by Pirateaba
“Hold on.”
When she came back with the healing potion she’d used on Clara, Geneva applied it sparingly to the Dullahan’s injury. The swelling reduced, although the injury didn’t look completely healed, which was something.
“I think this potion will help as well. I’ll use more tomorrow and if we’re lucky, your body will fight off the infection. Understand?”
He smiled at her, briefly.
“Good. Thank you.”
It was such a change to see his expressionless face move that Geneva blinked at him for a moment. But she realized he had to be terrified he’d lose his arm. She smiled back.
“It’s what I do. Now, we’d better get marching.”
—-
That was the first time someone had come to her for help. Come to that, the Dullahan was her first real patient that had consulted with her. He wasn’t the last.
The Dullahan might not seem that talkative, but either he or Thriss was more chatty than Geneva thought, because word soon got out that she could do more than cut arrows out of people. Soon, Geneva had quite a number of discrete inquiries over medical issues of everything from boils and blisters to conditions like gout and even a surprising case of lacerations on a man’s groinal region. When Geneva asked where he’d gotten that, he just blushed and mumbled about lizardfolk.
By the end of that day, Geneva was confident enough to bring up the issue of hygiene to Thriss. He heard her out and scratched his head when she told him the soldiers needed to wash their hands regularly, not just when they were too dirty to stand.
“Soap? There is lye soap, but not nearly enough for the battalion.”
“Well, you need to buy some as soon as you can. If your soldiers keep eating without washing their hands regularly, some will get sick.”
Thriss made a face.
“How do you know that will help? Soldiers always get sick. It happens.”
“But it will happen less if they do what I say and practice proper hygiene. Trust me. I’m a [Doctor].”
He hesitated, but agreed to give it some thought.
“We’ll be joining up with the [Captain] and our unit’s [Strategist] soon enough. You can speak with them. Tomorrow we should reach the battlefield. Your talents will be needed soon enough then, so sleep deeply.”
Geneva nodded. She still had butterflies at the thought, but she was confident in her knowledge. She could help. She had to. This was what she’d been trained to do.
That night, Geneva slept on the ground, tossing and turning and thinking about antibiotics. She had to have some. Penicillin…how was that made again? Medical history hadn’t been high on her list of things to memorize, and she was regretting it now. She could recite almost every human body part and countless effects of drugs, but she didn’t know how to make penicillin from scratch. She needed the mold—but where would she even get it? Maybe a [Healer] would know, or some kind of class that dealt with herbs. An [Alchemist]?
Slowly, Geneva drifted off to sleep. She couldn’t get it now, but as soon as she was paid and got to a large settlement of some kind she’d start searching. For now, she had to rely on the healing potions. They would make her life so much easier. If disease and infection were her only enemies, she had a chance.
The soldiers had a chance.
Geneva believed that right up until the moment she heard the screaming and galloping of hooves that broke the silence of the night.
—-
“Attack! Get up! We’re under attack!”
Geneva heard the words as if they’d been screamed in her ear. She shot out of bed, first looking around for the danger, and then reaching for her pack. She left the sword behind as she blundered around in a panic.
People were struggling around in their bedding, shouting, adding to the confusion. Geneva nearly ran into Lim’s sword as he whirled around, looking for an enemy in the darkness.
“Geneva!”
Clara pulled Lim back and then Geneva found herself standing behind Fortum and some other soldiers from their group. They formed a circle in the darkness, watching every direction for enemies.
Someone was shouting for people to rally to him, but no one was inclined to move in the confusion. Geneva saw flashing shapes, and hoofbeats, but surpisingly, no screams. Then she heard the crash of wood and the sound of glass breaking and more galloping. And then…
Silence.
Slowly, order restored itself. Soldiers began to form up, and Geneva saw Thriss running through the camp, a huge mace in his hands. He ran past the group of soldiers and Geneva, and she heard a shout of rage.
“What happened?”
Lim stared at the others, wide-eyed. Geneva had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Fortum glanced around, eying the confusion.
“Sounds like those Centaurs hit us again. Night raid. They were in and out quick, though.”
“No one’s wounded, though.”
Clara had a deeply troubled look on her face. She looked in the direction Thriss had gone.
“What was that sound? It sounded like breaking glass.”
Geneva knew. She didn’t want to know, but there was only one conclusion that bubbled up in her brain.
“The potions.”
Lim stared at her in horror and Fortum looked grim. Soon enough they saw that Geneva was right. Thriss and another big man carried the box out of the supply wagon and set it on the ground. Geneva saw the splintered wood and her heart stopped in her chest.
The precious chest of potions in the supply wagon had been smashed by something heavy. Inside, the fragile wrapped potions had been shattered, and the potion had leaked out of the sides. Only a few bottles held any potion at all—those Thriss and the other officers desperately tried to save, holding up the glass pieces and dripping as much potion into canteens and any containers they had on hand.
But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. Geneva saw the looks on Fortum’s face and the other soldiers’. From over a hundred potions, their battalion’s’ supply had suddenly dwindled. They had maybe less than twenty bottles’ worth.
Thriss stared down at the broken chest. He stood up, and cursed, then shouted at another officer. And then his head turned. He looked at Geneva, and the look in his eyes told her that her worst fears were true. If they had no healing potions, then they only had her.
Geneva. A [Doctor]. But she had no Skills, not the ones that they needed. And she didn’t have the tools. She didn’t have—anything!
Her stomach twisted. But now Fortum was staring at her, and Clara was as well. Lim was still staring at the broken chest with horror, but all the veterans were looking at Geneva. They knew.
Slowly, every eye turned to her. Soldiers and officers alike looked at Geneva, quiet fear in their eyes.
They couldn’t retreat. They were soldiers. But they feared death like all mortal beings. Without healing potions they had not a chance at all. Except if they had someone who could save them. So they put their faith in her. In Geneva, someone they barely knew, hoping because they had nothing else to cling to.
But she couldn’t do it. Geneva knew that. She was unprepared. She didn’t have anything she needed.
She was just twenty four years old. She was no renowned surgeon, no battlefield medic. She’d never trained. She wasn’t ready!
She was a surgeon with no tools. A student who hadn’t even finished her training. A practitioner without a license. A doctor alone.
But there was no one else. And she had a job to do. So Geneva stared at the box of potions and knew what was coming next. She clenched her hands so tight her knuckles cracked.
In the silence of the night, as the last drops of healing potion soaked into the jungle floor, Geneva felt death begin to walk at her side.
1.01 D
“Bring in the next patient!”
Geneva snapped at the soldiers who had been assigned to her. They lurched into motion, slowly, too slowly. But they were injured as well; it was the only reason they hadn’t been sent back on the f
ront lines. One man was limping; the other had taken a hatchet to the arm and couldn’t use it. They both should have been lying down, but she needed them.
The dead man’s gaze still haunted her vision. Geneva closed her eyes and banished the image. She sluiced more soapy water on her operating table, feeling it drain to the floor. Soapy water for disinfectant; she didn’t even have a place to drain the blood and gore. Already some bugs were buzzing around the tent. More would follow soon.
The tent flap opened. Geneva heard the woman moaning even as the soldiers carried her in on a makeshift pallet. Her arm was broken; the skin and bone deformed where something incredibly heavy had struck her.
Geneva sighed in relief. Here was someone she could fix. This woman would not die; she might not regain use of her arm, but she would not die.
She would live. And she stared at Geneva with horror in her eyes. It was probably the blood that covered her. Geneva paid no heed. Crushed bone and skin. She had no IV or drip—she had to prevent hypotension. The skin and bones—swelling. Would the arm have to be amputated?
No. No. Not yet. Check the fracture and set the bones. Geneva took a deep breath.
“This will hurt.”
She warned the female soldier and set to work. Geneva closed her ears to the screams as she worked. It was cruel. Cruel to do this. She was causing the poor woman pain, but it had to be done. There was no one else to save her, no healing potions to help her. Without Geneva hurting her, the woman would never be able to lift anything with her arm again. There were no healing potions left.
Geneva was all the battalion had.
—-
“We will not be receiving any more healing potions in the near future.”
Thriss told Geneva that directly. The battalion had camped, and they were on the eve of their entry into the battle. Geneva stared at him as she stood in the sergeant’s marginally larger tent in their camp.
The air was hot and humid. It was dark, but a few lanterns had been set out. They were already attracting swarms of nocturnal bugs in the dense jungle.
The soldiers had camped just on the fringes of one of the dark, dense jungles that made Baleros such a nightmare to do battle in. The Centaur tribe’s goldmine was located deep within the labyrinth of trees and overgrown fauna, which meant that the attacking mercenary groups – the Burning March company hired forces like the Raverian Fighters – had to push into the jungle. It also meant close combat fighting where ambushes could happen at any moment. It would be desperate and intense, and it was made far worse because Geneva’s company had no healing potions.
To be more accurate, they had twenty. But Thriss had already made it clear that Geneva would not see any of them.
“We’ve distributed half-shares among our officers and veterans. The regular soldiers will have you, and if we can hold for a few days we’ll get another shipment of potions. But it will take time.”
Geneva stared at him. Thriss wasn’t meeting her eyes as he stared at a map on the table. He wasn’t the commander of the company, but he was one of the officers in charge of their battalion. And he had apparently drawn the straw to tell her the bad news.
“You want me to act as a doctor for the entire camp?”
There were over six hundred soldiers in their battalion. Geneva knew not all of them would be injured at once, but—
“I can’t do that. I don’t have the tools for surgery. I need assistants, an operating space, time—”
“We’ll clear an area for you to work in. We’ll put you well behind the front lines so don’t worry about that.”
Geneva wasn’t worried about enemy soldiers at the moment. She stared Thriss in the eye.
“I cannot save these soldiers. Not without healing potions.”
“You are all we have.”
Thriss looked at Geneva finally. He met her eyes for a second, and then glanced away. She knew he had a full healing potion in one of the water flasks at his side. But the regular soldiers wouldn’t be getting any potions. Because they were new recruits; expendable.
“Our other battalions can’t spare any potions from their supplies. They’ve been hard pressed too. And the closest force to us is the Burning March 6th Battalion. They’ve refused to give us any potions as well.”
The big man’s hand clenched. Geneva just stood and thought.
“If I do this…I can’t guarantee I’ll save any lives. I can bandage wounds and make tourniquets, but any deep cut, anything worse than a flesh wound—”
“Do your best. That’s all we can ask.”
Thriss stared back at the map. His voice grew quiet.
“It will get intense tomorrow. We’re being sent in to fight against the Magehammer Company. We will flank them. Even if we don’t run into their mages, there will be more than enough people for you to work on.”
What was she supposed to say to that? What was she supposed to do? Geneva stared helplessly at the man in front of her. He knew she couldn’t do this. But he was telling her to do it anyways.
“Can’t we wait until we receive supplies?”
“No.”
He said it flatly.
“We have to provide support. The battle is not going well. If an entire battalion pulls out of its position, we will give the enemy too much of an advantage.”
“So instead you’ll send all of these soldiers to their deaths.”
“You have your orders. Carry them out.”
Geneva stood straight in the tent, feeling as though she’d been slapped. Her voice was taut and cold.
“The gods are dead in this world, Thriss. But tell me, do you believe in immortal souls?”
“Souls?”
The [Sergeant] looked at Geneva. He looked old, and lost, and uncertain.
“I believe I do. I believe in souls, even if there are no gods to judge them.”
Geneva nodded slowly. Her own soul ached. But she had no choice.
“In that case, I hope the soldiers who look up to you have mercy on your soul. Because their deaths are on you.”
She turned and walked out the camp tent. Geneva listened to the insects buzzing and the sounds of the jungle at night. She whispered the words as she walked back to her sleeping spot.
“May they have mercy on mine as well.”
The next day, the 4th Battalion of the Raverian Fighters engaged in battle.
—-
Geneva remembered the day as vivid scenes set to the backdrop of screams and blood and gore. Only a few things stood out to her clearly.
She remembered standing at the edge of the camp as Lim, Clara, Fortum, and the other soldiers prepared to enter the fray. She remembered the look in their eyes as they’d stared at her.
“Stay safe, girl.”
Fortum had advised her as he and the other soldiers tightened straps and made sure both armor and weapons were secure. He looked at her seriously.
“You’re all we’ve got. If some fool gets you, we’re all dead men walking. You keep well clear of the fighting.”
“I will. I’ll be waiting in case any of you need me.”
The old man had paused then, and looked at Geneva seriously. There was no blame in his eyes, or fear like there was in Lim’s when the young man looked at her. His voice was soft.
“Don’t blame an old man, but I hope I don’t see you today.”
“I won’t. Stay safe.”
And then they’d left. Geneva had stood in the camp, in the empty tent she’d set up, trembling.
To her surprise, not all the soldiers have been sent out in the first wave. Of course; they had to be rotated and a reserve was necessary to keep the enemy from ambushing the headquarters. So she’d enlisted a few men and women and one Lizardfolk and had them wait near her tent. She needed assistants. Even if they couldn’t help in the surgery, they could at least lift the bodies—
The wounded.
The first soldier arrived almost before Geneva could blink. One second she was trying to sit still, heart racing, waiting
for what seemed like eternity, the next she heard the screams.
He’d been hit by an arrow in the first engagement. It had struck him in the leg and by the blood gushing from the wound, it had hit an artery. The soldiers carried him in and Geneva grabbed for bandages.
“Why didn’t—”
She almost asked them why they hadn’t made a tourniquet. But they were already pushing out the door.
Okay. Severed artery. She had to—
The man gasped, and Geneva’s heart stopped. He was awake but barely conscious. The blood loss had already taken his toll and he was limp and his face was pallid.
Move. Geneva tore her eyes away from his face and looked at the arrow. Blood was still oozing from the wound. She had to make a tourniquet.
Geneva wrapped the strip of twisted cloth as tightly around the upper part of his leg as she could. The blood flow cut off. That done, Geneva looked at the arrow.
It was just like the last injury. That was what she told herself. But this time she had to cut into the man’s leg. Her angle was bad, and the dagger wasn’t nearly as sharp as a scalpel. And when she got into the wound—
“Oh god.”
The arrow had indeed sliced through the artery, and Geneva was staring at the hole the extracted arrowhead had made. Somehow, she had to suture that. But she didn’t have sutures! Okay, first she had to grab the artery, but how could she? She had virtually no surgical tools—
“Forceps.”
Geneva fumbled with the wooden ones one of the soldiers had fashioned for her. She fumbled at the exposed artery, trying to grasp it until she succeeded. Desperately, Geneva hung on to that as she reached for a needle and thread.
The artery was severed; the only option she had was to ligate the wound. But doing that with basic thread and a sewing needle filled Geneva with dread. There was just no way she’d be able to do it properly.
But she didn’t have a choice. The needle could barely penetrate the artery, and the thread was already sticky with blood. The man was moaning, and Geneva had to adjust every time he moved. Slowly, she got the artery closed, but when she removed the tourniquet, one of her stitches broke. She had to reapply and dig around in the bloody mess again, and then wash the wound and close it up with more stitches.
