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Upon
closer
inspection
,
I
was
not
,
in
fact
,
in
the
company
of
the
Angel
of
Death
.
It
was
just
another
soldier
in
a
Jacket
.
A
Jacket
not
quite
like
my
own
,
as
it
was
outfitted
with
that
massive
battle
axe
where
the
regulation
pile
driver
should
have
been
.
The
insignia
on
the
shoulder
didn
’
t
read
JP
but
instead
U
.
S
.
In
place
of
the
usual
desert
camouflage
mix
of
sand
and
coffee
grounds
,
the
suit
shone
head
-
to
-
toe
in
metallic
crimson
.
The
Full
Metal
Bitch
.
I
’
d
heard
stories
.
A
war
junkie
always
chasing
the
action
,
no
matter
where
it
led
her
.
Word
had
it
she
and
her
Special
Forces
squad
from
the
U
.
S
.
Army
had
chalked
up
half
of
all
confirmed
Mimic
kills
ever
.
Maybe
anyone
who
could
see
that
much
fighting
and
live
to
tell
about
it
really
was
the
Angel
of
Death
.
Still
carrying
the
battle
axe
,
the
blazing
red
Jacket
started
toward
me
.
Its
hand
reached
down
and
fumbled
for
the
jack
in
my
shoulder
plate
.
A
contact
comm
.
"
There
’
s
something
I
’
ve
been
wantin
’
to
know
.
"
Her
voice
filled
my
suit
,
clear
as
crystal
.
A
soft
,
light
tone
,
at
odds
with
the
two
-
meter
axe
and
carnage
she
’
d
just
created
with
it
.
"
Is
it
true
the
green
tea
they
serve
in
Japan
at
the
end
of
your
meal
comes
free
?
"
The
conductive
sand
spilling
out
of
the
fallen
Mimic
danced
away
on
the
wind
.
I
could
hear
the
distant
cry
of
shells
as
they
flew
.
This
was
a
battlefield
,
the
scorched
waste
where
Yonabaru
,
Captain
Yuge
,
and
the
rest
of
my
platoon
had
died
.
A
forest
of
steel
shells
.
A
place
where
your
suit
fills
with
your
own
piss
and
shit
.
Where
you
drag
yourself
through
a
mire
of
blood
and
muck
.
"
I
’
ve
gotten
myself
in
trouble
for
believing
everything
I
read
.
So
I
thought
I
’
d
play
it
safe
,
ask
a
local
,
"
she
continued
.
