Another dirt road, another poxy collection of mud brick single story houses. All six of them. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

No scruffy little shits watching from the doorways. No bleating of animals.

Andy slowed his pace, studying the dirt road ahead and the ground to the side for freshly turned Earth. There was nothing obvious, but that didn’t mean the danger was not there.

No goats either. An Ambush then.

He activated his radio. “No people. No animals.” He half listened to the reply as he reached over his weapon sight, pulled the cocking handle to the rear and let it go. The five point five six round was collected from the magazine and chambered. He slowly approached the buildings pushing in the safety button with his thumb, as he extended his forefinger along the trigger mechanism housing right above the trigger.

The hot dusty air was split by the anguished scream of a child. A girl of about ten years of age, stumbled from the nearest hut. Her chādor was tight, hiding something bulky under it. She was also holding something in her hand. A thin wire led from it into her clothing. She was screaming in fear as she ran towards him.

His forefinger slipped from the rifle’s frame onto the trigger. A gentle squeeze and the rifle kicked into his shoulder.

Once, twice, three times.

The girl dropped like a puppet with sheared strings. Andy was also falling. Into cover behind a low wall. The blast shook the wall. His whole body shook.

Andy opened his eyes as the transport plane shook in the turbulence, the memory fading with awareness.

He twisted his neck, left then right, feeling things pop. Lights shone down below. They were coming in to land. He slipped a finger under his right ear defender and scratched behind his ear.

There was a hum, barely audible above the drone of the engines, and the rear cargo doors started to split open. The top half rising, the bottom half - which was also the ramp - lowering. One of the transport’s crew stood at the exit to the abyss. Two cables ran from him to the fuselage. One was his safety tether, the other was his radio cable from his crew helmet.

There was another hum, again muffled by the ear defenders, though he felt it more through the simple bench seat than he heard it. The landing gear deploying.

They touched down and headed to a quiet taxi way, well away from the civilian aircraft. The cargo plane came to stop and several hearses slowly pulled into view, following a civilian airport escort vehicle, its orange lights strobing deep into the darkness.

Andy unstrapped his Bergen as the coffins were released from their ratchet strapped confines. Silently, they all waited for friends to be slid into their black chariots by those tasked with the detail.

The hearses departed, replaced by buses. The civilian bus drivers climbed down out of coaches and opened up the storage bays under the seats. They filed off the plane, depositing their Bergan’s, webbing and other equipment in the storage bays. Their weapons, they kept on their person.

The wind coming across the open expanse of the airfield was cold. Andy knew it was a warm summers morning. No doubt, fifteen or so degrees already and it was barely three am. When you had spent the last three months in thirty degree temperatures, fifteen was fucking cold.

He climbed aboard the bus, took a seat, placing his rifle upright between his knees.

The civilian escort took them to a side gate, keeping the uncouth rabble well away from the oblivious holiday makers returning and departing in the Terminal. Two police motorcycles, their blue strobes clashing with the orange of their escort, had stopped traffic and the hearses turned left as their coaches turned right.

Airport security closed the service gate and the two police motorcycles sped ahead, stopping the one car at the roundabout.

This early in the morning, traffic was light, but their police escort still stopped other traffic at traffic lights. The inside of the coach turning a strobing blue, every time the two leapfrogging bikes shot past them.

They arrived at camp an hour later, their police escort peeling away to other duties. To the surprise of absolutely no one, the armoury door was still shut and locked, the building itself in darkness. They wasted half an hour, whilst the duty armourer was roused from bed.

Weapons were racked and they headed to their barrack lines.

An officer valiantly tried to give them all a rousing speech, but no-one really gave a fuck. They just wanted home. He finished with the obligatory warning to avoid drugs – There would be compulsory drug testing on return from leave he warned – picking fights with civvies, and behaviour that might put both the army and the unit in a bad light.

Cars were pulling up outside the barracks lines, spouses of those who lived on ‘The Patch’. The military housing outside the wire, where the married personnel lived. Children screamed and cried, tired as they were from being roused from sleep at such a god awful hour.

Andy made his way to the room he shared with three others. The shower was already in use. If you’re not fast, your last. As he waited for his turn, he looked out his usual civvy clothes, unpacked his Bergan and stored his webbing. He would sort it out when he was back off post deployment leave.

There was a small bag of unwashed green kit that he added to his civvy bag. He would wash it when he was at his parents.

The camp was waking up as he left. A queue of traffic at the main gate that slowly filtered through the chicane. Some being waved through, known by the duty personnel. The unfamiliar having their ID’s and car passes checked.

The one car in front of Andy revved it’s engine, wheels spinning on the tarmac as it drove past the gate guard, leaving black tire marks behind. Andy knew the driver, whose attitude matched the way he drove. Cunt. How amusing it would be if the RSM was in one of the cars awaiting entrance.

Oh please make it so...

Unfortunately, he had caught the start of the morning rush hour, so was later than he had planned getting to the Premier Inn. He had used the computer in welfare at the departure airbase, to book ahead and get a better deal. He parked up, grabbed his bag and entered the reception area.

The receptionist did a double take. A speculative expression on her face. At five eleven, he was by no means tall. With a lack of any leisure activities, TV, Internet or a ‘social life’ for the last three months and baring mid tour leave, not forgetting the three months before that. Coupled with eighteen to twenty hour days, for almost three months straight, had left him with a conflicting appearance.

His skin, that not covered by body armour, helmet, ear defence, was darkly bronzed. His ears, hidden by the ear defence that doubled as speakers for inter troop coms were strikingly pale. His arms, with his torso bare, looked like they had been transplanted from someone of a completely different skin tone, so sharp and defined was the change in colour.

Exhaustion was an excellent sleep aid, especially when some disapproving local decided to mortar your base on a regular basis when you were on downtime. You gained that exhaustion, either from the long, arduous foot patrols, or working out with the improvised weights. Made from various sized wheel rims filled with concrete, or the simple bags of sand. It was amazing how quickly you become exhausted, simply by doing shuttle sprints across the helicopter pad carrying a body bag filled with sand.

He had gained a lot of muscle, but lost almost all of his fat reserves. Not intentionally. Long hours, intermittent and missed meals. Something had to give. His body may be the most toned it had ever been in his life, but his weathered face was sunken, gaunt. His civilian tops, which had been loose pre deployment, were uncomfortably tight, his jeans loose around the legs and tight at the waist, were now tight on the legs, loose around his waist. So much so, that he’d had to punch another hole in his belt with the gas plug reaming bit of his rifle combi tool.

“Hi! How can I help you this morning?” asked the receptionist. Steph by her name tag

“Morning Steph. I have a room booked for to next few days.”

“What’s the name?”

Andy told her.

He slapped the somewhat well abused and scuffed plastic card against the door handle mechanism and it clicked in response. As the door shut behind him on its automatic closer, Andy dropped his bags and closed his eyes. It was quiet. Oh so fucking quiet. There was some faint traffic noise from the morning traffic outside, but it was negligible.

The windows did a good job with noise reduction. He’d forgotten what silence was. It was a strange sensation. As was standing without helmet, weapon, kit and body armour. He slowly opened his eyes, took a deep clear breath. No dust. No aviation and armoured vehicle fumes. No cordite smell.

His body clock was shot to hell. Dropping onto the bed, he gloried in its fresh smell and comfort. It was so fucking comfortable. He closed his eyes.

He surfaced confused at the silence. Consciousness reasserted itself. He hadn’t intended on falling asleep but his body obviously had other ideas. He looked around for his phone. Didn’t see it. He blindly patted the top of the bed, his hand finding it more by accident than design. He pressed the button on the side to activate the screen and show the clock.

“Fuck.”

It was late afternoon. He hadn’t planned on sleeping for almost eight hours. No plan survived contact with the enemy, as they said.

Steph was still on duty downstairs.

“Hi.” she said with a wide smile

“Hello again.” He could see the interest in her eyes, toyed with the possibility of seeing how interested she really was.

He hadn’t been totally celibate for the last three months. There had been a Royal Logistic Corp driver that he had shagged next to her truck in a Forward Operating Base a few weeks ago. It had been made a little more interesting by the mortar attack half way through. He had been too far gone to stop, pull out and seek cover. He hadn’t given her much choice on the matter either, trapped as she had between her trailer and his lustful desire. He hadn’t been a complete cunt about it. After he had pulled out, spent, he had given her a hand in chaining down the IED damaged Jackal on her trailer.

He would see how things panned out over the coming few days. She was nice enough to look at.

Outside, the pavements were busy with a mix of people, all ages and sex. It was strange seeing so many people. People who didn’t wear black or DPM.

The house that used to be home, was only a few streets away. A short walk. His destination just a few doors further along. It didn’t really warrant taking the car. Besides with that traffic, it would probably take longer than it would just to walk.

His parents had sold up and moved to the lake district a few months before he had enlisted.

Currently they were holidaying in the south of France. He could have gone ‘home’ but he would have been on his own in what was technically a strange house, in a strange area, for a few days till they arrived back. So Instead, he had decided to spend those few days near the home of his youth, catching up with his schoolmates and child hood friends.

The ones who hadn’t moved away or were incarcerated that is.

Possibly catch up with a few old girlfriends. If they were still single. Maybe not even then.

The new owners of his childhood home, had re-rendered the outside, and fitted new windows. It was strange looking at it. The memories, good and bad, that came flooding back.

He continued on past to Mark’s house. Unlike his, it had not changed. He pressed the door bell, heard the chimes inside. That, at least, was new.

The door was unlocked and opened. Flo looked at him questioningly. The silence dragged on as his amusement grew.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Hi Flo.”

Florence did a double take, the voice not matching the visual representation supplied by her memory.

“Andy?”

He did a quick double lift of both eye brows and let his amusement show in a wide smile.

“Oh my gosh! I didn’t recognise you! Come in, come in!” she ushered him in. “Your mum said you had deployed?”

“We got back this morning.”

“Are you stopping for tea?”

Andy hadn’t really thought that far ahead, opened his mouth to politely decline.

“If you have to think about it, it’s a yes.”

“I don’t wish to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Are you eating properly? You look a little underfed.”

“Yes mum...”

“I’ll have less of your cheek.”

Andy laughed.

“Yes mam.”

“That’s better, know your place.”

He threw up a mock salute.

“Mark’s upstairs.”

“Cheers Flo.”

“Oi! Where are you going young lad!”

Andy stopped, turned and embraced her tightly.

“That’s better. It’s good you came back whole. Your mother was worried.”

“She always worries.”

“It’s what mothers do.”

“I know.” Andy let her go and headed up the stairs.

It had been a couple of years since he had last been here, but nothing had changed and he could have found his way blindfolded.

Marks younger brother Billy’s room was on the left, the door halfway open. Four years younger, he may as well have been Andy’s younger brother, the amount of time they had spent together growing up. Playing rugby, football or just rough housing and mucking about in the back garden.

Only it didn’t seem like it was any-more. The walls had been changed to a soft pastel colour and a dress and some other womanly clothes lay discarded on the bed, as though the owner had to go somewhere suddenly, at short notice, and hadn’t known what to wear beforehand.

Possibly some female cousin or other?

Billy must be shacked up in Mark’s room. That was going to piss Mark off, as his younger brother had a bit of a motor mouth. Andy pushed open Mark’s door.

Mark was sat in front of a TV playing on a console.

“How’s it hanging dipshit.”

Marks head whipped round, his face moving from one of concentration to one of puzzlement. “Who are you...”

“Really, fuck face?”

Mark was taken aback for a moment.

“Andy?”

“Finally! That’s a fucking long flash to bang time.”

“I didn’t recognise you!”

“Obvs.” Andy looked around, he didn’t think he had changed much, put on a bit of muscle, granted, but otherwise he was the same. But the repeated inability of people he knew well, to recognise him made him re-asses that opinion.

Mark’s room hadn’t changed much. Well, the Airfix models were gone. Replaced by a row of console games.

“Where’s Billy? Who’s in his room?” Mark gave him a funny look. “What?”

“Did I not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Billie’s changed gender.”

“Fuck off.”

Mark looked angry. Andy wondered if he had overstepped the mark.

“Seriously? You’re not pulling my leg?” Mark nodded, anger still in eyes. “When?”

“Just before you joined.”

Andy thought back. Mark had seemed a little out of sorts at the time and Andy had put it down to anger at him joining up and the fact that they wouldn’t be hanging out as much. The first move away from their childhood onto the path of adulthood. He had put it aside as basic training had been more demanding than he was expecting and personal time had been limited.

“Now. I did not expect that. What’s, um, she calling herself?”

“Tell me about it. She is just using the feminine version of her old self. Makes it easier, thankfully.” Mark paused the game and sat up, his anger subsiding. “She’s not the only one transforming. Your ripped as fuck. Are you on steroids?”

It was Andy’s turn to be offended. “No steroids. Not allowed, and we get drug tested at least once a year. It’s all gained the hard way.” He was about to say ‘in the gym’ but that really wasn’t the case. Unless you classed everything outside in the open air, as part of the ‘gym’.

“When did you get back?”

“This morning.”

“How long are you here for?”

“A couple of days at least. Maybe longer. I’m sort of playing it by ear. I’m in the Premier Inn round the corner.”

“How was it, the tour?”

“An experience, though not one that’s for everyone.”

“When are you back to your unit?”

“We have three weeks off.”

“You get a lot of time off. Didn’t you get three weeks before you deployed?”

Andy thought of all the twenty hour days over the last three months and said nothing. “What are you playing?”

Mark animatedly waxed lyrical about his latest gaming purchase, but Andy was only partly listening, thinking back to one of the many times they had come in from patrol, only to be immediately re-deployed back out in support of another FOB that was under attack, winning the firefight and heading back thirty hours from when they had awoken that morning, with weapons to clean and ammunition to re-supply before they could finally get some sleep. Shit coffee, adrenaline and comradery the only things keeping them awake.

“Foods out!” Came Flo’s shout from downstairs.

Mark shut the console down and they headed to the stairs. Andy looking into Billie’s room, curious as to what had prompted such a drastic change in personal direction. Mark’s dad was already sat at the table. He looked up, did the now common double take when he saw Andy.

“Flo said you were round. Good to see you safe. You are looking good, military life appears to suit you.”

“Thanks Terry. You’ve not changed a bit.” Andy didn’t mention the grey that had taken over Terry’s head and beard. He looked older, more than intervening two years warranted.

There was an empty space at the table and Andy was curious as to what would take its place. A teen boy playing at dress up, stubble across his chin and top lip? Maybe Flo had warned her and she wouldn’t appear. The front door opened.

Speak of the devil

“Hi mum!” came from the hallway. It certainly didn’t sound like the Billy he remembered. In fact it sounded just like it came from a girl. One he had never met. “What’s for tea? It smells...” The voice stopped as its owner entered the kitchen and clocked the stranger. Billie was wearing a floral summer dress over purple tights, strappy sandals, with her long brown hair tied together with a pink ribbon at the nape of her neck.

If he hadn’t been purposefully looking for it, Andy would have missed the Adams apple hiding under the black choker with its single dangling pearl at the front. It was really hard to believe that the girl in front used to be the boy he mucked about with growing up.

Andy smiled in genuine amusement and was admittedly rather impressed by the transformation.

“Hello Billie.”

“Andy?” A look of panic came over Billie’s face.

Talk about being ambushed. The poor cunt.

“Sit down love.” Flo ordered of her daughter.

Billie slumped down in her seat, picking at her meal half-heartedly when it was placed down in front of her. Flo asked Andy lots of questions on what his parents were doing these days. Terry was doing a Sudoku in a little book next to his plate. Mark was texting someone between mouthfuls and Billie kept staring at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, turning away if it looked like he was going to look her way. Which was exactly the same thing Andy was doing to her. Almost all of the conversation at the table flowed between Andy and Flo.