by John Bowers
“The sleds are on their way. They had to rearm, but they’ll be here in a couple of minutes. Keep your head down, because it’s going to get noisy.”
“Yeah, no shit. Too bad I don’t have a helmet cam—I could get some great combat shots.”
DuBose chuckled, their argument of a few minutes earlier apparently forgotten.
“Yeah, too bad. But don’t try to be a hero, Nick. I need you alive. We all do.”
“I’ll be fine, Sergeant. Just keep the other guys alive, will you?”
DuBose said something in reply, but Nick never heard it, as the galaxy ended in a series of devastating explosions. He had no idea where they came from, or who they belonged to, but the ground under him heaved like a giant planet quake as fourteen heavy artillery shells plunged into the park in a single salvo. Nick was flung into the air as the park disappeared in what seemed like one massive billow of flame and whining steel.
Chapter 13
Nick had no idea how long he’d been out. His first hint of consciousness was the smell of smoke. It was acrid and stung his nostrils, like burning garbage. He coughed, then wished he hadn’t—the effort caused his head to explode. He screwed his eyes shut and sucked in his breath against the pain. He groaned.
“Easy, there, Private. Take it easy.”
Someone laid a hand on his forehead, the way his mother used to do when he had a fever. In spite of the pain, he felt strangely comforted.
He warily opened his eyes, half expecting to see a pretty nurse bending over him. He had failed to notice that the voice was male, and the only one bending over him was the corpsman, Cpl. Starling. Starling’s eyes were less sympathetic than professional as he studied Nick’s eyes.
“How you feeling, Private? Walker, isn’t it?” The voice seemed to be coming from far away, like the bottom of a well.
“Yeah. Feel like shit. Where am I?”
“The high school. We’re going to evac you in a few minutes. Got a couple more to send with you.”
Nick closed his eyes again, his head pounding. He felt as if his brain might leak out his ears at any second.
“How bad?” he mumbled.
“You were damn lucky. You’ve got the granddaddy of all concussions, but you’re not wounded. How you survived that artillery salvo is a mystery to me.”
Nick remembered now. He’d been talking to Sgt. DuBose on his helmet comm…
“Did we take the square?”`
“Most of it. They’re fighting over the courthouse now. Just be quiet, Walker. You don’t need to worry about the battle, because you’re out of it. Someone will fill you in later. Right now, just lie still.”
“How did they get me out? I thought the park was gone.”
“It is. Took your guys twenty minutes to get to you.”
Nick’s ears felt wet and sticky. Starling wiped them with gauze pads.
“Are my ears bleeding?”
“Yes, but you’re going to be okay as long as you don’t jump up and start doing hand-stands. Now stop talking, and that’s an order.”
“Okay.”
Starling turned to another stretcher to aid someone else.
Nick’s body ached all over, but nothing hurt as much as his head. He’d seen others get concussions in boot camp, but had never suffered one himself. The throbbing was so intense that he wished he could detach his head and replace it with a loaner until it was repaired. Failing that, he tried to lie absolutely still. Even breathing seemed to increase the pain.
Smoke continued to drift over him, making his nose wrinkle. He fought back a desire to sneeze, not sure he could take the pain. To distract himself, he concentrated on the noise around him. Although it sounded a little fuzzy, like a streaming holo V with a bad connection, the sound of battle still crashed and roared from not far away. He was surprised how loud it was, even from the high school parking lot, and realized it had been there all the time, he just hadn’t noticed it. He heard a pair of sleds whiz overhead, apparently toward the town square, and heard a whoosh as they released their rockets.
He concentrated on breathing, grateful that he had no bleeding wounds or broken limbs. It could probably have been worse.
He wondered how the rest of the guys were doing. Had DuBose sent them into the park? Who, exactly, had pulled him out?
Thinking about it intensified his headache. He moaned again and closed his eyes. Clear your mind. Don’t think. Hurts too much.
He heard another sled approaching, heavier than a gunsled. It was moving slowly. A blast of wind along the ground confirmed that it was landing, and he rolled his head to the side to keep dirt out of his face. After a moment, the sled shut down and he heard combat boots hit the ground, along with voices.
“What we got here?”
“Thirteen to evac.”
“I can only carry six. More HVMs on the way.”
“Okay, take this one first, he’s critical. And this one, and that one…”
Nick had no idea who Starling was talking about, but he moved away as he pointed out the most critical cases. Must not be so bad, if I don’t get on the first evac sled.
Starling came back to stand over Nick.
“And this one.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Monster concussion, level three. Don’t let him fall asleep, or he might not wake up.”
Well…shit.
Victory Crayne Memorial Hospital – Camarrel, Alpha Centauri 2
Thirty minutes after the HVM lifted off from Goshen, Nick Walker found himself in an emergency treatment room in a civilian hospital in Camarrel. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have been surprised; the Fed Infantry had been fighting for nine months and the CDF for six months before that—Nick would have expected the military to have its own facility for the care and treatment of wounded, but that wasn’t the case. As a Federation colony, Alpha 2 was obliged to make its medical facilities available to the military.
But he was in good hands—the doctor who examined him was a Fed Infantry captain, and the nurse was a Star Marine.
It turned out to be a long night. He arrived shortly before midnight and, after examination, was not allowed to sleep. While he sat propped up on a gurney, someone checked his eyes every ten minutes, and he was peppered with questions.
“Do you know your name?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“What is it?”
“Nick Walker, Private, First Squad, Third Platoon, Echo Company, Thirty-third Star Marines.”
“Serial number?”
“Zero zero five two three two three nine nine six zero.”
“Do you know the date?”
“Uh…what time is it? Last I looked, it was 16 May.”
“What year?”
“Oh Four Thirty-five.”
“Who is the president?”
“President of what? Does Alpha 2 have a president?”
“The President of the Federation.”
“Oh. Uh…Abraham Lincoln.”
The doctor shot him a sharp look. Nick grinned.
“Sorry, Captain, just kidding. George W. Washington the Second.”
“What’s your hometown?”
“Chowchilla, CentCal, North America, Terra.”
The doctor, a striking brunette not quite thirty, peered at him with dark eyes that mirrored concern. Her name tag said MORENO. Nick, in spite of his throbbing head, grinned again.
“Tu eres muy linda. ¿Estás casada?”
Her eyes widened in surprise and she checked his chart again, then squinted at him.
“¿Tu eres latino?”
“Only half. My mother is from Mexico.”
She pursed her lips.
“Well, congratulations, Private, but don’t expect that to get you any special treatment. You may think you’re irresistible, but I’m an officer and you’re not, so stand down.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
In truth, though she was an attractive woman, he had no amorous intentions. He was only sh
owboating to show her how alert he was and to stop the medical interrogation. He laid his head back and closed his eyes with a contented smile.
“Open your eyes, Private. You don’t get to sleep for at least six hours.”
He groaned. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“How does your head feel?”
“Like a gas giant.”
Dr. Moreno nodded and handed the chart to the nurse.
“Stay with him. Maintain a pupil check and call me if one of them starts to swell.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Moreno left the treatment room to check on other patients. Nick turned his eyes on the nurse and squinted.
“How’s your vision?” she asked. “Sharp or blurry?”
“It’s fine.”
“Sharp? Or blurry?”
“Sort of in between. I’m tired, I ache all over, and my head is killing me, so nothing is working a hundred percent right now.”
“Okay.” She picked up a video viewer from a table and placed it in his hands. “Keep your eyes open. This will help pass the time.”
Nick squinted at the viewer, then frowned. It was a Yancy West vid from two years earlier.
“Don’t you have the new one? I’ve already seen this.”
“Watch it again, then give me a review when you finish.”
Thursday, 17 May, 0435 (CC)
By daylight, Nick was dead on his feet—or in his case, dead on the gurney. He could barely keep his eyes open. Capt. Moreno examined him again, read his chart, and nodded in satisfaction.
“Okay, move him up to a ward. Intermediate care. I want vitals every thirty minutes for the next twenty hours.”
“Does that mean I can sleep?” he mumbled.
“Yes, you can sleep. Dulce dueños.”
Nick slept for twelve hours. His vitals were taken automatically by equipment attached to his body—he was totally unaware of it. When he woke, the headache was still there, but greatly reduced from what it had been, and he was starving. A civilian nurse brought him a meal, which he wolfed down in spite of its mediocre quality. Then the nurse shot something into his IV rig and he drifted off again…for another twelve hours.
Friday, 18 May, 0435 (CC)
When he woke, he was allowed to take a shower, his first since arriving on Alpha 2, then Capt. Moreno breezed into his ward and examined him again. She studied his chart, tested his eyes for light sensitivity, questioned him about the pain, then stood staring at him as if coming to a decision.
“I think you’re going to live, Private.”
“Thanks. When can I get out of here? I need to get back to my platoon.”
“I said you’re going to live, but you’re not out of danger. I think three or four more days of observation are in order.”
“What! Hell, my platoon could be halfway across the continent in three or four days!”
She smiled.
“Don’t count on that. My unit has been here nine months, and the rebels have given us fits.”
“We’re not Infantry. We’re Star Marines.”
“Ooh, excuse me! I forgot.” Her smile widened. “Relax, Private. You’re not going to miss the war. I feel pretty confident that it will last at least another week.”
She winked at him and turned to leave.
“Can I at least get out of this bed? I already had a shower and I did just fine.”
“Give it another four hours, then you can walk around a little. But no more than half an hour at a time. Let the nurse know when you do and she’ll give you a hover-support.”
“Really? Come, on, Captain, I’m not an invalid.”
“That isn’t your call, it’s mine. And that was an order.”
Nick grimaced. His head was starting to hurt worse. He sighed.
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
After another mediocre meal at noon, he did walk around for a while, but found himself tiring after a few minutes. His headache, though less severe than it had been the night before, was still there. He took two more short excursions in the afternoon, but no longer resisted when ordered to rest. His final stroll came after dinner. He walked down a long hospital corridor to a day lounge that offered a nice view of Camarrel and was gratified to see that the city blazed with light. If the Star Marines had accomplished nothing else, they had pushed the artillery threat far enough back that Camarrel could turn on the lights again.
He slept again, but only for six hours. He woke to find the civilian nurse updating his chart. He yawned and stretched, then drank water from a glass on the night table. The nurse smiled at him.
“Waking up?”
“Yeah. I’m not used to so much sleep. What time is it?”
“A few minutes after two. Do you need anything? Having any pain?”
“My head still aches, but it’s a lot better. Hey, have you heard anything about the battle at Goshen?”
“No, I’m sorry, but we don’t get that kind of information here.”
“Too bad. I’d like to know how many guys we lost. Did a lot of wounded come in?”
She hesitated, not sure whether to answer. Then she nodded.
“Couple of dozen. We also got a few Coalition wounded.”
Nick reacted in surprise. “Freaks? How many?”
“I’m not sure exactly. A handful.”
“Where are they?”
Her smile faded. “I don’t think I’m authorized to tell you that.”
He saw her expression and understood.
“Oh, I see what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, I only kill them on the battlefield. I’d just like to talk to one of them, find out what’s going on in their heads.”
“I’m sorry, Private, I can’t help you.”
“Well…was one of them burned pretty bad?”
“Several were.”
“The one I’m thinking of would have come in earlier, probably before dark. I captured him, and he was in pretty bad shape.”
Her tongue slid across her lower lip. Her expression turned sad.
“There were two like that. Neither one of them made it. I’m sorry.”
Nick nodded and she walked out of the ward. He sat staring at the wall, remembering.
Th-thank you…for not…shooting us.
He could still smell the kid’s burns.
Ezekiel, aged seventeen. Just a fucking kid. He should have been in school, or chasing girls— or both. Instead, his life was over before it really began, burned to death in a futile effort to force someone else’s will on the people of Alpha 2. What a fucking waste!
No fighting man ever has much sympathy for the enemy that wants to kill him, and Nick was no exception. Even so, war was a waste of lives on both sides. He couldn’t help feeling sad for people like Ezekiel.
Saturday, 19 May, 0435 (CC)
By the weekend, Nick was starting to go stir-crazy. His head was back to normal, as far as he could tell, but Capt. Moreno refused to release him.
“Two more days, she said. “If your head hasn’t fallen off by Monday, you can return to duty.”
Shit.
At least he was allowed unrestricted roaming, as long as he didn’t leave the second floor. But he insisted on being allowed to wear something besides a hospital gown. His combat fatigues, minus the helmet, were returned to him by Cpl. Bennett, the Star Marine nurse. They had been laundered and smelled fresh.
“Fair warning, Private,” Bennett said when she gave him the clothing. “In case you get the idea that you can walk away from here without being released, you will face a starcourt.”
He grinned. “For walking out of here, or just thinking I can?”
“Either one.” She turned and walked away.
Nick didn’t care. He got dressed and wandered down to the break room, where coffee was available at all hours. He drew himself a cup and strolled down to the lounge, where he settled into a chair next to a window with a view and relaxed. Thirty minutes later he was still there, his cup empty, when a familiar figure entered the lounge. Nick waited u
ntil the visitor spotted him, then got to his feet. Lt. Danby approached with a smile and shook hands.
“Private Walker. I was looking for you. How are you feeling?”
“Ninety-five percent,” Nick said. “I’m supposed to be released on Monday.”
“Glad to hear it.” Danby indicated a chair. “May I?”
“Sure, take a seat.” Nick also sat down. “Do you have any word on Echo Company? Nobody here seems to know anything.”
Danby nodded, his expression suddenly sober.
“Goshen was in our hands by daylight, but it turned into quite a fight. Where were you hit?”
“I wasn’t hit, exactly, but I got a concussion from the rebel artillery. I was in the park, in the town square.”
Danby’s eyebrows rose.
“That was the hottest fighting. That park was the target of crossfire from several directions. It lasted almost until dawn.”
Feeding off Danby’s expression, Nick frowned.
“How bad was it?”
Danby reached into his pocket and retrieved a slip of paper, which had handwritten notes on it.
“Total casualties from all companies…thirty-three dead and fifty-four wounded, yourself included.”
Nick was shocked.
“Jesus Christ—sorry, Chaplain—but that’s way too high for an operation of that size.”
“I agree. Of course, I’d much rather see no casualties at all, but that isn’t realistic.”
“What about Echo?”
“Echo…” Danby consulted the paper again. “Eleven dead, twelve wounded. Including Lieutenant Oehlschlaeger.”
Nick felt his gut twist. “The XO was killed?”
“No, just wounded. He had to be evacked.”
“What about Third Platoon?”
“Sorry, I only have stats down to the company level.”
“So how did the battle play out? The last thing I remember was the artillery shells hitting the park.”
“I don’t have a detailed knowledge, but people seem to be talking about the courthouse. It was the most heavily defended, and it caused so much trouble that they finally decided to destroy it. The parabola guns couldn’t do the job, so they called in the 77s.”
Nick sucked a deep breath. DuBose had told him that Col. Dietrich didn’t want to destroy the town; apparently he had changed his mind, but only when the body count got too high.
