The Awakening of Angel Ch. 16

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Angel becomes a member of the team.
6.3k words
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Part 16 of the 18 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 02/17/2016
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15 Aug 6:25 AM

Circe

It was still raining cats and dogs outside and the wind was blowing pretty hard. I stretched away the sleep of my nap and the light of day was breaking. Swinging my legs off the bed I padded over to the window to get my bearings as to where I was and the view that met my eyes was a gloomy one. Well it was definitely out in the country and appeared to have been a working farm. Fields as far as the eye could see, broken by rolling hills and patches of trees. Then a movement below me caught my attention. It was one of the military people and he, or she, was out in the rain getting soaked. It had to be miserable. Then I saw more scattered around the property, not moving much but being very alert and watchful. This wasn't right for them to be out in the elements. Slipping on the jeans and shirt that had been provided for me, I went down the stairs to see if I could get these people out of the nasty weather.

There were a number of people around the house and I ran into one of the females that I had been talking to before I went upstairs.

"Mornin' ma'am. Hope ya' had a good nap."

"Yes I did thanks. But could you please not call me ma'am? It makes me feel old."

"I don't think I can ma'am. You are very important to our boss and our boss is important to us, so that makes you important to us."

"Okay, okay. You win. But what should I call you? I don't see any nametapes on your uniform."

"Well my last name is Zombeek but if you need to find me you need to ask for Zombie."

"Zombie? What's that all about? Why can't I use your last name?"

"It's a long story ma'am but basically lots of people in the military get nicknames for one reason or another. And those names stick so well that people often forget the real name. Sometimes the name is just while you are in a particular unit, and sometimes it follows you through your whole career."

"So you got yours because of your last name?"

"Well sort of. It really comes from how I get when I drink too much. I kinda' become a Zombie. It isn't pretty. Usually there is an inside joke that we don't share with outsiders. See that guy over there? His last name is Emerson, but he's called Bigguns."

"Is there something humorous about that? I guess I don't get it."

"So here's the deal. You can't see it really well under his uniform but he's ripped and has these monster pectorals."

"I'm still lost Zombie."

"Haven't you ever heard a guy say, 'Them are some big ones' when he sees a woman with big breasts?"

At the mention of the word 'breasts' there was a male snicker from the other room. Maybe my soldier who had gotten an eyeful when I leaned out the window had told all his buddies. Not so deep down inside I was hoping that he had. Some of Tillman's exercises had helped me to discover that I was a bit of an exhibitionist and the during times that I should have felt embarrassment I instead was experiencing sexual excitement.

Now before some of you ladies get all incensed and preachy at me for being okay with him seeing my tits, I want to point something out. For at least this century and the last one, fighting men have carried pictures of their girls all over the world. They've adorned their lockers with pinups and painted them on the sides of aircraft. Their existence is a raw, harsh, demanding life that is far from the creature comforts of home. There are no flowery smells, soft beds, or home cooked meals. Theirs is a world of the smell of sweat, gunpowder residue, diesel, dust, armor steel plate, a sleeping bag on the ground, and a pre-packaged ration that is capable of staying 'fresh' on the shelf for thirty years. They are burdened with instruments of death and the sounds that go with them. So they hold on to the one soft thing that evokes strong feelings deep down inside that the rumble of artillery cannot displace. That soft thing is a woman. And what's the softest thing on a woman? Many of you might say lips. But ask any guy and if he says anything other than breasts he's lying to you. Why would he lie? There are two reasons that come to mind. One is that it's not socially acceptable to say that in polite society. The other is that he wants to get into your pants and doesn't want you to think he's a sex maniac. In either instance the guy will deflect and try to think of some non-erogenous zone to throw out there. In any case, if seeing my breasts gives some poor sap, who's risking his life for me, some sense of comfort - well I'm okay with that.

Oh, and one other thing before someone calls me slutty for being okay with him seeing my breasts. What's the difference between that and how some of you dress when you go out to a club? You might say, "Um Angel, they aren't seeing my nipples!" Okay, but with that low cut halter top they saw all of your breast except for the nipple. Really ladies? You buy short-shorts that end right at your ass cheek and you pick ones that show just a little cheek when you walk just right. You buy leggings and yoga pants that might as well be sprayed on. And why do you do it? One is the competition with other females, and the other is to catch the eye of a guy you might be interested in. And please don't tell me that you wear the short-shorts, with a tight low-cut tank, push-up bra, and wedgie shoes out to the store because they are comfortable. I call bullshit on that. So let's not point fingers at me for wanting to give a decent bunch of guys a little eye candy. You do it too. Anyway, back to Emerson...

"'Them are some big ones?' I guess I'm just daft Zombie. I still don't get it."

"Say it real fast ma'am, and slur it like someone from the south."

I did as directed and said it over and over a few times.

"Them r some big ones."

"'em r sum big ones."

"'em r sum big 'uns."

"Oh ha! I get it! Emerson Bigguns! I'm sorry I was so slow in getting it."

"No problem ma'am. We prefer that outsiders don't get it because we are a close-knit team and want to keep the inside joke."

"Then why are you sharing this with me? I don't understand."

"Because you are a part of our team. As I noted before, you are important to our boss so you are important to us."

I nodded thoughtfully but was taken aback by the depth and nuances of the inner psychology of people in the military. I noticed that one of the men had a patch on his vest that said "Sheepdog" and had an outline of a dog. I have to remember to ask about that sometime.

"Thanks for the inside scoop Zombie, but the real reason I came down was to see if we could get everyone inside and out of the rain. It looks miserable out there. Can we do that?"

Zombeek looked at me quizzically with a slight amusement in her eyes. Thankfully she was kind in her response to my ignorant question.

"No ma'am we can't do that and yes it's miserable. But if everyone comes inside then nobody will be outside watching."

"Watching for what? I'm just so confused."

"Watching for more assholes like the ones that took you ma'am. I can't really say any more than that."

"You mean they are out there in the cold rain in order to protect me?"

Zombeek simply nodded.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was truly stunned. Then the realization set in that what had happened the previous days was not a training session. Just a few moments went by while my brain connected the dots. Tillman's fiancée and her kidnapping, torture and eventual murder. The terrorist who came into where I was being held just yesterday and his chilling words, 'We will begin tomorrow.'

"So...does...that...mean...they...were...going...to...ki...?"

That last word wouldn't come out of my mouth.

Zombeek just sadly nodded.

At that realization my stomach filled with a flood of bile that decided it was leaving my body via the shortest route possible. And it was leaving NOW! I ran to the kitchen sink and retched violently in a most unladylike fashion.

True to female form, Zombie stepped over and held my hair for me, which is another side note to the difference between the sexes. Women will empathize and comfort, and hold the other's hair. A guy throws up and his friends just laugh hysterically. The outward manifestation of male friendship is to roll your passed out buddy onto his stomach so that he doesn't choke on his own vomit.

But back to my puking. It turned into dry heaves and I started crying, partly because dry heaves hurt, but mostly from the fear of just how close I'd come to dying. Zombeek poured a small glass of water which helped settle things down. She stroked my hair and held me while I cried it out and eventually regained my composure. And now I was presented with another strange contradiction. Here stood this soldier, who by all accounts looked every bit an expert war fighter, yet she was looking at me with compassion and every bit a woman. I'm sure she could nurse a baby in the one arm and at the same time kill a terrorist with the other. My eyes were being opened to a world that I never knew existed.

On the counter behind Zombeek there was a thermal jug full of coffee. I grabbed it and some foam cups and headed for the door.

"Hey hold on ma'am! Where are you going?"

"Those people out there are cold and wet and I'm taking them some hot coffee and you aren't stopping me." And with that I was out the door. From behind me I heard Zombeek talking.

"All radios, all radios! This is Zombie. Hotel has left the building and will be wandering the perimeter. Please don't do anything stupid like shooting her. And guys, please try to keep your eyes above shoulder level."

With the greatest of intentions I stepped off the porch and slipped in a mud puddle. Fortunately I didn't fall flat on my face but instead went down on my hip, determined to protect the coffee and the cups. Regaining an upright position in a most ungraceful fashion I must have looked a mess. My hair was wet and I had mud all over my jeans and top, but I figured if these people could be out in the weather all day on my behalf then I could walk around all muddy for a few minutes.

The first one I came to was laying on the ground behind a hedge with some sort of big gun with a telescope on it and the end of the was poked into the hedge. He heard me coming (how could he not) and partly turned his head but didn't get up.

"Hello ma'am. You need get back inside. This weather is way too nasty for a lady to be out in."

"What's your name soldier? Or Marine, or whatever you are..."

"In my case ma'am it's sailor and my last name is Burkhardt. And we really prefer you to go back indoors now."

"Okay sailor Burkhardt, while I appreciate your concern regarding the weather and my status as a lady, I am hell-bent on getting you something warm to drink since I can't get you all back in the house. So I don't want any more fucking backtalk from you. Is that understood?"

"Aye-aye ma'am. Loud and clear."

"Good. Now I have creamer and sugar packets in my pockets but obviously they are useless now so I hope you can drink it black?"

"Black is how I take it ma'am."

I pumped out a cup for him but it was raining so hard I'm sure it was colder and diluted by the time I handed it to him. I was very frustrated and starting to get upset. All I wanted to do was something nice and it was all going wrong. Burkhardt must have read my mind or my body language.

"It's okay ma'am. I like mine diluted and usually put an ice cube in to cool it down."

I knew he was lying but I was so touched by his concern. Here he was laying on the cold wet ground for hours and yet he was concerned about my feelings. I had spent all my life just thinking about myself and now I had run into a whole group of people that seemed to always be thinking about others. And from what I understood they didn't make much money. To top it off, if it wasn't for these people I would be dead or being tortured by now. So not only were they concerned about me, they had risked their lives for me. Tears came to my eyes but the rain washed them away as quickly as they left my eyes.

"Thanks for the coffee ma'am. It's means a lot. Sergeant Carrigan is just over there next to the woodpile."

"Don't mention it sailor. It's the least I can do for you, considering what you've done for me."

He simply smiled and nodded and turned back to his telescope on the gun. As I was stepping away I called back over my shoulder and winked, "By the way, you have a huge gun there."

He snickered and replied, "Yes ma'am, that's what I've been told."

Of course I had chosen my words carefully and meant the double-meaning. As I took another step I heard him saying, "All perimeter radios, this is Beanbag. Hotel is delivering go-juice. Don't argue with the lady, unless you want a Purple Heart. Point her to the next station so we can get her back inside." I totally got the reference, the medal U.S. troops got for being wounded in action. Yes it was raining, I was soaking wet and covered in mud, and I had never felt better before in my life. As I made my way around I received a similar reception from each person. There were about two dozen of them out there and I had to go back inside twice for more coffee and cups. It took about an hour and a half to get everyone a cup and then I dragged my sorry wet ass back inside. Zombeek was waiting for me.

"Ma'am. You need to get out of those wet clothes."

"I want to cook breakfast for everyone Zombie."

"I'm sorry. We only have rations here and everyone is used to them. Now I must insist that you get out of those wet clothes."

"Let's go to the store then."

"It's too far ma'am. And we can't send anyone without weakening our security posture."

"Well we have a standoff then Zombie."

"Ma'am, please. I don't know what to do."

"Do you have a way to contact Tillman?"

"Yes of course, by cell."

"Call him now and give me the phone."

"This is highly irregular ma'am. I could get into trouble."

"You're going to get into more trouble if I get pneumonia. And don't worry, I'll cover you with Tillman."

Zombeek looked at me and I could see her mulling her options. Finally she shrugged her shoulders and pulled out her phone, and dialed a number.

"I guess I didn't really want a career in the military...Hey boss it's Zombie. Sorry to bother you but we have a small problem here. It's a long story but Hotel got wet and won't change unless she talks to you."

Zombeek handed me the phone.

"Hello Mr. Tillman. I know you are busy and all and I'm sure you will tell me what just happened as soon as you can but I want you to know that I forced Zombeek's hand so don't blame her. Blame me. I want to make breakfast for these people and it's nasty out and they deserve a hot meal."

"Well Angel, there are more important issues at the moment and they have rations. It's just not possible."

"You mean you can put this whole team together and rescue me and you can't figure out how to get breakfast out here?"

"Well under normal circumstances..."

"Didn't I hear helicopters as I was being taken out of that place?"

"Yes but..."

"Do you command those helicopters or not?"

"Yes of course but..."

"But nothing. Have someone go to the store and buy enough eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, salt an d pepper, hot sauce, milk and orange juice to feed everyone here. So I figure at least thirteen dozen eggs. You can figure out the rest of the math."

"Well I..."

"Here's the deal. These wet clothes don't come off, and I'm going to stand outside in the rain until I see a helicopter landing."

With that I hung up the phone and handed it back to Zombeek. She had a stunned look on her face but saw how determined I was.

"Thanks Zombie. I'll be outside."

As I walked out the door into the cold early morning rain I heard Zombeek on the radio again, this time in a rather dejected tone of voice.

"All radios, this is Zombie. Hotel is outside - again. Somebody please dig up some rain gear and try to get her to put it on. I swear this bitch should have been a DI (drill instructor)."

Oh, and I should mention, the way she called me a bitch was an endearment and I took it that way. I wore the new moniker proudly. A few minutes later I accepted a rain jacket from one of the men, but only after he had promised me that it was an extra and that nobody had given theirs up. It must have been forty minutes or so later that I heard a rumbling in the distance and one of the biggest soldiers I had ever seen appeared next to me out of nowhere.

"Miss, that's a Blackhawk inbound with your food order and a small field kitchen. Zombie has directed me to ask you nicely to please go in now and get out of those clothes."

I had to crane my neck to look up at him and thought I'd play with him for a bit.

"And if I refuse, Meat is your nickname isn't it?"

"Yes that's correct Miss. And if you refuse I have orders to 'help' you get inside."

"By 'help' you mean carry?"

"Yes Miss, or drag or throw. Whatever it takes."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Just between you and me Miss, Zombie scares the shi.. I mean crap outta' me. Way more than you do."

"Why's that Meat? You are a big guy."

"Did she tell you that her nickname is because of how she acts when she gets drunk?"

I simply nodded back.

"Well that's partially true, but the main reason is how she gets when she gets angry or combat adrenaline going. She turns into a machine. And don't let her size or build fool you. I would not like to be a bad guy facing her. So please go inside Miss."

"Very well Meat. I sure wouldn't want you to get on Zombie's bad side."

"Thank you Miss. I owe you."

"No Meat, I owe you." I grabbed him by his web gear, pulled him down to me and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The poor man blushed like he had just been severely sun burned.

"Uh, um, uh yeah. Now please go in and we'll unload the chopper and get the field kitchen set up on the porch."

I replied with a chipper, "Sir, yes sir!" threw him a really bad salute and bounded in the back door, inside which the ever faithful, and knew now deadly, Zombeek awaited.

"Okay ma'am. Out of those clothes. Doc is afraid of exposure since you've been out so long. We only had the one set of clothes for you so we've pieced some of our extras together for you to wear while we dry these. The shower is already running upstairs and the clothes are laid out on the bed. Doc has told me that if you aren't in the shower in the next thirty seconds then I am under orders to put you there myself."

"No you won't need to do that, I'm going." What the hell I thought, as I stepped over and gave her a big hug and then headed up the stairs, leaving puddles behind me. Again I heard Zombeek on her radio giving rapid instructions.

"All radios, this is Zombie. Okay you slugs. Get that field kitchen set up, fired up, and the food laid out. Hotel wants to cook breakfast for us and that's what's going to happen. Donuts and Brass Balls assist with the cooking. Standard security rotational protocol for chow. By section."

"Zombie, this is Thrasher."

"Go for Zombie."

"We've been talking and think Hotel needs a code change. The vote is in and since her name is Angel we have decided on Wings."

"Zombie copies and concurs Thrasher. Wings is showering now and I expect that all optics will remain trained outward. She's cooking you animals some hot chow so you will be respectful. All radios acknowledge."

Zombies' radio speaker clicked multiple times as each team member briefly pressed their transmit buttons. It was the standard signal that each understood what they had just been told.

After being out in the cold rain the hot shower felt like paradise and as I stood under the steamy needles my mind wandered to the past few days events. Why hasn't Tillman talked to me yet? Where was he at? Did his actions place me in danger in the first place? I felt my anger start to rise. Then I remembered how close I came to torture and death. Even though the water was hot a chill ran down my spine and I was overwhelmed with a flood of emotion. I fell to the floor of the shower and curled up in a fetal position, weeping uncontrollably.

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