“Hey Sweetheart, we’re going to go find your Dad, ok?” I offer quietly.
Aoife’s eyes light up, nodding enthusiastically. She holds out her hands and I take her in my arms. She’s so light. Her mother’s features eerily shine through in the moonlight. The only things she and her father have ever had in common are their hair and their attitudes. I’m holding the bravest five year-old I know.
As I carry her back out onto the deck, Aoife buries her head into my chest and curls up. Neither of us make a sound as I amble towards the Medical Ward, hoping that is a better bet than the Morgue. Looking out into the cloudy blackness, I just hope for this one gamble to be true.
The lights of the Medical Ward break through the darkness. I can already hear the moans of the wounded, and we haven’t even opened the door yet. A quick look down at Aoife reveals she’s fast asleep. I hope she stays that way. Upon opening the door, I see row after row of wounded bodies stretching to the starboard side of the ship. Walking down the corridor, I recognize some of their faces. I’m glad they’ve made it this far. From a distance, I glimpse one of the nurses. My heart leaps at the silhouette. It has to be Cass.
As we make our way towards her, I notice her arms are caked up to her elbows in other peoples’ gore. She doesn’t seem to notice as she continues applying bandages to the marine beside her. I draw up next to the wall on her right and just watch as I hold Aoife. Cass’s hands are so delicate as they dance across the marine’s body. Applying ointments here, ripping tape to secure gauze there. In that moment I let my guarded heart slip further than I should. How can someone with that much compassion be alone in the world the same as me?
She doesn’t notice us until after she applies the very last bandage and straightens up to take a deep breath. Surprise runs across her face. She’s compartmentalized her mind to address only the necessities of saving the sick, and I’ve caught her out of that element.
Her beautiful smile finds her face. “Hi Baz.”
A warmth I’ve never quite felt before flushes over my frayed nerves. “Hi Cass.”
She looks as if she wants to reach out and touch my shoulder to see if everything’s still ok, but her blood-soaked hands and the small child in my arms present an insurmountable barrier.
Folding her ruby red hands behind her back, she leans over to address Aoife. “Hello little one,” she whispers.
Aoife’s eyes flutter open just long enough to respond. “Hello.”
Cass turns back to me with questions in her eyes.
“Cass, please tell me Olan’s here,” I say breathlessly.
Cass’s eyes don’t spark any recognition. Worry scrapes through my insides.
She shakes her head slightly before answering. “I’d have to check our registry. We have hundreds of people here tonight.”
I look over all of the other beds and can’t find him.
“Cass you know he’s a hard guy to miss.” I plead.
There’s the spark I’m looking for.
Cass’s eyes dial up the giant’s location. “You’re right, it looks like he made it in after my shift started,” she nods, motioning for me to follow her.
The three of us journey to the far side of the ward, reaching the less critical cases. Thankfully, they’re also quieter. I glance down at Aoife; she seems entirely undisturbed by the cries of the men and women around her. This is the only world she’s known. The sounds of death and destruction meld together to create some perverse lullaby. Shaking my head, I try thinking of less depressing things. How is she still such a sweet kid?
Cass’s voice breaks through. “Here he his.” she says flipping over a page. “Thank God, it looks like he’s in a stable condition.”
Looking up, I find a wrapped and bandaged Olan on his back in a cot. At the sight of all these bandages, I’m suddenly not sure bringing Aoife here was a good idea. A nurse working nearby seems to notice my struggle.
“They found him collapsed a few dozen feet back from the front line,” she calls over to us. “Severe dehydration. Not to mention he’d been shot twice and had already lost a lot of blood.”
I sigh. Oh Olan. Spending all his time making sure I recover, never once taking a drink of that precious water for himself. He was so caught up in the heat of battle he didn’t even realize he was losing pint after pint of blood.
“Is it ok if I leave the child with him?” I ask.
The nurse nods furtively and goes back to her work.
At a second glance, I realize where I know her from. She’s Janna Dixon’s daughter, Fiona. Her quiet, calm demeanor is a striking difference from her mother’s. I can’t even imagine growing up in that household.
We approach Olan’s cot. His eyes flutter open as he hears our footsteps. They flick down to Aoife, filling up with tears. He does nothing but hold out his arms. I don’t know if injury or emotion prevents him from talking, but I kneel down and give him his daughter without a word.
“Daddy!” she cries out, finally recognizing him underneath all the gauze.
My throat clenches. It’s embarrassing. I want to see be strong in front of Cass, but her eyes are glistening too.
Olan’s voice breaks as he brings her close. “Hello Love.”
Aoife’s little giggle escapes as her father pulls her tight. “You look like a mummy,” she observes.
Olan’s smile carefully curls across his torn face. “That I do Love, that I do. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Aoife looks up at her father. “You didn’t, I just missed you a lot when you were gone,” she says.
“I missed you too Love,” Olan says, his voice carrying all the weight of the world.
He thanks me silently as his eyelids get heavier. I just smile back. Father and daughter eventually fall into a peaceful sleep together.
I turn away, taking this chance to wipe my eyes and run my hand through my hair. Looking up, I catch Cass watching me. She doesn’t look away when our eyes meet.
She comes closer. “That was a really sweet thing you did.”
“He’s my cabin-mate, what else was I going to do?” I ask, looking at my feet.
She puts her hand under my chin, lifting my eyes back up to meet hers. “I know a lot of men who would’ve chosen sleep over her.” She lets her head tilt to the side. “But not you.”
I say nothing. Instead, I just smile, letting her appreciation sink in. She keeps her hand under my chin, pulling in close and planting a soft kiss on my lips. A warm sensation flows out to my fingertips. I let the feeling linger as she draws away.
“Come with me,” she says, taking my hand in hers.
Exhaustion settles in as she leads me to the corner of the ward used for women giving birth. The cots are a cloudy white and ringed with special equipment. It’s a quieter part of the ward and the pillow on the nearest cot calls to me. The sensation of Cass’s lips on mine still lingers as she lies me down. I look up, quietly thanking her as she pushes back a lock of my hair.
She glances back at the rest of the ward. “I still have to finish my shift, but I promise you’ll be safe here. Get some sleep Sage, you deserve it,” she says. Her finger tips trail across my cheek as she leaves, assuredly casting some sort of spell. Peace spreads over me gently.
But it doesn’t last long. I begin taking notice of the injuries of the day. They sting and throb. I adjust my body again and again, trying to find some position that doesn’t feel as though I am lying on a drawer of knives. After an hour of rearranging myself, I’m almost certain I’ll need a pain killer to even bear it anymore. Then I hear her. It’s just a quiet tune, but it’s loud enough to hold my attention. I don’t recognize it, but its effect is immediate. Just as Aoife received her lullaby, it seems that I’m getting mine.
The tune gets louder as she makes her way towards me. A weight depresses the side of the bed behind me. Cass climbs in, wrapping her arms around my waist. She pulls me close. Her head only comes up to the back of my neck, but her body contours itself to mine.
Looki
ng down, I see the blood still crusted underneath her nails as she holds me to her. It doesn’t matter; some things are just worth the price. Her warm breath flows over the back of my neck at an even pace, inducing wave after wave of goose bumps. The warmth of her body quells whatever pain I have, until finally my eyelids can no longer stay open.
It looks like everyone has someone to cuddle with tonight.
9
Rays of light pierce my eyelids until I can’t ignore them any longer. Turning over, I find not Cass, but a very composed Admiral Khan.
Startled, I draw back.
The Admiral greets me, ignoring my surprise. “Congratulations Mr. Basmon. I was unaware that you were expecting.”
I wrack my brain for an answer, then I remember where I am.
“I assure you Admiral Khan, if I were, you’d be the first to know,” I respond, kicking my legs out of the bed.
A smile appears underneath his salt-and-pepper goatee. “Well that is good to hear,” he says. “If you had been, I would have felt very guilty about sending you into battle in such a condition.”
His grey eyes follow me as I collect the sheets to remake the bed. “It has happened you know: pregnant women charging into battle. The kind of valor that stems from the protection of a mother’s child, unborn or otherwise, cannot be replicated.”
I say nothing, instead focusing on the enigma that is the fitted sheet.
The Admiral continues. “Speaking of valor, I heard you had a very eventful day yesterday.”
I bring myself to look into his wintery eyes. “Well Admiral, if getting myself shot down and falling over a bunker door is considered eventful, then I’d say that your reports are correct.”
The Admiral’s face contorts with impatience. “What my reports told me, is that you had no less than two confirmed kills. In addition, you were allegedly the first soldier to storm a bunker that had already claimed the lives of a third of your platoon.”
“Well, when you say it like that . . . ” I falter.
The Admiral doesn’t let me finish. He pulls a box out of his pocket, setting it in front of me.
I take it in my hands, glancing at him warily.
“Open it,” he gestures. It’s an order.
Flipping open the clasp, the box opens to reveal Sergeant’s chevrons. I stare, unable to speak.
“Congratulations Sergeant Basmon, you are performing even better than I had hoped.” the Admiral says with a smile large enough to draw up the corners of his goatee.
Performing . . . There’s something about that word I don’t like.
I take my eyes away from the chevrons and look up, meeting the Admiral’s. “Mr. Khan, this makes no sense.” I manage.
His iron will bristles underneath his words. “It makes perfect sense Sergeant. You’re starting to gain a following. People are beginning to take notice of your actions. Everything you’ve done so far has been in the name of the Artemis. For the community that lives here. If people can see that acts of valor are rewarded, they will continue to band together and perform their own.”
As long as I’m in the spotlight, Sanjar must maintain control.
I look down into the box again. “Thank you Admiral.”
He waves away my thanks. “Quick, quick, put them on. If I stay here any longer, you’ll be late for your Unveiling.”
My head snaps to the analogue clock above the cots. 11:17. The Unveiling starts at noon. I have enough time to get myself cleaned up and into a new uniform. I snap the box shut, stumbling to my feet.
“I hope you have a good day Admiral,” I offer.
He stands with me. “You as well Sergeant,” he replies.
I make it to the threshold of the Birthing Ward, then stop. “Ah . . . Admiral. You didn’t happen to see Flight Nurse Dawson on your way in, did you?” I ask, looking back.
The Admiral raises his eyebrows. “No, I did not. I can only assume that she is carrying out her regular duties, just as you should be.”
Point taken. Thanking the Admiral again, I sprint through the ward back to the Living Quarters.
Somehow, I accomplish the impossible and show up to the Cellar in a freshly pressed uniform with four minutes to spare. Gold Squadron has pulled up landing equipment to form a circle at the center of the hangar. Members of the Red Swans glance over in disgust as they tend to their aircraft in the corner; I can’t really blame them. While Gold Squadron gets drunk, they’re charged with the defense of the Artemis. C’est la guerre. .
I quickly find my drop wing, or what’s left of them anyways. Yeti stands awkwardly on the outside of the circle nursing his beer while Wilhelm tries engaging him in conversation. One other freckled woman with her arm in a sling stands next to them, gazing out over the docked craft.
Out of our wing of seven, Volley’s-Two, Three, and Five were killed outright in the fighting. Our freckled friend Rita Samuels, aka Volley Seven, had her wing blown off over land. Luckily, she bailed out and a Helios was able to locate and retrieve her. I’ll have to get the full story from Chet on that. Yeti was the only pilot other than our wing leader, Wilhelm Petrowski, who was able to bring back his plane intact. I can hear the Admiral tallying the losses now.
“It could have been worse,” Wilhelm offers. “I’ve seen entire wings get decimated.” He sips his drink, his eyes going somewhere else. “Everyone fought their hardest. Four out of seven ain’t bad.”
He swallows. “Right?” he asks no one in particular.
No one answers.
Yeti claps him on the shoulder. “You got us back Willy, and I’m grateful for it.”
I look down at my drink. “I swear I’ll be in my head enough to actually listen to your directions next time, Captain,” I promise.
Before Wilhelm can respond, Rita asks, “We’re allowed to view our planes now, correct?”
Wilhelm closes his mouth again before nodding. “That’s correct. Please enjoy the drinks and food. It’s a small token of our gratitude, but I do want to thank you for volunteering,” he eyes Rita’s arm, “and for your sacrifice.”
With Volley-Five in need of replacing, all three of our planes are lined up side-by-side in the hangar; large maintenance tarps have been thrown over each one. My plane was the last of the Artemis’s inventory. From what I can see of the fuselage’s protruding snout, it looks like it too. As long as it flies and shoots, I’ll make it work.
Rita splits off to inspect her replacement as well.
“What are we waiting for?” Yeti asks.
“Ah, is there some sort of ceremony or something?” I ask.
Yeti sweeps his arm around the gathering. Some of the younger, drunk pilots vomit out of the open hangar bay. “This is it!” he says cheerfully.
“Alright,” I concede, “let’s see what this thing looks like.”
Grabbing the sides of my tarp, we both pull it down in one fluid motion. The light grey paint reveals an image on the fin of a sword slicing upwards, and the word SABRE stenciled on the base of the tail and engine. It’s a little sparse, but enough of a base for me work with.
“Why’d they spell it the British way?” I ask.
“They probably saw you were a gringo and figured it would be a safe bet,” Yeti retorts. “Either way, it looks awesome man!”
I nod, lips downturned. Can’t argue with that.
“What an absolute shit emblem,” The Voice says.
“Shut up,” I growl.
“What?” Yeti asks.
“Nothing.” I try to cover.
Arching an eyebrow my way, Yeti turns his attention to his plane. “Aw man, I can’t even wait to see what they chose for me,” Yeti says, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
Ducking under the tail of my Jackal, I grab hold of Ettero’s tarp. Together we heave it off the fuselage.
An image greets us of a crudely drawn snowman covered in hair.
“What the fuck is this?” Ettero cries.
I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. “Take a
look at the tail for a clue.”
Ettero’s eyes flit to the tail’s base; he finds the letters YETI stenciled in yellow.
“It’s like they didn’t even try!” Yeti shouts.
I double over, my abs starting to hurt from the laughter.
“Ah, put a little paint to it and you’ll be grand,” Diz’s voice says behind us.
“Miss McAlister,” I say, straightening myself.
She walks under Yeti's fuselage, giving me a hug. “Good to see you lads.”
“You as well,” I say to Diz. “It’ll be alright Yeti; we’ll all pitch in with a can of paint and that decal will look properly ferocious.”
Yeti tsks, shaking his head. “Hey Diz, are those some new duds?” he asks.
I realize she’s wearing the same color as our deckhands, but a new designation glints on her left breast pocket.
“Crew Chief, huh?” I ask. “Did they finally accept that you were the one who came up with the idea of using the generator as a shield?”
Dizzy exhales. “Well, seems so. Then again, it just so happens there was a vacancy in the position.”
“What happened to Harker?” I frown.
“Crew Chief Harker was organizing things here while we were down on the Legion zeppelin’s deck. Apparently, one of the Legion fighters strafed into the bay and a ricochet caught old Hark. Didn’t kill him outright, but he died of his wounds sometime last night.”
I glance at her fiery red hair tied up in a braid. “Diz, the deck’s a pretty dangerous place. You sure you’re up for this?”
She shoots me a withering look. “Saved your ass didn’t I?”
I nod, tilting my head. “True enough.”
"Plus, I wager your man'll be on a proper warpath from here on out,” Diz mentions.
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
Diz moves closer. "Word on the Bridge is that while we were fighting those Legion bastards, one of the Admiral's old war buddies got proper buggered: Cedric Vitortov."
"Vitortov? Like, Vitortov of Iluster Arsenal?"
Diz nods.
"Who killed him?" I ask.
With Eyes Turned Skyward Page 11
