Was picked up and hurled, stinging, smarting, broken.
Not whole. Shredding, trailing lives and material, bleeding from a thousand wounds.
Not intact.
But alive.
He heard his Captain in her tank. He sensed her pain and disorientation. The tank could not leak. She must be safe. At all costs.
He waited, then.
Until she spoke to him. "Angel?"
"Captain," he answered.
"Status?" She stammered, but she said it.
The angel smiled his snaggled smile. "We are under way."