BIRDIE

First day jitters.

Being a soldier wasn't a job for me, it was my lifestyle. I longed for a purpose in life as a little girl, I wanted to make a difference in the world... however cliche that may be. Admittedly, becoming a soldier wasn't my first choice, it was cake decorating. Not so sure how that was making a difference in the world, perhaps I thought the world would be a better place having the honour of indulging in my baked goods but I couldn't even crack an egg properly until I was 18 so that career path was slung-shot out the window.

Listening to my eldest brother come home and tell unfathomable stories about his time in the armed forces, it inspired me in ways that I couldn't describe. I craved that kind of adventure, the thrill and the need to feel important. Thinking back on it, I'd say there were a lot of ego based decisions on my part but I couldn't deny those long lived cravings I desperately desired. I'd say he kicked started a fire in me I didn't know I had to become a soldier, not that I'd dare to admit it. When I got the news I was accepted into the army before my 19th birthday, he was the first person I called. He was away on a mission in Iraq at the time. I'd never heard a grown man let out such a girlish scream in excitement. He was the kind of brother you'd want as your personal cheerleader, quite literally.

After 7 years in the army and being ranked one of the deadliest snipers in the whole of the British Army. An achievement so great, I was heavily rewarded and I absorbed myself in pride. It enhanced my ego greatly. I eventually got hand selected by a Captain, founder of an elite multinational special operations force to join his team, Task Force 141. I already knew John personally, he was close with the family and my father. So I toyed with the idea for a while before making my decision. I didn't want to be given some special treatment for being known to him on a personal basis, but I accepted anyway. The transition from the army to the new appointed force was effectively immediate.

First days are always nerve racking but being hand picked by Captain John Price to join Task Force 141 was honorary, which all in all didn't steady the nerves. I sat in my car in the Headquarters car park for a few minutes to psych myself up to go in. Anxiously tapping my fingers on my steering wheel and bouncing my leg in the footwell. A blinding surge of confidence motivates me to get out of my car.

Fuck it, let's go.

I grab my duffel bag, sling it over my shoulder and approach the building. I walk past some jumped up units of soldiers that clearly have dick for brains when I hear low wolf whistles and catcalls as I advance towards the entrance.

Assholes.

The feminist in me wanted to paint the car park red in their blood just for the audacity alone, but going with my better judgement an eye roll was sufficient. For now. I walk inside, the walls painted painfully white, the kind you're told you see when you die.

Brilliant, I'll look forward to that altering my eye prescription later in life.

The entrance wasn't inviting, its only accomplice being doors to a stairway and a dingy metal waiting chair. I could feel the iron being embedded in my ass just looking at it. I head through the doors and make my way up a challenging amount of steps just to approach a long corridor that was dimly lit by a flickering light in the ceiling.

If I was a moth I'd be in my element.

My feet carried me down the lengthy corridor the building spread into an open plan canteen that swarmed with soldiers. One man approached me before I even took in the scene of the canteen with a cheesy grin and an unbearably quirky personality.

"Are ye lost darlin?" The man questioned with an undeniably thick Scottish accent and a shaven down Mohawk.

Darling?! Fucking men... who even has fucking mohawks in their early thirties.