Gaz

The world swam back into focus with a sickening lurch. One minute I was Gaz, Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, checking my kit after a particularly messy op in some godforsaken desert. The next, well… it was like someone had run the world through a blender and hit the "reverse" button.

My hands, or rather, what used to be my hands, were smaller. Delicate. I flexed them, the skin pale and unfamiliar. What the hell? I looked down. Gone was the worn tactical vest, replaced by some flimsy fabric thing. Gone were the combat pants, replaced by…a skirt? The word tasted like sour milk on my tongue.

Panic tightened my chest. I ran a hand up, feeling the curve of my jawline. Except it wasn't my jaw anymore. It was softer, rounder. I stumbled towards the only mirror in the hastily set up FOB – a cracked, dusty thing hanging precariously from a tent pole.

I stared. Stared at the face that wasn't mine. It was a girl's face. Wide eyes, a scattering of freckles across the bridge of the nose, and dark hair that cascaded down my... her... shoulders. My voice, when I tried to speak, came out high and reedy, not the gruff bark I knew so well.

"What the bloody hell is happening?" I croaked, my hand flying to my throat.

This wasn't a battlefield injury. This wasn't some elaborate prank by Soap. This was something… else. Something terrifying. I was… I was a girl.

The next few hours were a blur of frantic, whispered questions to myself. Had I been drugged? Hit in the head? Was this some kind of twisted hallucination? Nothing made sense. I tried to remember the events leading up to this, searching for a rational explanation, but it was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.

I knew I couldn't stay in my own bunk. If anyone saw me… well, "Gaz turning into a girl" wouldn't exactly fly with command. So I did the only thing I could think of: I snuck into the medical tent. Luckily, Doc was on a break. I grabbed a pair of loose scrubs, quickly changed, and hid in the shadows.

The rest of the day was a nightmare. My movements felt clumsy, alien. I kept tripping over my own feet, my body a traitor in unfamiliar territory. Even something as simple as tying my boots felt like a monumental task. I avoided the mess hall, opting instead for pilfered protein bars and water.

The worst part was the constant fear of being discovered. I'd cringe every time someone passed close, their conversations echoing in my ears – "Gaz was a beast out there today," and, "Hope he's joining us at the debrief." I was Gaz, but I wasn't. Not really.

Then came the realization that this wasn't a bad dream I could just wake up from. I needed a plan. I had a month, the length of this deployment before I could get back to civilization, until I could even think about any kind of real solution.

The next few weeks were spent in hiding, adopting the persona of a quiet medical assistant, a ghost in the periphery. I learned to walk differently, to speak softly, to mimic the mannerisms of the women on base. It felt like wearing another person's skin, itchy and uncomfortable.

I started calling myself "Grace" to avoid slipping up. Grace, the quiet, awkward medical assistant who preferred the company of bandages to the raucous soldiers. It was a lie, a necessary one. And it was exhausting.

I missed the camaraderie of the squad, the easy banter, the comfortable certainty of being "one of the boys." Now I was adrift, trapped in a body that didn't feel like mine, navigating a world that felt suddenly strange and hostile. I yearned for the familiar weight of my rifle, the comforting click of the safety, the simple, brutal clarity of combat.

I learned that having breasts meant needing bras, something that was both perplexing and strangely irritating. I fought the urge to just rip the things off half the time. I started noticing things I'd never paid attention to before – the way women moved, talked, the way they were treated. And honestly? It wasn't always great. A lot of the bluster I'd seen among the troops was replaced with something… subtler.

There were moments, though, when something close to hope flickered. I started to explore the feminine aspects of the body. It wasn't me, not in the same way, but it was still a body housing a mind that still held memories of my ops, my training, my life as Gaz. The frustration began to be layered with a strange, unsettling curiosity.

I started to find a kind of quiet strength in this new form. The vulnerability forced me to be more observant, more resourceful. I used my knowledge of tactics to predict patterns in the camp's routine, to stay hidden and to gather information about my situation. I was still a soldier, even if I wasn't wearing the same uniform.

The month was a ticking clock. Every sunset brought me closer to extraction, closer to having to face the reality of what had happened. I didn't know how or why I had become Grace, but I knew I couldn't live a lie forever. I had become a girl…and whether I liked it or not, this new chapter was just beginning. The question was, what was I going to do about it? And how was I going to explain this to Price? Now that was a thought that could keep a man up at night…or a woman. The strangeness of that thought made me groan. This was a mess. An absolute, unholy mess.