In Body and Blade -- Ch. 35

Chapter 35 -- Should Have Worn Boots

My first proper walk on my newly-healed leg was... weird.

Or rather, aside from being nude, it was utterly normal, and that was what felt weird. I was so used to it hurting that I'd developed a kind of preemptive clench before every step, tensing myself for a sharp, brutal pain that was now entirely gone. As a result I found myself limping anyway for no reason, and it took conscious effort to break the habit.

I got as far as the base of the steep rocky stair, and then stopped to reacquaint myself with this limb of mine before the true test of its limits, on the climb to come.

Its form. Its strength. How it moved. How it felt. How its smooth, silky skin glinted in the low light...

"Are you okay, sarge?" Faulkner asked. I looked round. He had the camera pointing at me, just as he'd been told, capturing my strange twists and flexes. My naked twists.

Oh hell, I thought. Again. Will this drumbeat ever stop? Naked... naked... naked... I was sick of it surprising me. And this was Faulkner, for fuck's sake. For over a year he'd looked up to me as a mentor, and now here we were -- him with a camera and me with... nothing.

"Yeah Faulk, I'm---" I faltered, then winced, caught in a sudden obsession with the camera's angle and which parts of me were in shot. Naked-naked-naked... "Let's just go up."

"Okay. Uh... do you want me--- uh, in front, or---?" He faltered, too.

I bit down on my discomfort, and looked at the climb ahead. It was steep enough in places to be a challenge, but I'd managed it before, even with a gammy leg and full gear weighing me down. It shouldn't trouble me now. Only... did I want my personal camera man recording my front or my rear as I climbed up stark naked?

Neither option appealed, but worse still would be letting this embarrassment cripple me for even one second longer. I was naked, I told myself, and I was going to stay that way for at least the foreseeable future. The sooner I stopped caring the better.

"I'll go first," I said. "And you---"

I looked back at Faulkner and immediately noticed the camera again, still trained on me. My hands twitched as I fought the urge to cover myself. My boobs were in shot. Faulkner himself was tense. His face was ashen, his eyes unfocussed and glazed. Paying just enough attention to keep me in the camera's frame, but not so much that could see me. I appreciated the effort.

"Faulk?" I tried, and he met my eyes, trying hard not to look lower. "I need you to pay attention to what you're doing. Okay? It's steep and uneven, and I don't want you falling. To be safe, I want you to wait till I get to the top before you even start. Focus on recording me while I'm climbing, then switch the camera off and stow it so your hands are free. I'll wait for you at the top."

He nodded, rather numbly.

With a final sigh to settle myself, I turned to face the slope and tried to put Faulkner and his camera out of my mind.

I began my ascent. The first few rocks were large and solid, needing little more than a confident stride to hop from one to the next. Their surface felt rough and dirty under my bare feet, but I quickly dismissed the idea of going back for my boots. Shae said they were fine to wear, phobia-wise, but I had my doubts. Maybe I'd try it when the feel of that jacket wasn't so fresh in my mind. And besides, somehow, wearing just boots seemed weirder to me than nothing at all.

The thought stuck in my mind like a thorn, trying to find the sense in it. Naked is just naked, I felt. Naked in boots is a statement. It's more naked.

I expected my thigh to crumple every time it took my weight, but the higher I went the more it proved me wrong.

I got bolder.

I sped up, leaping upwards from rock to rock in easy bounds. I felt agile, and precise. As the slope steepened I used my hands as well, to clamber, faster than I really should. I chose a more direct route, almost vertical, instead of the easier, winding path.

It was...

Huh.

It was easy.

Effortless, even.

Near the top, just before a particularly big leap to grab the next ledge, I looked down to check that the rock at my foot was stable enough to jump from. And from there I caught a glimpse of the view below, and froze.

Not from the height, but what I saw down there.

Faulkner was still at the base, just as I ordered, with the camera trained on me. Around him there were others who'd come to watch. All of them were now staring up at me. Me with my legs wide, stretched between two footholds. I pulled my head back up and stared at the rock in front of me, unable to move any more than that. Not even to end the obscene display of my bare, splayed-open crotch.

Naked-naked-naked-naked-Shit!

Okay, so much for not caring...

I glanced down again to check. They were still watching me, and Faulkner was still recording. Dammit. I couldn't have given them a clearer pussy shot if I'd been trying, and the darkness was no help either because they all had their lights pointing right at me. Like spotlight operators, I thought in horror, at my live debut performance of rock-climbing porn. And still I didn't move.

"Are you all right, sarge?" Faulkner called.

I whimpered feebly. He hadn't even noticed. Or he had, and he just thought I was fine with it.

"Yeah! I'm just---" I tried to think through the fog of sudden shame. "It's my leg!" I lied. "Still a bit weaker than I thought! I'm fine!"

Move, I told myself. Fucking move.

I found the will to lift my foot, knowing as I did so that it briefly splayed my pussy even further. That big leap I'd been gearing up for didn't seem as appealing now, and I took the slower, easier route. Even then I finished the climb painfully slowly, wondering with every second how much of me was on display for the small crowd below.

My only hope was the distance. I was too high up to identify all the tiny upturned faces. Maybe that also meant they were too far to make out my exposed genitals. Although, they had the light in their favour, and Faulk's camera had a zoom function... Jesus, even thinking it made me wince.

If it saves lives, it's a price worth paying, I told myself. If it saves lives, it's--- Oh, fuck this shit.

I reached the top and stopped in the tunnel mouth to scrape together what little remained of my self-respect. It was a losing battle, I knew. There'd be more indignities to come, no doubt, and no escape from this. Ever. The sooner I came to terms with that, the better, and it had to start with not showing shame, even when I felt it.

That was what I told myself anyway. Repeatedly. That was why I stayed in the brightly lit tunnel mouth, on display for everyone down below. It was to get used to it. Certainly nothing to do with the tunnel being far too dark. The inky black nothingness seemed almost tangible. The soft, tickling breeze felt like breath.

Like a fool, I'd brought no light of my own on this little venture. Somehow, carrying a light while naked, let alone a gun or anything heavier, would be just as weird as wearing boots. They're the last thing you pick up. After dressing. How weird would you have to be to wear or carry something, but not wear clothes? That was just backwards.

Faulkner was well into his ascent now, along the more gradual, winding inclines that I had bypassed. The nearer he got to me the more exposed I felt. When he glanced up at me I flinched, yet again fighting the urge to throw my hands across my privates.

Not that that would help, of course. It wasn't what he could see of me that mattered; it was what he'd seen already. What he could never unsee. For the rest of our lives I was going to have to live with knowing that this kid had seen me with my legs spread wide. A view reserved for lovers and gynaecologists. How closely had he looked? What details had he memorised? The folds of my labia? My hooded clit? My gaping vagina? My puckered arsehole?

And I'm his sergeant, I kept thinking. His mentor and role-model, and in some ways a mother figure, too.

And then, against all my wishes and fervent hopes, I discovered I was horny. Not much -- just a very slight tingle down below. It would surely go again in a second if I could only ignore it, but that damn drumbeat wasn't going to let me. Naked-naked-sex-sex, naked-naked-sex... My pussy itched for a touch. Just one. Just for a moment, to soothe the ache.

I couldn't risk it, I decided. Not with all those lights. Later, maybe. Outside.

"You okay, Faulk?" I called.

"Huhh... hyeah..." He spoke in time with his laboured breathing. He was grunting with effort now on every step, weighed down by his gear, and I mused that at least I didn't have that to worry about. I hadn't felt any physical strain at all on that climb, and there should have been some, towards the end. Even that warm, satisfying muscle burn that came from a job well done. I didn't feel it.

So... that alien gunk had given me stamina as well as tough skin and nakedness. Good to know.

Once he was close I held out my hand and pulled him up the last big step, and as he stumbled breathlessly past me his forearm brushed against my breast. It was quick and slight enough that I'm sure he didn't notice it through his thick, multi-layered sleeve, but I damn well noticed, and it sent a fresh batch of reminders through me: I'm naked... I'm naked... He touched my tit, I'm naked... Sex! Sex!

This was getting ridiculous.

I watched as Faulkner took out the camera once more, and as he pressed record he gave me a nervous look, overwhelmed by it all. At a guess he was keeping me at a pretty standard mid-shot -- head-to-waist or thereabouts -- and if I'd been clothed that would have been perfectly normal. Even mundane. As it was, I couldn't shake the thought that my bare, erect nipples were centre-screen, caught in the harsh glare of his mounted light.

Centre-fucking-screen! Look the fuck up, Faulk! Up!

I refused to reveal my insecurity. I just couldn't. Hell, it was the only part of me still hidden from him...

Naked-naked-naked...

"Okay," I said, numbly, and I took the lead along the tunnel.

It wasn't as easy-going as I'd like. The rock underfoot was smooth enough in itself, but covered with detritus from the razors' digging. Larger lumps of rock, in places, and elsewhere a scattering of sharp little stones. With boots on, I'd barely noticed them before. With bare feet, I felt every one. They stung a little, more irritating than truly painful.

I started tiptoeing to avoid them, then hopping to islands of bare rock among the scattered debris. At first I kept to small jumps, worried that I might miss and hurt myself, but much like on the rock pile earlier, it was just so easy. No matter the distance, or how small the target was, I kept my balance with cat-like poise.

My energy returned to me -- more than I knew I had in me. I made a game of it, even, testing my grace and accuracy, and revelling in being free of that awful pain in my leg that had plagued me for a year and a half. Soon enough I took bigger leaps, and chained them together into runs. Not just forwards, but sideways hops as well, to whatever patch of the lavatube offered the cleanest surface without slowing me down.

I loved the freedom of it, and the power -- but it was all too short-lived.

For one thing, the tunnel's incline was just steep enough that the repeated foot traffic along here had knocked all the sharp stones downhill, and without the challenge of avoiding them, my leaping about began to feel pointless. More significantly, though, I had pulled so far ahead of Faulkner's light, and then gone round a bend, that I could barely see any more.

I stopped to wait, with a stupid grin on my face and very, very mildly out of breath. I felt good.

I should have brought my own light, but I was oddly glad I hadn't. It felt so good to be unencumbered. Boots and lights alike. They would have spoiled this feeling of... of what? Freedom? Not quite. More like self-sufficiency, in a way. I was standing in a Siberian tunnel now known to be a breeding ground for the deadliest enemy humanity had ever faced. I was stark naked, unarmed and alone, and I could barely see. By rights I should have been terrified, but instead I felt powerful. I didn't need any of that stuff. It was clutter.

Just me and my naked, superpowered body against the dark that no longer scared me, and whatever evils lurked in its depths. I might not see them coming, but I felt thoroughly invulnerable.

I laughed to myself. Just a small chuckle, really, but after that mortifying splayed-open pussy moment just now -- a definite low if ever there was one -- it felt amazing to get a high so quickly. If the downsides of this crazy shit were this easy to shake off, I was going to be fine.

Back the way I'd come, Faulkner rounded the bend in the lavatube, and I watched his lights dancing back and forth towards me. They were too bright for me to see him behind them, nor the camera he presumably still held on me as he approached.

That bothered me less this time, as well.

It had to be the adrenaline, I thought. That little bout of exercise, brief and easy though it was, had chased away my qualms and insecurities. Even my brief fear of the dark. I felt free. Why care what anyone saw of me?

Faulkner finally caught up, and I set off towards the narrower basalt tunnel.

"Hang on, sarge," I heard. He sounded strained. "I c--- I need to--- Oh hell..."

I stopped again, and approached him, squinting past the light. He looked pale and queasy.

"What's wrong, Faulk?"

"It's the tunnel. The vibration thing. It's screwing me up."

"Oh." I checked my own reaction and found nothing. "Interesting. I don't feel a thing this time. No sickness. No visions. Must be that goo again."

Faulkner groaned and screwed his eyes shut. "Very happy for you, sarge."

"Sorry, Fauk. I remember how bad it was. Do you have one of those tablets Raman left us?"

He nodded weakly. "I took one when I started climbing. It hasn't kicked in yet."

"Hm. Well, I guess we can wait."

"Thanks, sarge."

He found a good spot to lean against the wall, and shut his eyes, waiting to feel better..

I looked him over while he breathed through it, and tried again to make sense of how I felt. Did it bother me to be naked in his presence, or not? Sort of. More to the point, though, should it bother me? I kept landing somewhere in the middle. It should and it shouldn't, all at once.

For my own sake, and for the sake of my duties, I needed to stop caring about it. Let him look all he likes, wherever he likes, for as long as he likes. I needed to be immune to it, or I'd never get anything done. At the same time, I felt entitled to react however I damn well wanted, and everyone should have to respect that. And they should have to respect my wildly inconsistent rules, too.

So what is that? A naked supersoldier's prerogative?

Some might think so. I've always been more self-aware than that, and I've never liked hypocrisy. I had to resolve this conflict -- to my own satisfaction, if nothing else.

Faulkner stirred from his stillness with a little more colour in his cheeks, and blinked a few times, staring at the tunnel's opposite wall. He muttered something.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Ye--- Well, no. I'm better, but not great." He shook himself, still staring at the wall. "Those tablets take care of the queasiness, no trouble, but they don't touch the sides of the visions. It's like that wall's got maggots crawlin' out of it. Like--- eurgh..."

"Ah. Yeah, I remember."

He turned to face me, froze in shock and stared at my body, transfixed, until he finally managed to shut his eyes and turn away.

"Faulk?"

"Nnnn..."

I took a step closer. "Private?"

"Oh god, that's nasty..."

"What is?"

He steeled himself, and risked a quick glance back at me. It lasted about a second at most. "It's like... It's like you've got maggots crawling out of you. Like they're burrowing out, all over. On your---- your... chest. And, you know, everywhere."

"Ah."

He took another look, this time longer since he knew what to expect. "Oh that is freaky, sarge. You're covered in 'em. They're burrowin' out of you and droppin' to the ground like--- like something out of a nightmare."

"Uh huh."

Apparently, the horror stopped him noticing I was naked, and he didn't realise he was staring. And sure, the body he perceived was quite different from my real one, so was he actually even staring at me? In a way, no, but to me, my very bare breasts looked as soft and maggot-free as ever, and his eyes were pointing right at them.

I shifted from one foot to the other. Was this a look-all-you-want moment, or a how-dare-you moment? It still felt like both, but I knew I ought to let him look. Part of me -- a small part -- even liked it. I just hoped that the competing instinct would fade away in time.

"Maybe we ought to get moving," I suggested.

"Uhh... yeah. Sorry."

I took the lead again, a good deal slower than before so that he could keep up. I could only imagine how hypnotised he was by the view of maggots burrowing out through the flesh of my bare back and arse.

I had to admit, even though I couldn't see them myself, they were easy to picture. Too easy. Disconcertingly so, in fact. Just to be safe, I ran a hand over my breast as I walked. I squeezed it gently. Lifted it. Felt its weight and texture. No maggots. Obviously.

Damn it, I wish he hadn't told me that bullshit.

We reached the entrance to the side passage. I stepped in and instantly regretted everything. Unlike the smooth rock of the lavatube, the basalt tunnel was a bare foot's nightmare. The razor-wolves had gouged this route out of solid rock with some very long claws, and every surface was now a mass of deep ruts and long, sharp ridges, and I had to go back to picking my footsteps carefully. Far more carefully than before, and I slipped up a few times.

After some painfully slow progress, we reached part of the tunnel that looked different from how I remembered it. It was the narrowest point, where the passage twisted in a sharp corner, with an awkward and steep step up. The basic geometry of the turn was still there, but it looked wider. Easier. Some of the worst shards had been chipped away through hours of hard work. By Delta, mostly. Faulkner's squad.

I looked back at him. He was much more subdued than before. From memory, this was the section of tunnel where the visions were at their worst, but I couldn't tell whether he still saw maggots crawling out of me. If he could, he had more pressing concerns.

He bent down and picked up a chisel from the tunnel floor, then searched around for a moment before he found the accompanying hammer. He looked at them for a while, and then tucked both under a strap in his armour.

When he straightened up, I saw he was fighting back tears.

"Faulk?"

"Uhh... Sorry, sarge, I'm---"

"It's okay."

He nodded yes, but it was reflexive, not real acceptance.

"It's just th---" He grimaced and cleared his throat. "This was where we were when the razor-wolf came. Widenin' the tunnel to get that boat through. It was hard work, but Khuri kept us focussed, and Dav and Spud kept our spirits up. Then w--- word came down there was a razor. So we downed tools and ran to help, and now--- W-we---"

His voice gave out, and he just cried.

Shit, I thought. David Rosenthal. Roger Fairway. Good men. Faulkner's friends. His brothers, even. He was the kid they took care of. Three lads, and Khuri, their corporal.

I felt stupid. I got so wrapped up in my own developments that I'd forgotten his loss. How recent it was. How sharp. How deep. It was a wonder he'd lasted as long as he did.

"Faulk..."

"I'm okay, sarge."

"You don't have to be."

"Yeah I do."

I stepped closer to him, and he pulled back, looking away.

Okay. Maybe the role of mentor was a little harder to navigate now that I was naked.

Or maybe it was the maggots.

"I'm sorry, Faulk," I managed. "Whatever you need, you can let me know. Or go to someone else if you feel more comfortable with that. You're a good lad, but no one's invincible. There's support available when you're ready. You do not have to be okay."

"I'd... I'd like to do my duty---" His voice cracked on the last word. "That's all."

I watched his face harden, blinking away tears until they were gone, leaving only a redness I was all too familiar with from so many soldiers before him. This war was a bitch.

There was more to say, of course. So much more. But now wasn't the time. Somehow, he'd found a reserve of inner strength, and it would be cruel and counterproductive of me to make him waste it.

With a moment more of quiet, we moved on again, and I dwelled on many a lost comrade along the way. Those that Faulkner reminded me of, and those whose deaths made me feel the same way he felt today. Too many. Too young.

We neared the far end of the tunnel, and the first glimmer of daylight came into view up ahead. Whether through complacency or distraction, a shadowy ridge underfoot caught me by surprise. It wasn't especially painful by itself, but it was enough to make me stumble, and in doing so my other foot landed on something far, far sharper. Something pointed, jagged and damn hard.

I gasped sharply, tipped sideways, and only just saved myself from crashing bodily into the jagged wall. That hurt my hand too, but nothing like as much as my foot. It was the kind of pain that makes the rest of your body feel numb by comparison. I cursed it, breathing through clenched teeth and picturing a deep, haemorrhaging wound.

"Fuuuck," I wheezed.

I found my balance on safer ground, then lifted my foot and grabbed it to inspect the sole. No cut. Not even a mark. Just the dust and dirt I'd picked up on my walk, and a strong, lingering soreness. I massaged the affected area with my thumb.

Faulk came forward to record it. "I don't see anything," he said. His voice was still a little distant and sullen.

"Yeah, there's nothing," I answered. "It hurt like a motherfucker though; I would have sworn it broke the skin. Should have worn boots." The pain subsided a little, and I put my foot back down on the tunnel floor, gingerly. "And that's got to be nothing compared to a razor-bite. Jesus... Shae must've been in agony."

I heard a mumble from Faulkner as he tried to think of something to say. He was standing awfully close to me now, and fair enough, he had to be, to get a close-up of my foot -- but now that was over... and he hadn't yet moved.

It was a tense, uncertain stillness that I recognised all too well in him.

I carefully eased my weight back on my sore foot, and glanced up at Faulkner to check.

Yep. There he goes.

Frankly, after everything else this excursion had put him through so far, it was oddly comforting to see him faced with one of his normal struggles.

He was far more dutiful and determined than his instructors at Catterick had credited, but it came at the cost of terrible indecision -- and that they had noticed. The boy had no initiative. He had no confidence in his own judgement, and so he very rarely used it. Choice paralysis, they called it. Without specific orders or training to rely on, he just stood there like a lemon, second-guessing everything.

Like now: rooted to the spot, just inches from my naked body, holding the camera at waist-level and aimed directly at my crotch. I'm quite certain it hadn't been deliberate at first, but he had now noticed, and still it stayed. In fact he was staring down at the screen, transfixed by the image on it. I looked down and saw it too: my clitoris, just peeking out from under its hood.

We were well and truly out of the tunnel's vision-inducing effect, too, so I knew it wasn't maggots he saw this time. It was fully me. My pussy. Close up. On camera. Fully in the how-dare-you category, that one.

Now, Barry Faulkner was perhaps the only guy in the world I could forgive for that, because I could so easily believe it was out of sheer hesitation. And what should he do, after all? Move the camera, or move it and apologise? Should he apologise profusely or just a quick "sorry" so as not to dwell on it? Should he offer to erase the recording? Should he meet my eye? Would he, in fact, ever be able to meet my eye again? Or was this moment the end of his career? Would his second chance at serving be ruined by his dreadful indecision, exactly like the first?

I saw those many thoughts go through his head, paralysing him, just as I'd felt paralysed on that climb, with my legs spread wide. And I felt it again now, frozen in place, just like him. Unlike him though, I had the will to overcome it.

In fact... realising that difference was quite an epiphany for me. Huh...

"Faulk?" I said gently. "Look at me, Faulk."

He did as I asked, raising his head, but the camera stayed where it was, and it would until I gave the order to move it. Or, maybe, instead I could help him... Maybe this, of all things, was another mentoring opportunity.

"What do you think, Faulk?"

He looked panicked. "Sarge?"

"What's the right thing to do in this situation? Hm? One step at a time."

"Uhh... move the camera."

I nodded, but only in an "is that so?" kind of way, just acknowledging his thought. Simply confirming it for him wasn't going to help; he had to actually decide, for himself.

"Can you think of a good reason not to?" I asked.

"Uhh..."

Yeah... You see now why this boy got kicked out of boot? It was rarely ever this bad, but he'd shown enough of it during training to make it clear he'd be a liability on the front. So why, you ask, had I taken him under my wing? I wondered that myself sometimes. For now, I'll just say again: this level of it was very rare. Most of the time he was perfectly fine, and on occasion, in very different ways, he outshone the best veterans you could name.

"No?" he tried.

I raised my brow expectantly. He remembered this lesson, I was sure: you can't be indecisive about your own thoughts. You might not know if they're right, but you always know what they are.

"No," he said, more firmly. "I can't."

"And so...?"

"I j--- I don't know how to apologise for this. I'm--- You--- It's too..."

I shushed him. "Faulk... Now what did I say? One... step..."

"One step at a time," he said, nodding furiously. "Okay. Okay." And with that, he moved the camera. He even stopped the recording. There's some decision-making for you. I didn't even have to prompt that one.

"Good job," I said. "Now... before we do anything else, I want to thank you."

"Wh---" He frowned. "What for? Thank me? I just pointed a camera right at y--- your uh..."

"My what? Hm? Say the word, Faulk."

His face screwed up in torment, no doubt wondering why the hell I was forcing this and pleading for mercy. "Your p..." he tried weakly. "I mean, your v... Sarge, please."

"I mean it, Faulk. It's only a word. Say it with me: Vah... Hm? Vah... gi..."

"Vagina," he mumbled.

"Uh huh. There it is. It's not so scary once you name it, is it? Say it again."

Faulkner winced. "Sarge..." He tried to look away and I stopped him. My expectant look had him cornered. "Your vagina," he said eventually, practically squirming.

"One more time."

"Vagina." Finally he sounded less embarrassed and more frustrated.

"Thank you."

He frowned. "Thanking me again -- why?"

"For making my nudity about you," I said with a chuckle. "Just for a minute. It made me realise. See, I'm stuck with this now, maybe forever for all I know, and that was really getting to me earlier. But hey, look at this -- you're stuck with me too. We're all going to have to deal with it somehow. And you know, along the way, you're gonna see some stuff. Parts of me that--- well, that neither of us ever thought you'd see. And... honestly I'm not at peace with that yet. But nor are you. Right? We both have to work on that."

He stared at me in confusion. "So..." he started, and then gave up, just frowning.

"So..." I echoed more strongly, "I've decided not to care about it. I'm not quite there yet; I'm still working on it, but... all those parts of me you've seen, and will likely see again... You know, one day I'm going to be so blasé about it that I won't give two shits what you or anyone else sees of me. Any more than you seeing my face. Okay? So if I take it as read that you're going to see it all -- and I mean everything -- then there's no point acting shy about it now either. I think. It's a weird thought, isn't it?"

Faulkner nodded quickly. "Yeah."

"So anyway," I went on, "to save us some time I'll say this: you're right to think you should apologise -- that was good thinking; it's the right thing to do, and if it happens again with someone else you absolutely should -- but in my case specifically I don't want you to. I don't want you thinking 'okay, I said sorry but is that enough?', because if you start down that road then nothing ever will be. Instead, I'm saying thank you. You helped me, and I mean that. Truly. Okay?"

Faulkner hesitated, and then drew breath to give a very complicated answer: "You're... welcome?"

I smiled at that. "Perfect. Now... turn that camera back on, and point it wherever you need to, you hear? I'd prefer it if you didn't actively aim for that particular close-up you got just now, but I don't care if it happens by acci---"

"Oh it was!" he cut in urgently. "It was a complete accident! I swear I didn't mean to point it there; it's just that when you dropped your foot down I looked up from the screen for a second, and when I looked back---"

"Faulk." I kept my voice this side of a snap -- just enough to tell him he was done.

"Sorry sarge."

"Okay. Now, is it on?"

He nodded, and though he seemed more reluctant now, he put me back in frame.

"Great. And just to make it official for the record---" I looked into the camera lens. "---I have decided not to mind where on my body people look. I'm not fully comfortable with it yet, but that's my goal, and I'm going to try as hard as I can not to get annoyed with anyone who looks at my--- well, I was going to say 'private parts', but I guess they're not any more."

I laughed rather weakly at my own joke, and wondered how much more to say. "I uh... I'm still self-conscious about this area here---" I waved a hand vaguely around my crotch, but then did the same over my breasts. "---but up here is easier. I've always been pretty happy with my boobs and just lately they got even better, so you can look all you like. That goes for you too, Faulk."

Faulkner didn't accept my invitation, but only because the opposite instruction was far more deeply ingrained.

"Oh," I added, hastily, "just to be clear, all that was about looking. Touching is another matter, and comments are, too. Just because I'm okay being seen doesn't mean it's open season on everything else. Okay, Faulk, did I miss anything?"

He gave me a whole array of nonplussed expressions.

"Okay then. On we go."

We continued even more carefully than before, both of us watching my every step in case of further dangers. Obviously we were going to have to deal with this tunnel's surface if there were to be any more barefoot strolls along it. I decided I would wear boots in future, but to be honest it was a risk anyway. According to Khurasani's post-battle report, Private Rosenthal stumbled somewhere in this tunnel as he ran to back us up, and for all we knew that small sprain weakened him just enough to tip the balance and cost him his life. Hindsight was such a bitch...

Much better to send some of the lads in with sledgehammers and break the jagged rock down to a smoother surface. If we had any hammers, that is; I wasn't sure. Damn it.

I was nearing the end of it though. Daylight was lighting my way better than Faulkner could from behind me, and just then I turned the corner and had to shield my eyes from the harsh glare of pure white snow.

When I adjusted I saw that it wasn't even that bright. Just the cool light of dawn, filtered further through the heavy canopy. Still, it was brighter than it had been the last time I was up here, because the guys had been busy remodelling our home. Where once there'd been a tight squeeze caused by a bank of compacted, frozen earth, there was now a much larger gap, wide enough for three to walk abreast and high enough that none of them would have to duck.

I walked forwards, slowly, half-expecting to suddenly feel the intense cold I knew should have been freezing me already. As if to answer me, a gust of wind made me shiver, but it was brief, and when it passed I realised it wasn't the cold I felt. Just the tickle of air across my bare skin. It was refreshing. No... it was exhilarating.

I laughed, and strolled out, squinting in the light. Again, it wasn't actually that bright, except by comparison. The air smelled so much fresher though. So much better. I filled my lungs with it. Bliss.

"Ty che, blyad?!" I heard beside me, followed quickly by a second voice, equally shocked but not even managing words, Russian or otherwise.

"Gentlemen," I said calmly, and turned my head to face them. Rusnak and Nabatov, in theory still on guard duty, but in reality struggling to stand up from their card game.

They spoke to each other in Russian, but neither managed to tear their eyes from me for more than a split second here and there. I felt more naked than ever, but this time it gave me power. Drink it in, lads; you're not gonna like what comes after...

"What is happening?" Rusnak asked me, finally, and quickly snapped something at Nabatov, who was still babbling away -- in awe, I thought. Or maybe that was just my pride talking. In any event, it was clearly too complimentary for Rusnak's taste.

"Nothing that concerns you," I said, then added: "except my disappointment at the state of this guard post. What's that? Vodka? And I notice neither of you had your eye on the woods. Fat lot of good you two'd be if a razor came charging in. Hey!" I snapped my fingers to get their attention back on my face. "Private Rusnak, please remind this young man it's impolite to stare at his superior's genitals while she's berating him."

I waited while Rusnak relayed the message, and I chose just this once to ignore the few words of Russian I recognised. I saw their heavy sighs as clouds of hot breath in the freezing air, and I noticed then that my own breath was just the same. It was the only hint I had that I was standing in the cold, because I certainly didn't feel it.

It gave me some hope, though. Razor-wolf breath was like a lizard's -- always matching the ambient air. So, at least that goo hadn't turned me cold-blooded. No matter how useful it might be tactically, I didn't want that.

Fuck, this tech was weird...

Actually I could sense the temperature, I realised. Sort of, anyway. It was a distant feeling, on the very edge of my perception. Just a gentle, pleasant chill -- enough to make my nipples hard but not enough to numb them. They jutted out like nobody's business, and I checked on Faulkner and his camera, self-conscious again. He looked as cold as I remembered feeling yesterday. Even wrapped in a dozen layers with heavy gloves and an even heavier collar and scarf, he was shivering so much that the camera trembled in his hand. I checked my own hands quickly. Steady as a rock.

I looked back at Rusnak to reaffirm my orders for him. "I'll be checking on you," I warned. "I mean it -- I won't tolerate slacking. There's five dead already, and more lives on the line. Any more bullshit out of you two and I'll put you both at the head of it. Do you hear me?"

Rusnak nodded with a scowl, then flinched when I took a sudden step towards him. "Yes, sergeant," he said, through gritted teeth, and Nabatov answered my glare with a nervous swallow.

"Good." With a look I beckoned Faulkner to follow me.

"Did you get all that?" I asked him quietly as we walked across the clearing. He nodded, and I couldn't help but grin to myself. What a sight that would be...

As much as I disliked those two, having them see me turned me on enormously. Their reaction, immature as it was, was an unguarded, unintended compliment to me, making me feel young and attractive, and although I would never tolerate either of them making a move on me, it was a thrill to see them consider it. Even better, I'd yelled at them and they obeyed, so I still had my authority.

Stark naked, desired, objectified... and yet in charge. I'd never had that fantasy before, but now... wow that turned me on. I made a mental note to get a copy of Faulk's recording of that exchange. You know, for private use.

In the meantime, though, I was once again in the grip of that rhythmic chant in my head: Naked. Naked. Oh fucking hell, I'm naked. In the cold, in the snow, in the open, in the forest... naked-naked-nipples-hard, naked-naked-pussy-wet, naked-naked-wanna-fuck, naked-naked-really-bad...

And why not, after all?

"I uh..." I tried to think and made the mistake of looking at Faulkner. Naked-naked-on-the-record... "Faulk, I need a minute to myself. Just... wait here, okay?"

"But--- the professor said we need to document everything. Are you---"

"We don't need this," I snapped. Naked-naked-yelling, naked-orders, naked-girl-in-charge, naked-naked-wanna-fucking-cum!

I made about three strides towards the trees before I stopped. Shit, I thought, we do need this.

"Faulk! Wait. Gimme the camera." He handed it over without a word. "Okay, look, just--- wait here for me. I won't be long."

A minute or so later I was out of sight of the guard post, standing in deep snow and surrounded on all sides by ancient trees.

I was right earlier, by the way: carrying something while walking naked felt even weirder than just walking naked. The camera in my hand felt alien and inappropriate, and not only because of how I intended to use it. Just as an object, it wasn't suited to my situation. It was a thing for clothed people. The rest of my body was blissfully unencumbered, as it should be. By contrast, my hand felt almost... dirty.

Very little of the morning's light made it through the canopy here, but in places the gloomy forest was cut through with shafts of comparative brightness, while the rest remained as a dark, frozen and utterly silent expanse. I reached the nearest island of light, with a video camera in my hand and literally nothing else except my bare, throbbing body, aching for relief. But here? Really?

Oh fuck it. Yes. Here.

I fiddled with the camera until I got it going, and turned it on myself. Ooh! Naked-naked-selfie!

"I, uh... This isn't easy to say," I started awkwardly. "But I need to get it down on the record in case it turns out to be important later. Because I am feeling... oh fuck this is crazy... I am--- aroused right now. Very much aroused. I think it's just being naked and--- people seeing me; that kind of thing. I can handle it. I'm not desperate or anything. It's just that--- I don't see it getting any easier, so I need to--- well... you can probably guess what I need."

I breathed, hoping like hell that that was enough to explain myself. Naked-naked-talking! No, I thought, it wasn't enough.

"I wouldn't normally bring a camera, obviously," I waffled. "It's just that Sh--- I mean, one of the others, uh, had the same problem a little while ago and she told me she really struggled to... uh, to finish. Right now it feels like it might go that way for me as well, so I'm--- I dunno, I'm just a bit worried it's a result of what we have. Like a--- a side effect, somehow. Uh... I don't understand how that could be, but then I don't understand why I can't wear clothes either, so..."

I floundered. It was like trying to think my way through fog.

"Anyway, if it is connected, Lis will need a record of it. Uh... I guess her methods must be rubbing off on me. Bloody scientists. I just wanna say, though... what I said before about being okay with people seeing me? That doesn't apply here. This isn't seeing. This is... well, it's different. So if you're watching this without good reason -- by which I mean literally anything other than science -- stop right now, or I will find you. And when I'm done finding you, no one will find you, ever again."

Naked-naked-death-threats!

"Okay, uh... so, this is Sergeant Jennifer Norwood -- uh, Jesus... masturbation video... one. One and only, I hope..."

I set the camera down in the crook of an exposed tree root and made sure it had a good view of the spot where I planned to lie down. I felt nervous and shaky, but hornier than ever. I told myself I could delete the file afterwards if I changed my mind. I even decided I probably would. No, definitely, in fact. No one would ever see this. I just really needed sex and the camera was a turn-on. Yeah, a turn-on. That sounded about right.

Naked-naked-porn-shoot!

I sat down in the snow and my arse sank into it, softer than any mattress. It wasn't in the least bit cold, either. Or it was, distantly, like a slight and very welcome breeze on a summer's day. In fact, with my eyes closed I might have sworn that's what it was, and that the snow beneath me was a soft, shaded, sandy beach, except without the sound or smell of the ocean. My breath still billowed out of me in thick white clouds, so I knew in my core that my senses were wrong. It freaked me out a little, to be honest, but not enough to shake my urgent need for relief. I leaned back, eyeing the camera as my shoulders sank in as well. The flip-screen was too small for me to see detail at that distance, but I saw my shape. My body, naked, reclining, ready to start and centre-screen. My mind raced, overwhelmed.

Porn-porn-sex-naked-sex-sex-naked-pussy-forest-fucking-nature-pussy-snowy-finger-fucking-porn! Now! Now!

It was too much. Too intense. My fingers couldn't possibly match that ferocity, but I had to try. I had to, for my sanity.

My hand slid across my belly pretty much of its own accord, and zeroed in on my clitoris while the other squeezed my boobs. Slow at first, I stroked and rubbed my pussy, but as good as it felt, it wasn't enough. I didn't have time for 'slow'.

I sped up, and soon moved from stroking to something far more violent. I pinched, smacked and pummelled my clit, then rubbed at it hard. My pent-up tension ebbed away, a little, but that was all. No matter how hard I went, my orgasm grew no closer, and every time I slowed or paused, it slipped further from me. I had to race just to keep pace with it.

For the sake of dignity, such as I had, I kept my legs together -- even crossed at the ankle -- but I couldn't stop them writhing. They bent and twisted, they strained from side to side and lifted my hips up off the ground, making my whole body squirm in frustration. And then, with no alternative left, I threw them wide and showed my wet, swollen pussy to the camera.

PORN!! my brain screamed, and it was finally in sync with my body, matching my moves with a chant that this time helped me: fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, get it! get it! faster! faster! now slower! squeeeeze! fuck! that's it! yes, that's it! go, go, go, go...

We were nowhere near the finish line yet, my brain and I, but it was there -- attainable now, at least. I moaned, straining my legs wider and lifting my hips, and all the while my eyes stayed fixed on that tiny, low-res preview of myself a few feet away. In my mind it was the full thing, projected for a massive audience willing me on. Driving me.

Come on! come on! Fuck that pussy! Pound it!

I had to drop my head to relieve the tension in my neck, so instead I slammed it into the snow and rolled it from side to side, messing up my hair and truly giving in to the wild, rutting animal inside me.

"Come on, come on..." I moaned, pushing hard to close the last few inches towards my climax. Then out of nowhere my damn brain chose that moment to betray me: Jilling in the snow? Shameful, you dirty whore, what the fuck, how dare you. "No... no please, I need this... Come on, just a minute more..."

I forced it, blocking my thoughts as best I could. I pushed a finger inside me, and then a second. I switched hands, and then used both, one on top for my clit and the other coming in from behind to pump my pussy; anything to edge a little closer to my cruel, taunting orgasm, but it kept dancing back, just out of reach.

Between my heavy breaths I muttered to it: "I'm gonna get you, you little bitch. I'm gonna drag you out of me and leave you in the fucking snow..."

I dug my fingers in deeper -- three of them now -- while my other hand flashed across my clit as fast as humanly possible. Both my hands were slick with my juices now, and my rapid motion was throwing it off like spray on a wet road, speckling my body with tiny, sparkling drops that quickly froze solid on my skin and scratched like sandpaper against my hand.

Weirder still, in the freezing air there was now a cloud rising from my pussy like steam from a boiling kettle.

I couldn't stop though. Not so close. "Please..." I begged in a whisper. "Please... just a little one. I'll be nice. Let me cum. Please..."

I felt an edge of it, then. A single shudder, bucking my hips. "Yes... yes... there..." I upped my pace a little more and focussed it more than ever on my clit to coax my stubborn climax out.

The closer I got, the less my hands obeyed me. The muscles slacked and spasmed, and I lost sensation in my fingertips. Approaching an orgasm made it harder to reach. How fucking cruel was that? I tried the ball of my thumb instead, and then the base of my whole wrist. That part of me still responded normally, even as my fingers turned to jelly. More reliable. Less effective.

Fuck this shit.

It took me another few minutes to get my orgasm, and when I finally came it was weak and underwhelming.

A mere two seconds of bliss, at best, and then nothing.

I collapsed, spent and breathing hard, too weak to pull my legs back from their wide, open spread.

Well shit...

I tried to think. So much effort? For that? No wonder Shae was so frustrated...

I stayed there for a minute or two, staring up at the small patch of sky I could see, then finally dragged my shoulders off the snow and propped myself up on my elbows to look down at the carnage.

My pussy was still steaming, and the cloud rising from it was reaching a good two or three feet before it dissipated. About as far as my clouds of breath, I noticed, and I guess that made sense. When my strength returned a little, I shifted my hips from side to side a few times, watching the vapour column follow suit.

"That is insane," I muttered.

I noticed my sparkling skin again as well -- all those tiny drops of pussy juice, frozen and stuck to me like glitter. Despite the great weirdness of it and the sharp, scratchy texture, I decided it was actually rather pretty. My hand and forearm sparkled too, though I noticed there were more than just drops there. My fingers felt strangely stiff, and when I clenched them into a fist there was a very faint crackling sound as the ice on them cracked and broke. It was only a thin layer, and it fell away in tiny shards when I flexed my hand -- but it was definitely ice. My pussy juice had frozen solid on my skin and I barely even felt it.

Wait, did that mean my pussy was--- I quickly put my hand to it, probing carefully. My outer labia were frozen solid. My clitoris too, and its hood. My inner lips were still supple, warmed by that heat pouring out of me, but everything else was rock-hard to the touch, with a much thicker coating than my fingers had.

Okay, I thought. Okay! It's mad, but it makes a kind of sense.

If my body now worked like a razor-wolf's then my outer layer should always adjust to the ambient temperature, making me nearly invisible in the infrared spectrum. It was no wonder then, in this climate, that ice would form on my skin so quickly. Just... very freaky...

I gently rubbed the affected areas, pushing and pulling at the skin until the ice cracked and fell away. It was oddly satisfying, like scratching a really good itch, and I found myself hoping it would refreeze so I could do it all again. I brushed the icy droplets off my thighs as well, and my stomach and--- wow, even my tits got spattered. Damn, that felt good to do...

And lastly, I realised that my legs were still wide. My post-climax pussy had been on full display for the camera for a good few minutes now, and I discovered I was okay with that. Or rather, I didn't care as much about people seeing it, but there was a part of me still bothered about being seen showing it, if that made sense.

And what the hell were people going to think about my new taste for brushing ice off my genitals? I wasn't sure why exactly, but it reminded me of all those habits people generally frown on, like picking your nose or--- well, or masturbating, I guess. Yeah, that boat had sailed...

Still though, feeling weak and a little sheepish, I sat up, pulled my legs in and struggled to my feet, brushing more ice and snow off as I went. I looked back at where I'd been lying, then realised it was a habit, checking in case I'd left some item of kit behind.

Ha! No kit to leave, now.

There was just an unmistakable, arse-shaped hollow in the snow. Nothing to pick up, because I had nothing, and no pockets to put it in, either. Ah hell, I thought. That's gonna be a real pain, isn't it? As alien as it felt to carry things while naked, sooner or later I was going to have to, and I'd still need my hands free. So how? And what?

At minimum, I'd need somewhere to keep a knife. A sidearm, too. I wondered how my contact-phobic body would feel about rifle straps. Probably not an option. Belts were definitely out, so a hip holster would be, too. Same for a shoulder-holster. My whole torso was off-limits.

Thigh, then? Hm. Maybe, but it would have to be fully on the leg with no waistband holding it up, and that meant making it tight so it wouldn't slip. If I remembered Shae's trials, anything tight was a problem, even on the thighs. Maybe the shin, then? How about the upper arm? How far up my limbs, exactly, would this phobia let me strap something on? This was going to be a nightmare.

I snatched up the camera, and almost turned it off before I remembered there was more to do, and a choice to make: either erase the video, or record my conclusion. I knew which I wanted, but also which was right. Ah, shit...

"Okay, that was... unsatisfying," I reported aloud, and turned the camera back on my face. My arm was too tired to hold it high, though, so I ended up with a low angle. "I mean, I got there, sure, but it wasn't great and it's really worn me out now. It's never been that hard before, either. Usually I'm pretty easy to--- uh... actually, no, what the hell am I thinking? I'm not sharing that.... Fuck though, I'm already nuts showing you this. Jesus."

I hadn't been looking into the camera while I spoke, instead just staring into nothing. I glanced down and noticed on the screen how prominently the swell of my breasts framed my face. Oh fuck it, I thought, who cared? I'd already shown far more, and in fairness I had vowed not to care.

"Uh..."

I had more to say, didn't I? Surely.

"Anyway I, uh, I'm still hoping it's a one-off and that next time will be easier -- so... yeah, I guess I'll be doing this at least once more, to record the difference. But I dunno, right now I'm worried about it. If it's that bad every time, it's not gonna be workable. And shit, man, I fucking needed it too. I can't even believe how horny I was. It was like this constant whisper in my head, turning every thought I had into something about sex. There wasn't even anything to trigger it. Not really. It just... it just hit me, and wouldn't let up till I gave in to it. If that comes back at the wrong moment, it could be a total fucking disaster."

My mind filled up with all the awful consequences. Come on, I told myself. Where was the bright side? There had to be one.

"Or," I speculated brightly, "maybe I'm just wildly overreacting. It was one time. Maybe there won't be another. Or maybe I just need to find a new technique. Also... huh. There is an upside. It was tiring, yes, but now I've got my breath back, I do feel better for it. I've got more energy. So, as hard as it was, it was worth it. I feel great, actually. But still... frustrated."

I looked around, taking in my surroundings while I thought of what else to say.

"As a side note, just in case it didn't show up well on camera, uh... it turns out that my... uh... well, let's just say that apparently liquids can freeze solid on my skin. It doesn't hurt; in fact I didn't even notice. It's just... It's really hitting home for me how cold it is out here. My skin must be well below freezing, but I feel just fine. It's crazy. Just like the razors, I guess: no heat signature. Except my breath. That's different from razors. Well, that and... lower down. I don't know how well it shows up, but it's coming out of me like a fucking steam train."

Without even thinking, I pointed the camera at my pussy, even closer than Faulkner got, and showed the hot vapour spilling out of it. I pulled my labia apart to show it better for a few long seconds, then tracked the rising cloud upwards, past my belly to where it dissipated, just above my tits.

"So, yeah..." I said, putting my face back in shot. "That's a weird one. I hope it wears off. Jesus... I don't want to walk back to that bunch of louts with this pouring out of me."

For a moment I imagined it. The stares. The dropped jaws. The obvious assumption of what I'd been doing. Yeah, I could wait a minute.

"Uhh..." I tried to focus. "I think that might be it. For now, anyway. Signing off."

I stopped the recording, and just stood there for a moment, wondering again if I should simply erase it all. It sat there in the camera's list of videos, ready to delete and save me from humiliation. It was probably nothing anyway. A little trouble masturbating did not warrant scientific analysis. But no... it might be nothing, but if it wasn't we'd need all the data we could get. Dammit though, why did I have to get so fucking rigorous about all this science shit? I swear, I was my own worst enemy.

Just then my eye slipped further down the file list to the earlier recordings. The thumbnails gave me a clue what each one was, and most of them showed my naked body. Jesus, what a life... From soldier to nudist to porn star, all in the space of... what? An hour at most? Actually, no, I noted: the camera conveniently listed all the times and dates, and the current time, too. I'd been naked for a total of eighty-one minutes.

I felt a sudden urge to watch it all back -- to witness my strange evolution from the outside. Of course, I had neither the time nor enough battery for the full show, and to be honest I'd need a stiff drink in me before I watched my scars heal themselves... But there was one specific moment I wanted to check, to either set my mind at rest or--- well, more likely the opposite.

Yeah, I know, it was a bad idea.

I found the right file from the thumbnail and had to skip two minutes into it to reach the shot I was looking for. It showed me climbing the rocky slope, lit by multiple lights. It was a distant shot but zoomed in pretty close, and yes, there I was, my legs wide, my pussy splayed, my cheeks spread wide enough to show even a hint of arsehole. I winced.

"My God in heaven, look at that..." said a tinny whisper. "She's not shy, huh?"

My discomfort turned to anger. Whose voice was that? Surely not Faulk; he wouldn't dare. There weren't that many other candidates.

"What is she doing?" the voice went on. "Doesn't she know?"

"She is whore," said a second, and that one was definitely Russian. Andreyev? Or--- No, it was Mirsky. That little fucker!

"Why won't she move?" That was the first voice again, still whispering, and then it chuckled. "I can see right inside her."

Whoever that was, I decided, was going to feel all new kinds of pain I hadn't even invented yet. I just hoped to God it wasn't Faulkner. I couldn't bear to learn his respect for me was a lie.

"Could you--- not talk like that, please?" Ah, now that was Faulkner. Good man! "Are you all right, sarge?" he called, louder.

"Hey! Don't ruin this!" Mirsky again. "Give that to me---"

The picture went haywire as it was jostled, and the noise of that all but drowned out my reply to Faulkner's call. Seconds later, the file ended and playback skipped straight to the next, up in the tunnel with my tits centre-screen. I stopped it, and clenched my jaw.

Well... I had some questions to ask, and two very disrespectful heads to knock together once I identified that first one.

I set off in an angry stride back to the cave entrance, and I guess I should have reined my temper in a little, because it blinded me to many warning signs I would otherwise have noticed. The extra snow-cat beside the others. The larger group of people. The cry of surprise... It all passed me by until suddenly it didn't, and by then I was surrounded, stark naked, by the entirety of Alpha Squad and several others.

What really caught my eye, though, was the shocked face of Captain Ciccone, right in front of me.

"Oh hell..." I mumbled.

Naked-naked-naked-naked-naked-naked-naked-naked