She removed a small pill box from her pocket, and I instantly knew what it was. If she took it, it would probably kill me too.

  A soldier in a stretcher was carried between us, bandages soaked in blood. Behind him another hobbled on crutches, his face twisted in agony. The reality of war was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

  “Come on soldier,” said Anais.

  I followed her lead, and we jumped into the back of a truck, soldiers either side. They weren’t battle weary yet, and were singing.

  “Take the green pill when you want fight,

  The red to keep him up all night,

  And if they shoot you in the balls,

  With your back against the wall,

  There’s no need to wail,

  You’re gonna be a shemale.”

  We disembarked onto a rain soaked field, and I stepped down a ladder into a mud lined trench just after Anais had said her goodbye. I hoped it wasn’t the last.

  I followed the wooden posts marked HQ. The non-commissioned officers, men, had no time for me, and scribbled a map on the back of a chocolate bar wrapper.

  “You going to win us the war?” asked the guy with the scarred face. They were shrapnel injuries, unless he was a self-harmer; it was hard to tell the difference amidst the mayhem.

  I sensed any optimism on my part would be shot down.

  “Are there ever any winners?” I asked.

  “An intellectual,” said the NCO with the leather gloves.

  I wasn’t certain if they were an affectation or his hands were truly cold. Considering his monocle, I went for the former.

  “The only good thing here is the rules are relaxed,” said Scarface, “A kind gesture to the condemned.”

  I felt sorry for the truly enthusiastic: the fresh faced who believed in the war. They didn’t stand a chance with these two.

  “You need to go that way,” said the gloves, pointing.

  His words were slurred, and I noticed a bottle of vodka on the table with two glasses.

  “We’ve earned it,” he said, presumably discussing the alcohol.

  I had no doubt, and was glad to leave them and the booze. Like a lot of the troops, these guys were fighting their own battle.

  “You must be Alfie 90,” I said, my boots sinking into the mud.

  He was standing on a short plank, reluctant to give me any room.

  “Welcome to paradise,” he said.

  There was a stuffed parrot sewn onto the shoulder of his jacket. Its beak was wrapped tight with string. I wasn’t sure if this was a political gesture.

  Alfie pointed to the bright feathers amongst the darkness.

  “Helps with the diagnosis,” he said, “delusional.”

  “But this is the Grandiose Brigade,” I said.

  “I think I’m a swashbuckling, seafaring pirate.”

  “That still sounds delusional.”

  “So sue my psychiatrist.”

  This was one war were being mentally ill didn’t get you a ride back home, it actually got you drafted.

  He offered me a mint from a rather grubby packet. I was reluctant to accept but took it in the manner it was offered, as a token of friendship.

  Alfie removed his helmet, and scratched his head.

  “Two more days and I got me some R and R,” he said, smiling. “Maybe I should tell the folks back home we’re losing this bloody war.”

  “Should you be doing that?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Putting your head above the parapet.”

  His nose was in the air.

  “More rain due,” he said.

  Still, Alfie had no need to worry; a bullet sailed clean through his head, hitting the wall of the trench hard. I crouched down as quickly as I could, careful not to sink into the quagmire.

  Suddenly whistles were blowing everywhere. I followed the others up the ladders. There was only one way to go, and we charged the barbed wire, bayonets on rifles. I winced as one of our tanks crushed a fallen comrade, friendly fire.

  A machine gunner was cutting us down like grass. I ran to the pillbox, and threw in a grenade. Hands over my ears I counted to three, or should it be five? All hell was coming apart around me, until I felt someone pat me on the shoulder.

  “Well done, soldier,” said Anais.

  Bodies were falling like the rain on both sides, men were screaming, shaking, bloodied and maimed, but as evening approached we were the last men standing. I looked at the fields of corpses no longer horrified but anaesthetised. To live through the danger and live, somehow that felt invigorating yet tinged with guilt to have survived.

  There were few stretcher bearers, but plenty of shemales putting the basket cases out of their misery with a final bullet to the head. At least I hadn’t lost mine in the heat and hate of battle. My reward was sharing Anais’ tent, but together always had a nasty habit of falling apart before we could actually get together.

  They entered uninvited, a law unto themselves: two shemale military police. They were suited for authority and booted.

  “Well, well, the rumours are true,” said one, looking at me.

  “It’s not what you think,” said Anais.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re wanted at General HQ immediately, and lover boy too.”

  I wanted to stand my ground, instead I felt I was sinking into it.

  “Why?” asked Anais.

  “Treason, assassination, and subverting the Femocracy.”

  “Doesn’t get any more serious, does it Colonel?” said the other shemale, smirking.

  They drew their weapons. I wanted to draw their blood.

  “Assassination?” I asked.

  “General Rolliet,” they both said.

  They seemed pleased with themselves.

  “Lights in the sky,” a voice shouted outside.

  They’re called stars I thought, only they weren’t, unless you needed the Undiagnosed bombers to give you some breathing space before your last breath. The whistling alarming as the bombs dropped through the sky, and the blasts all around shredded your nerves. You had no idea which tent or piece of ground would disintegrate next.

  The shemale MPs looked at one another under their long coated eyelashes.

  “Dead or alive,” they said together.

  Sometimes things just go slow, other times, important times they move in slow motion, like now. Fingers were on their triggers, about to squeeze, as a wall of flames ripped through our tent. The MPs took the force of the blast, and Anais and I were knocked off our feet.

  “Do you believe me now?” I asked as I held her in my arms.

  She nodded, and I had a feeling now was my time to prove the prof was right about everything, especially me.

  We headed for the woods, stepping over bodies, and circumventing the craters. We crossed to the other side under the gaze of the moon.

  “No turning back,” said Anais, holding my hand.

  “No turning back,” I repeated, looking into her eyes.

  She hesitated but then to my delight threw away her cyanide pill. It was a vote of confidence in the new me.

  The night air was cool and so was my head. I had realised that without danger life was nothing but complacency.

  There was a river ahead. We stayed out of sight along the bushes before we found a narrow crossing point.

  “Can you swim?” she whispered.

  I nodded.

  “You?”

  “I think I’ve been doing the backstroke all of my life.”

  We were out of the frying pan and into the fire, but still cold and wet.

  “We have to find the nearest town and get out of these clothes,” she said.

  We were shivering.

  “First let’s share our body heat,” I said.

  “Oh, you mean a hug,” she finally replied.

  She was kind of right.

  I was worried as daylight approached, and I still didn’t see cover. As the clouds cleared we followed the belching chimneys to the power station. There was a small railway hub outside with empty coal wagons. They had to return somewhere, and with two stowaways on board. We took our ride and our chances. At least we could ‘hug.’

  The prof, my mentor of sorts, was dead, or at least I hoped he was. There were rumours of the gruesome protracted deaths that awaited those that had turned to the other side. He’d known about the bombing raid, I just hoped he was right about Queensy. Anais helped me brush up on my Russian.

  2gether

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Her name was Sleazy. She could have been a real doll, but that wasn’t her style. It wasn’t mine either, that’s why we met in Shanghai Lil’s the brothel at the far end of town, downtown, near the docks. Me? I was just a kid with empty pockets and a head full of dreams. But my fantasy soon turned into a nightmare, after someone slipped a sleeping powder into my vodka. They needn’t have bothered; the alcohol was knocking me out all on its own. I was a punk who liked vanilla milkshakes trying to act the tough guy, kidnapped for a life on the high seas.’’

  I reached for the bag of popcorn taken from the food market on the ground floor.

  “But now I was captain of my own ship, The Crazy Joy, and a pirate who took no prisoners. If anyone got in my way they were sliced in half, used as sea bait. I didn’t act as hard as sailor’s biscuits; I was. And when I wanted a woman I didn’t ask. Power came too easy, but then I met her, and my heart melted.”

  “You’ve been watching that movie all night, Valiant, are you going to be OK in the morning?” asked Anais.

  We were in Minsky’s, a Department Store, hiding. I switched off the film; I’d already seen the ending, twice.

  “You’re right. I need some rest, and company.”

  But did men really act like the heroes on the screen, or was it propaganda?

  We were in the bedding department, on a king size mattress with goose feather pillows, and silk sheets. I felt nervous. I knew what Anais expected as I knelt beside her.

  “Well, are you going to show me the monster we have created?” she asked, unfastening my clean, new shirt.

  I’d left the dirty towels neatly piled in a laundry basket, couldn’t break the habit of a lifetime.

  We ripped each other’s clothes off; there were plenty more hanging on the rails.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked as we lay back on the pillows.

  “If it was as good as Lusterone.”

  “What’s that?” she replied.

  They used to say ‘a girl is never alone with Lusterone.’ But I’d just found her better company.

  I rolled on top of her, too excited to talk. I’d communicate in another way.

  We were rudely awoken by the shutters rolling up, and quickly dressed off the rails. We’d packed a small case, and grabbed some shoes before pressing the lift to the ground floor. The movie DVD ‘The Crazy Joy’ was in my pocket, and we stepped confidently between two cleaners and onto the streets.

  Between the morning sunshine and freedom, Russia didn’t seem too bad after all, and already I’d seen men at the steering wheel, without makeup. Things were on the up.

  I looked over my shoulder at the blue flashing lights across from Minsky’s. They’d found the tills ripped open, and the suitcase I carried was loaded with more than clothes, we had local currency too. Now we just needed a hotel to get clean, and then dirty all over again. I could get used to this.

  We’d worked up a hunger, and headed for breakfast. We followed the beeline inside the burger bar, and everyone ignored the tramp propped against the wall outside. I grabbed a paper to read, and pretended I was Russian. Anais had worked in interrogation and was fluent; I felt like a beginner again.

  “So, that’s what meat tastes like,” I whispered in her ear.

  “I’m a day ahead of you,” she said, smiling.

  It was so good Anais went back for a second helping for both us, and more coffee. I was beginning to see why they wanted to open our eyes. This was a life that looked good enough to live, embrace, and I hadn’t seen anything yet.

  I steadily noticed one thing though, everyone was packing, and their thumbs never seemed far from the safety. Still, if you had something worth keeping, you’d want to protect it.

  A couple of heavies in restaurant attire were dragging a bundle of protesting rags away from the window. Bad for business I guessed. Speaking of heavies, I was one of the few slim guys there.

  Anais placed her index finger on the back of my hand. Code for stay put and don’t talk. Two guys in uniform strode to the front of the queue. No one protested and I guessed they were pretty important. They ordered coffee and doughnuts, and when they left the volume rose.

  “Police,” said Anais.

  I smiled, wondering if it was OK to speak or move. But I could have stayed there, next to her, forever; she had a face from Heaven and an ass hotter than Hell. Her jeans were tight, and mine were loose; they needed to be.

  She scratched her ear with her little finger, another code, and I relaxed.

  “I need a shower,” I said too loud, damn, and in English.

  An old lady looked over; her eyes never left me until Anais spoke with a heavy Russian accent.

  “What did you say to her?” I asked.

  “We were on a first date and you were trying to impress me that you were a spy: a double agent on leave.”

  The old lady got up and winked at me as she left.

  Anais pinched my arm, “You’re taken.”

  I laughed, probably too long, but I was nervous; we were surrounded by the enemy.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” I said on the street.

  “To come out full, or alive?” asked Anais.

  “Both.”

  “Kiss me,” she said, pulling me towards her.

  Finally, I asked her, “Am I that good?”

  She looked down the street at the two men walking away. “Undercover police.”

  They looked no different than the other hundred guys I’d seen this morning. “How can you tell?”

  “Their hats,” she said, “bear skin.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about the Undiagnosed,” I said.

  “Don’t get too paranoid, soldier, knowing your enemy is an advantage. And don’t get too comfortable either, we’re not staying.”

  “We?”

  “OK me, you get to choose. Just help get me back with what I need: the evidence to clear my name.”

  “Where now?” I asked.

  “The cinema, as you seem to like movies so much. And don’t worry, we’ll sit on the back row.”

  We bought two tickets for ‘The Crazy Joy 2,’and queued again for two large popcorn, candy, and cola. I even managed some Russian at the till.

  We came out late afternoon, overdosed on chocolate. Men and women were walking together along the pavements, some hand in hand. I tried it with Anais, she didn’t resist, and I instantly felt like bedding her. Anais was one step ahead and pointed at the sign, ‘The Hotel Orlov.’

  “Let me do the talking,” she said.

  “What if they ask me a question I don’t get?”

  “Act dumb. I’ll say it’s shellshock.”

  Finally, we were shown to our room.

  “What was all that all about?” I could guess the remonstrating was about more than getting a room with a view.

  “He wanted to see our papers,” said Anais.

  “We haven’t got any.”

  “I paid extra.”

  “Was it enough?”

  “We’ll find out, I guess.”

  I sighed, even flexed a muscle or two subconsciously.

  “Let’s wash the grime away,” she said, heading for the bathroom.

  Chapter Twenty

  The ‘Hotel’ neon light was outside our room, burning brightly through the cheap curtains. We’d got used to it; hadn’t been out for three days. Meals were brought in, paid in advance. They included animal meats, and I was feeling beefier.

  “What on earth are you doing?” asked Anais between our latest romantic encounter.

  “Press ups. I saw it on the TV.”

  She crawled underneath me, and our noses touched.

  Our lips kissed each time I went down. Eventually I gave in, until we noticed another light through the curtains, flashing blue.

  “You think ...?”

  “Let’s get ready, just in case.”

  I checked the window, the police car was empty. We ventured onto the fire escape, sad to leave, but still together. The honeymoon was over as we crept along the pavement. Over my shoulder the cops were looking through the guest list as we made our escape. But it was night time, and we had no idea where we were going.

  A woman was shouting down a mobile phone before hanging up. She pushed it inside her long strapped bag but it hit the floor. She hadn’t noticed, so I chased after her; Anais followed. Perhaps she knew a place we could go?

  “Miss, please,” I said.

  As we turned the corner he was grabbing her arm, dragging her to the car, until I sliced his hand with the steak knife I’d kept from the hotel. Unlike me, he was in no mood for a fight and sped off.

  “This is yours,” I said, holding the phone and smiling.

  I awaited my thanks, and she snatched it back.

  “You gonna ruin my business,” said the young woman.

  I could give her a few makeup tips. Her eyeliner was too thick, her lipstick smudged, and her clothes way too revealing for night time.

  “And what business is that?” asked Anais.

  The girl laughed, “This is Seymour Street, pay more, and you see more.”

  We didn’t have a clue.

  “I’m a hooker.”