Air Force Sweetheart TacPzlSolGp Chapter 34/34   by T. D. Aldoennetti

previously:

It isn’t like a switch where I am either male or female despite my physical changes. Doesn’t it say in the Bible, ‘Male and female He created them?’ Maybe I’m both, male and female, no matter what organs I had on the outside or the inside, a bit of each. But my personality, my soul, is still the same person I always was, as far as I can tell. I’m a human being, someone who can share the anguish of other human beings, someone who can share their joys.

Randolf looks apprehensive.

Luckily, because I am human, I can feel his uncertainty. I smile.

Looking at his face and again at the ring, I make my decision and open my mouth to speak, still smiling.

Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Thu, 2008/12/04 - 9:32pm, Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chapter 34 is revised and reposted on Tue, 2010/01/05 - 01:12 PM. ~Sephrena

Love… is a Many Splendored Thing:

Chapter 34

We celebrate my answer — it was ‘YES!’ of course — I’m a bit conflicted, but not an idiot — with another gentle round of lovemaking before showering together. I don’t entirely recommend this, since the showers in these places are so small, never intended for two (ahem) ‘active’ adults, but it was fun. We finally force ourselves to get dressed and packed, and then walk down to have a final breakfast at my café before calling Daddy and telling him that we’re on our way to the airport to hire a charter flight. I also tell him that I need to stop in Cheyenne on the way back to pick up the rest of my luggage, but we’ll only be there a couple of hours before continuing to the destination indicated within the orders. Then I happen to mention that I’m now engaged to one of the nicest men I could ever hope to find.

When he wishes me every happiness, and gives both of us his heartfelt congratulations, I can hear in his voice that he really means it. Then he gives the phone to Mom Too (Julie) and we talk for nearly fifteen minutes before Dad chases her off the phone so Randolf and I can get moving.

We call ahead to arrange the charter, giving them the flight plan we need and telling them we’ll arrive at Lindbergh field in about an hour. They tell us where to meet them and what the costs will be for the flight. Ouch. I hope that we’re spending the Government’s money wisely, but those are the orders. Our charter takes us first to Cheyenne, where I call Sis from the same phone booth I’d used to call Mom just a few days before. I tell her to meet me at Mom’s and refuse to tell her why she has to rush out, other than that it isn’t bad news, of course, and then we take the only taxi waiting there by the terminal over to Mom’s house. When we arrive, I tell them both that I’ve accepted Randolf’s proposal of marriage and that the taxi meter is running.

Mom is crying and Sis is screaming while Randolf runs upstairs for my luggage and carries it out to the cab. They’re both extremely happy for me, but not half as much as I am. Mom drags out several of her photo scrapbooks and begins sharing my female childhood with Randolf in fast-forward while he stands on one foot and then the other, glancing from picture to waiting cab then back again. She even shows that cake I baked and, eventually, the burned roast. I pride myself that there are lots more pictures of good meals I’d prepared than that one bad one. She somehow had photos showing Sis and I going out trick-or-treating, and of me as a bridesmaid in the group photos, as well as some of me alone or with Sis, including some which were taken of me dancing with one man or another, usually during a double date when Mom was concerned for Janet’s safety (or virtue — at the time, I’d assumed safety, but now I’m not so sure) and a few from Janet’s reception. She even has one of me kissing Jack when he brought me home that evening the five of us celebrated together.

“Mom, how did you get those?” I ask.

“Mothers have their ways, Lucy, as you will eventually discover when the two of you start having children.”

“I wish we could stay and see more, Mom, but we need to get going. Another disaster is waiting for us in Washington, so naturally, we’re elected to pick up the pieces.”

Mom, Sis and I share hugs and then they both hug Randolf and I run upstairs to make sure he got everything (he’d missed my good overcoat) and then we’re out the door, rushing back to the airport to find our charter, which has taken on additional fuel in order to make Baltimore without another fuel stop. When we arrive at Baltimore, we find a car waiting to take us to Fort Meade. In minutes we pull up to a guarded entrance where we show our ID’s and orders and are soon on our way again.

We ride past many famous buildings and displays, finding ourselves slightly overwhelmed at the visible history we see outside the car windows as we pass by. Our destination looms in the distance as we drive by a mix of both civilian and military vehicles parked around the massive structure, evidently ‘The Building,’ the headquarters of the National Security Agency, an agency of the Department of Defense, although it has many civilian employees. The personnel entering and exiting the building seem to be both civilian and military as well.

The driver tells us that he’ll take our luggage over to our respective BOQs for later pickup, and then drops us off right outside what looks like the main entrance, so we walk through the large doors and into the lobby to check in with security. After a little business at the desk, we receive our passes and an escort, so we’re on our way again, trailing after the escort past door after door, some marked with cryptic designators, and others with nothing more than a room number to indicate whatever it is that goes on behind them.

A minute or two into our trek, we pass one door and I do a double take and stop dead as Randolf and our escort walk on, oblivious until I say, “WAIT!”

They both turn and walk back toward me, puzzlement on their faces, as I stare at the small crest on the door.

The escort tells me that we can’t stop here and Randolf is about to go off with him until I repeat, “Wait a minute! Randolf, look here.”

They look at me like I’m crazy as I reach into my purse and pull out the ID and crest which I’ve so proudly carried with me all this time. I hold the crest next to the one on the door and they’re identical. The escort wants to know where I found the crest and ID so I allow him to examine it, so he can see my photo and name. The rank color on the badge even matches — through the hand of fate I’ve mentioned before — and I pull a slightly yellowed sheet of paper from my briefcase, showing my orders from back at the school in Dallas and allow him to see that I’m a permanent advisor for this very unit. So there.

I ask his permission to take back my ID and reach up to place it on the plate next to the door. A quiet buzzer sounds somewhere beyond the door, and I’m rewarded with a click as the door unlocks. I open it and we walk inside. We’re in a small room with two doors leading off of it, each with another small plate. The Staff Sergeant sitting at the desk comes to his feet in recognition of two Colonels entering the room as I hang my ID and crest from my pocket. He acknowledges our presence and checks my ID, scanning through his lists but not finding my name. That causes him a little confusion, until I show him my orders, which he copies before adding my name to his lists.

“Thank you, Ma’am. There’s no one here at the moment. The OIC is down at photo with Captain Marten.”

Walking around the room, I see photos on the walls showing our original lab, and remember my little group of warriors and their precipitous initiation into the fast-paced world of combat intelligence. I quietly ask, “Is Spooky still the OIC?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says. “But I haven’t heard anyone call her that since shortly after they arrived here. The original officers used that moniker for her and each of them had their own code names, but about a month or so after they arrived they suddenly stopped using them. They don’t exactly promote their use any more. I’ve been told that it’s in deference to the leader of their group who didn’t make it here. The building’s rumor mill has it that their Colonel was killed in ’Nam.” He begins to eye me speculatively.

I turn to look briefly at Randolf and our escort, who are both watching our conversation with interest. I turn back to the Master Sergeant and say, “You said Whizz is here. What about Skirmish, Benny, Prue, Cypher and all the rest?”

“Yes, Ma’am. The entire original command is here, along with about fifty others who’ve been added over the months since they first arrived, as well as those from a pre-existing group here, which was folded into their command structure when they first arrived.”

“Are you able to reach Spooky, Whizz and the other original officers quickly?” I ask.

“Yes, Ma’am. Would you like me to tell them you’re here?”

“Could you please? Just say to them, ‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,’ and tell them Magician wants to say hello.”

The Sergeant looks at me for a moment, blinking, before he suddenly grins and says, “YES, Ma’am,” and picks up the phone as I turn back to the photos hanging around the room, showing everyone working in our little lab. There’s even a shot of the original MPs at the door, which is open to show a glimpse of the lab interior.

Next to it is a shot of Whizz looking into a scope, surrounded by photos scattered on a table.

There’s one of Prue. She’s pointing up at that relentless deadline clock, which shows 1400 on the dot, and shouting something. In memory, I can almost hear her saying, ‘Your primaries are due!’ Dizzy’s off to the side, frantically pounding a typewriter with a stack of notes beside her. Beside it is a candid shot of Chance. He’s waving his arms of course, the way he always did when he was hot on the trail of something that none of us could see until he’d found it and pointed it out.

I have to laugh at the next one, Cypher is working a crossword puzzle on the table with one hand as he simultaneously solves a cryptogram held in his other hand through pure brainpower. We’d tried to hide that sort of thing when the brass was around, but his eccentricities seem well-tolerated here. Good. I feel better already, just seeing them, but seeing that they’re valued for who they really are, just as I’d valued them, warms my heart.

Here’s another one, of Skirmish organising those little toy solders he used to demonstrate tactical concepts which none of us understood without visual aids, and there’s Benny, my favorite after Spooky, quiet and reserved, standing next to piles of documents. Knowing him, and seeing his countenance, I can tell that he’s just said precisely the right thing at precisely the right time. You could always count on him for that.

Next comes the largest photo, framed in a position of honor. It shows General George, with all my young officers standing beside him, and all the enlisted clustered around them. There’s a placard underneath, naming each of them, and at the bottom it says, “We are met here sans one, Magician, who pulled us all out of a silk hat.”

My tears are flowing freely now.

Randolf finally remembers to give me his handkerchief to dry them.

The escort places a phone call from the Sergeant’s phone, but I’m not paying much attention by now.

The hall door opens behind me, and I turn to see my officers charging through the door to find their nemesis and mentor happily weeping, smiling at them all, unable to speak, I’m so filled with joy.

Karen reaches me just ahead of Whizz and screams, “MAGICIAN!” as she throws her arms around me in an enthusiastic embrace that almost topples us both to the ground. Luckily, Whizz is right behind her, and sweeps us both up into an impromptu rugby scrum, soon joined by the others crowding around.

For a few minutes Randolf and our escort are forgotten, as the nine of us talk excitedly over each other, much as we did so many months ago. Karen and Whizz are crying too, and Prue, bless her, is trying to gain our attention while tapping on her watch. Cypher is just standing there smiling, still holding whatever it was he was thinking about when he got the word.

Randolf sits down to wait for me to recover, and for the group to allow him to get a word in edgewise. A few moments later, General George comes in, led by that General who took my little group and ran off with it. They must have been brought in by the escort’s phone call.

I finally come to my senses and quiet the group enough that I can talk at a normal level. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce another advisor. This is my fiancée, Houdini, commonly known as Colonel Randolf Scott.”

This sets off another round of hugs, from the women at least, and admiring examination of my engagement ring in a ritual that must be as old as time, although I suppose the particular objects of admiration may have varied, based on whatever object of value the local men supplied to their brides to prove their worth as great hunters and protectors. I’m glad it’s not a pile of beaver pelts, or a herd of reindeer; my ring is much easier to carry around.

The men congratulate us both, a little more restrained, and then we all get back to business and my group disperses to their various offices and labs in order to get back to work.

Karen stays behind to explain that the different groups have grown so large that they’re now divided, so consultations are more difficult and the pace is slowed, but the good work continues. There are still lives to save.

Magician has finally found her way home, and she’s pulled another rabbit out of that silk hat of hers, Houdini, who has a few tricks of his own.

The End (of this adventure)     © 2008, 2010 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.