuclear anyway, I might survive especially if it was a powerful detonator, that could do a couple of things at once, two birds with one stone came to mind and I felt a little more hopeful. Except I had to get a message to Clare saying I still liked her - very much.