Recognition Read online

gender labels with great care, I wanted the guy to know I was playing my gender dysphoria card. "Look, I have glaucoma and it makes me very light sensitive. Can I put the sunglasses back on please?" I asked them both.

  I was annoyed and in pain but I was minding my manners, for now at least.

  The unarmed guard reached into a pocket of his combat jacket and pulled out a fluorescent yellow armband several inches wide and tossed it over to me. I had to pick it off the floor just in front of me, it had EXEMPT printed in large red letters around it.

  "Put that on either arm, no-one'll bother you with your sunglasses on then. You'll still turn heads dressed like that though." He grinned as he said it. "You're gonna need to wear that on your arm in plain sight all the time if you plan on wearing those around the camp, otherwise people might get itchy trigger fingers"

  I pulled it over my right sleeve, at least the yellow didn't clash with my red dress too much. I bade them both farewell and hightailed it over to Supply Flight as fast as my boots allowed. I took off the sunglasses before I went in, I didn't fancy a repeat of that last stand-off, even with my new armband. The girl behind the desk didn't bat an eyelid, she clearly didn't give a toss what I was wearing. I already liked her.

  "Press-ganged too then?" I asked her. She just nodded, clearly liking the frock having given it several dozen jealous glances. "H&M, £20 in the sale. Seriously comfy! It's Lycra" I said. That got a smirk. She issued combat gear, nothing else.

  "No blues? I was looking forward to a skirt." I knew I was pushing my luck but she didn't seem to mind. As a wise man once told me 'If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't have joined up'. How right was he?

  As I signed for my kit, she looked up and said to me real quiet "What size are you?"

  "This thing? I'm a twelve, why?" I replied, gesturing to my dress.

  "Might wanna borrow that if its ever going spare, any chance?" she queried.

  I flashed her a grin and just said "We'll see."

  I drew a shed-load more stares en route back to the block, I could have changed at Supply Flight but I was determined to go out fighting.

  According to the paperwork I had, I didn't have to report for duty until nine am the following morning. I threw the uniform on the bed and scouted out a few important locations on the map. It was time to be seen. It was dinner time and I hadn't had any breakfast so I needed a meal real bad. The Airmens Mess wasn't far, I got a lot of raised eyebrows when I joined the queue for food.

  I found myself an empty table, as I sat down it was so quiet in there you could have heard a pin drop. "Bloke in a dress, totally not a big deal. Happens every day where I live" I said loudly, more to myself than anyone within earshot. "Transvestite. Straight man who enjoys wearing womens clothes, Okay? And we're done", I knew I was now. Now or never, anyway.

  If it was going to kick off, then it may as well be here.

  Two heartbeats passed. Conversations resumed. I'd made it clear I didn't care, they realised they shouldn't either.

  No-one stared when I got up to bus my tray.

  I got a few stares in the NAAFI when I ordered a pint. I was expecting at least one wisecrack with my order but fair play to the girl behind the counter, she just poured the drink and took my money like everyone else. "Here's to being so far out of uniform you can't even see the road with binoculars", I toasted the bar in general. A few people nodded and downed their drinks with me.

  Clearly attitudes had changed since I left, minds had expanded, a bloke in a dress was going to be left alone. A couple of the girls in there even engaged me in conversation, where I'd bought everything, one even asked what she had to do to get a bottom shaped like mine. "Genuinely? Be a man" I said, making sure I smiled at her as I said it. I wanted her to know I wasn't joking, certainly not at her expense.

  The following day was all business, dressed for the part - sadly back in uniform, doing weapon safety and training followed by the range. The Regiment instructor caught my armband, his double take took in the sunglasses. That earned me a very hard stare, not the kind of attention you want to endure for any extended period of time.

  "Take those off, you tart" he simply oozed aggression, I was firmly in his headlights.

  "Can't Corporal. Medical complaint." I flashed him the sick-chit, excused sunshine, then pointed to my armband.

  "I'm Human, just photophobic. Means I don't cope real well in bright light." I hadn't needed to dumb it down for him but I felt like being condescending.

  I was the only FNG there, everyone else was doing the shoot to remain current. I recognised one of my fashion fans from the NAAFI last night.

  "You looked better in red" she said, smiling at me as she spoke.

  "I felt happier too but you know, even the RAF have some standards. It's called a uniform because we all have to wear the same outfit. Somehow I doubt many of these people would look as good or feel as happy in last nights civvies. You'd carry it off though." I made a friend right there, and earned some brownie points.

  The morning was topped off by a range shoot, weapons were zeroed in and the armourer gave me an issue card matching the rifle I'd just shot with.

  Great, I was now married to a crappy piece of plastic with stuff all stopping power.

  Back in the mess for lunch a few people clearly recognised me from the previous day, despite my change of clothes. From one side of the room I could hear a few people singing "Lola" by The Kinks. I shot them a half salute in recognition of the reference, twinning it with a genial grin. I wanted them to know I had no problem with the joke.

  My fashion fan joined me at my table and we ate together. "No rank tabs?" she was wearing SAC tabs but I hadn't drawn any.

  "Supply didn't offer any, I'm probably still an SAC I guess. Never was much on promotion. Some how I doubt you'll see me wearing stripes. Unless they jail me for my taste in clothes" I said that with an ironic smile.

  I was more than aware of people who'd been jailed for that, and less. The Air Force had terribly narrow minds back in my first run. I wasn't sure if this technically classed as a second run because I'd been been drafted, most definitely against my will. When I'd joined the first time I'd gone willingly, it stopped me doing other things. Killing myself, for starters.

  That bridge had been very tempting, many times.

  My life had been crap before I joined up, less of a life, more of an existence. When Lizzie’s Flying Club had given me the thumbs up I decided to choose life.

  I went back to Supply Flight after I was done with lunch. Scored a set of SAC rank tabs after the girl behind the counter had checked what I was entitled to.

  She'd first pulled out a set of Corporals stripes and I gave her a very harsh stare, "I don't want those, even if I might be entitled to them. SAC is fine, I don't mind being the oldest SAC here". I didn't fancy the rank or the responsibility. Even if it did pay better. It simply wasn't worth the extra bullshit.

  Back at the armoury I got a slightly less evil look when I drew the weapon wearing my rank tabs. "On our side now then are we?" the armourer asked me as he passed me my nine loaded magazines. I just glared at him and signed for them then trooped off to where we were supposed to get briefed.

  "Listen in you lot, some of you are new, most of you aren't but I have to do this each time so pay attention! Threat level is high, that means better than 90% chance of encountering vemps on patrol. You've been assigned your sector, recognition aids are here for those who haven't got them.

  We only have one policy on vemps, kill them. If you can, police your empty shells and bring them back but don't take any risks if it's too hot. The wagon's out front, have a nice patrol and try your best to come back alive and uninfected." the Regiment guy strolled off and I grabbed one of each of the various recognition aids that were laid out on the table.

  No-one else bothered, they were all old hands by now.

  The wagon was the standard military coach, only beefed up with armour plate. All the seats got filled, we were going out in force.
<
br />   A male Corporal came up to me in my seat "New guy, right?" I nodded. "You'll be in Team three, the street team. If you think you've got a vemp then issue a challenge, normal rules of engagement apply - You remember those, yes?"

  Again, I nodded. The military drum that crap into you by rote, I could have destroyed nearly every braincell I had with alcohol and I'd still remember that garbage. "Stay with your team, try to avoid Blue on Blue, if you see anyone get infected out there, drop 'em, no warnings. We clear?"

  "We are" I replied. I'd read the bumf I'd picked up at the briefing, there was no cure. Anyone bitten, scratched or exposed to vemp blood turned. Turning times varied but once infected you were vemp for life. Or afterlife. Or whatever they had.

  Certainly not garden parties.

  It was overcast when we finally got there, a fairly open residential area. Infrastructure was still intact and utilities were still operating. When or if we ever beat this thing, we'd still have a fairly nice world to live in. Electricity, phones, Internet, running water. No Dystopian future for us.

  Future's so bright, I gotta wear shades.

  Or maybe not. I was