Seri turned back into the transport, grabbing the end of a gurney rack and popping the switch to release it from the electromagnetic gripper. The gurney gripper light went from red to green and snapped open, dropping gently to the deck and extending the wheels as it hit. Seri tapped the console monitor at the head of the thing to make certain that it was still working correctly under its own power. The very weak vitals of the wounded pilot continued to graph across the screen in reds, yellows, and greens. Only a few of them were in the green.
"I've got this one, ma'am," the Navy corpsman nodded and grabbed the handles of the gurney and ran with it down the ramp and to the triage area at the end of the Madira's largest hangar deck.
Three of the wounded pilots were missing arms and were able to walk themselves down the ramp with some help from deck crew. They were led to the staging area for the noncritical casualties. The remaining four were stable but couldn't walk either because their legs were gone or broken, or they were paralyzed or unconscious. Seri pulled the other critical patient from the rack. She popped the gripper, and the gurney slid down from the rack release. She tried not to grimace at the sight of the mangled pilot. Her left arm was missing, including the shoulder. There was a gaping hole in her left side, and she was missng most of her right leg. There were other tears throughout her g-suit that had sealed off. There was no telling how much damage the poor pilot had sustained. And it had taken the SARs more than a day to get to her. Seri had been flying for thirty hours straight, collecting wounded from the most critical to the least in the order prioritized by the SAR logistics AICs. It was just nothing short of a miracle that this woman was still alive. A miracle.
"Poser? You still with me, girl?" She shined a flashlight at the pilot's face.
"I'm here, Vulcan," Poser replied so faintly that she could barely hear her.
Seri checked the "goodie bag" sitting on Poser's chest and noted that the pilot had already absorbed more than half a liter of the trauma cocktail in her IV. Poser had been as near death as a human could get when Vulcan had found her floating almost lifelessly in space; the trauma cocktail was beginning to improve her vitals. But from the scanners, Seri could tell that Poser's liver was damaged, and she was missing her kidneys, most of a lung, and some of her digestive tract. The bones and muscle tissue could be easily repaired if the doctors could fix the missing vital parts. She would have been given up for dead just a few decades prior, but medical technology continued to improve, and apparently Poser had a will to live, because her heart kept on beating.
Had it not been for the immunoboost that her suit had administered, she would have first bled to death, then she would be in serious trouble from septic issues. But her suit organogel and the drugs had done their jobs as well as could be expected. Her abdomen had been flooded with the psuedogel from the organogel layer until it filled the wounds from the massive trauma of the enemy cannon rounds, sealing off the arteries. Her wound was right on the edge of being too large for the seal layer to compensate for, but it had.
"You hold on, Wendy. The docs will fix you up." She pushed her along the deck, waving away another corpsman who offered to take her. Vulcan knew Wendy as a friend and wanted to make sure some emergency room waiting error didn't cost her friend's life.
She pushed the gurney through the sea of wounded until she reached the sealed-off triage room at the forward section of the hangar bay. Seri buzzed the door several times until a nurse covered in blood from head to toe opened the hatch.
"This one is marked as first priority critical," Seri said haggardly.
"Right. Most of them are." The nurse looked down at the mangled body of the pilot and then at the DTM wireless data transmitted to her about the patient. "I've got three more just like her, but you got here first. I'll take her from here."
"Thanks."
"Are there many more out there?" The nurse meant still to be recovered and brought in.
"This is hopefully the last run of criticals. But there are still wounded spread across the battlescape."
"Captain Jefferson, sublight and hyperspace systems are back online," the CHENG said. "Though, if we can wait a while about firing them up, I'd like to get some of our structural damage repaired and reinforced. We're still a good twelve hours from having all the SIFs back online."
"So I have propulsion, but you don't want me to use it, Benny?"
"Uh, yes sir. But you can in a pinch."
"Don't really need it right now anyway," Captain Jefferson said. "How about that big gaping hole in my ship?" He had been down to see it once, and the three-dimensional views of it just didn't do it justice. The hole was huge. It was so big that he was certain you could navigate a Starhawk through it and have room for a fighter escort. It had been plenty big enough for that mass driver sabot to go through to take out the Seppy battle cruiser hiding beneath them.
"Well, sir. There just isn't a lot we can do in the short term. We can seal it off and repair some of the damage with onboard resources, and maybe we can scavenge some materials from the facility below, but I'd rather wait and let the teams on the Lunar Far Side shipyards do it right. For now, I recommend that we find enough plating to cover the holes on the above and below hulls and leave it be. A wounded AEM told me that he saw mountains of girders just lying around in scrap heaps down there. Maybe we could get a couple Starhawks and a team to go down and load some of them up?"
"Make a list of what you could use and do it. I'll notify the air boss to get you a couple lifters and pilots."
"Good, sir."
"We may have to set up temporary shelters in the hangar decks for any displaced troops." Jefferson rubbed at the day-old growth on his face. He was tired and needed to shave. Five decks that housed soldiers had been obliterated by that damned Seppy railgun, and the Madira was a three-month ride from Earth at top hyperspace jaunt speed. It would be a long, uncomfortable ride home. "Get somebody working on that."
"Aye, sir."
"And CHENG, how's Buckley?" Benny's mention of the wounded AEMs suggested to the CO that he had been down to see his MPA in sickbay.
"Not good, sir. The swelling in his limbs was so bad that it was easier to amputate them. All of them. Same for EM1 Shah. The doc says that they have a good chance of surviving if they can manage the swelling in their brains without causing too much gray matter damage. It would mean a lot to them if you saw them, sir." Benny cursed abruptly at somebody in the background. "Uh, sir, if that's all?"
"Yes, CHENG, get back to work."
"Aye, sir."
Captain Jefferson stretched his neck by rolling his head a full clockwise circle. He stood and then stretched the kinks from his back as well. A quick survey of the bridge crew assured him that things were in good hands and that jobs were getting done. His crew needed some morale boosting from the senior staff.
Uncle Timmy, I need a break from the mindview. Shut it down for a bit. For more than thirty hours, he had been in DTM mindview active mode, and the massive sensory input was overloading his ability to think rationally. He needed to shut it off and just see things normally for a while—at least for a few minutes.
Aye, sir. It probably would help for you to get some rest too, sir.
Later, Timmy. Later. He inhaled a long, deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh through pursed lips.
Aye, sir.
"Larry." Jefferson turned to his trusted XO, who looked just as tired and frazzled as him, though the marine colonel wouldn't dare admit it. "Why don't we take a stroll down to the triage hangar and then by sickbay? Charlie, you want to join us?"
"Absolutely, sir," the COB replied. He, on the other hand, had finished off several pots of hot and very strong coffee and was wired wide awake. "I was thinking that there was probably some bored sailors down there that wouldn't mind hearing a story or two."
"Air Boss."
"Sir?"
"Stay on top of the casualty retrieval. Let me know when we get them all in."
"Aye, sir."
&nb
sp; "And spin up two SH-102s for the CHENG to recover materials from the planetoid."
"Aye."
Captain Walker's ship had come out of the scuffle a little less battered than the Madira. The U.S.S. Anthony Blair had only taken a couple of direct hits from the mass driver before the marines had taken it from the Seppies. The jaunt drive systems had been down for a brief time during the battle, but all her major systems were functioning to some extent, and it was her job to keep the vigil over the system in case more enemy ships teleported in from nowhere. She had also sent a team of her own AEMs along with some engineers and techs to both mass driver sights to relieve the Robots and to maintain them. The mass drivers would have to play a major role in protecting the facility until more Navy Fleet vessels could arrive. And that could be more than a week.
"Bill, how's my crew doing?" She leaned back in her office chair and wiped at her tired eyes with a moist towelette. She had left the bridge hours before to grab a bite to eat and to think through her next few days. The senior staff worked as a well-oiled Navy machine, and now that the major threat of combat was over, she needed to let them do their jobs for a while so that she could think about their predicament from a more strategic and long-term perspective.
"The wounded are still pouring in, and a lot of our wounded were taken to the Madira." CMC PO Bill Edwards sat opposite the captain when she nodded for him to sit. Sharon had ordered the COB to do a walk around the supercarrier and then report on morale to her. "Once things calm down and all wounded have been accounted for, I'd suggest swapping out crew. Our wounded will recover better in familiar surroundings. Not that Captain Jefferson doesn't have a fine ship, but home is home, ma'am."
"Okay, that makes sense. You and, uh . . ." She couldn't recall the Madira's COB's name, so her AIC quickly told her, but not before Bill did.
"Charlie, ma'am."
"Right, Charlie. You two get together and see if there is an easy way to make that move." Sharon covered her mouth and tried to stifle a yawn but wasn't very successful.
"If you don't mind my saying so, ma'am . . ."
"I do, Bill. I'll take some stims. Drop it."
"Okay, then. We're in pretty good shape. Our guys feel like we whupped up on the Seppies even though we took quite a beating. Morale is good. I'd say it's a little worse over on the Madira. They could use some hull plating also. We need to get our CHENG hooked up with their CHENG, ma'am."
"All right, I'll tell the XO." Fullback leaned back and shut her eyes for a few seconds and didn't make a sound. She considered taking a short nap, but what message would that give the crew? No, she needed to be seen for now, and there were still hundreds, maybe thousands, of tasks that she needed to watch over closely to make sure they would be prepared for the days ahead. "Anything else, Bill?"
"Not really, Captain. Just, this was a hell of a fight, and we've got a big-assed mess to clean up. I guess we do need to start figuring out where we're gonna keep the Seppy wounded and captured. Most of them fought to the end, but there are still a couple hundred that didn't. We don't have room in the ship for them."
"You know, I hadn't really thought about that. Better get with the XO and figure out if there is someplace in the facility that we can set up as a temporary holding location."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Anything else?"
"Not really. But, there is one more thing to consider. We need to figure out how all these wounded are going to get to vote on Tuesday." The COB smirked a little at that, but he knew it was a logistics issue that would have to be thought about.
"Shit. Okay, I'm officially not asking 'anything else' again. Because every time I do, Bill, you say 'Not really, but . . .,' so I'm not asking you again." Sharon showed him a very short and thin smile.
"Good idea, ma'am."
Chapter 27
November 1, 2388 AD
Washington, D.C.
Sunday, 5:35 PM, Earth Eastern Standard Time
Alexander sat calmly waiting for something to happen. Anything. Another wild accusation from the media or Congress would be better than nothing at all, but sometimes waiting was all that could be done. There was one day left before the election, and he had nothing yet that would allow him to turn the tables on the DNC's impeachment tactic. But he had put out a few calls for help. He just had to wait and see if anyone would answer his call.
Mr. President, your wife is here to see you, Abigail interrupted his solemn moment.
Oh? Great. Send her in.
Sehera sauntered through the door like a tall leggy runway model. Her height was a product of good genes and growing up on Mars, where the gravity was a little less than on Earth. That and the long dark hair and the milky white skin gave her an exotic attractiveness that camouflaged her steely, relentless resolve. She had grown up during some really bad times on the red planet and had developed a toughness and an edge that only hard times could create. But, by God, she was beautiful. Moore watched her slim figure swaying back and forth at the hips as her heels click-clacked one in front of the other across the tile of his office.
"Alexander, you've been hiding all day." She smiled playfully and sat in his lap, kissing him.
"If it ain't one thing it's another. What with running the country, fighting off terrorists, and getting impeached and all." He started to grin, but she punched him on the shoulder before he could. "Ouch."
"You need to spend some time with your daughter tonight. She is still shaken up from all this." She leaned in to nibble at Alexander's ear.
"I will as soon as I finish here. I'm waiting on an important call." He wasn't even sure he was going to get that call, but he was too antsy to think about anything else.
"I know, Mr. President," she said playfully again and then nibbled at his ear again. This time she whispered in it. "You need to go for a run and feed the ducks down at King Street."
"Huh?" Moore was startled by the message and a bit unnerved that it had come through Sehera. Why had she been the courier? It didn't matter. He had the message and knew what he had to do.
"I think a long run would ease your mind, Alexander." Sehera smiled at him and kissed him again. "Be discreet."
She smiled at him, and then as coolly as she had entered the room, she slinked out of it. Once the door latched behind her, he thought about what she had said.
Hell, a long run would make me feel better. Maybe I'll sweat all the rest of the damned stims out of my system.
Yes, sir, Abigail agreed.
Get Thomas and Clay in here.
Yes, Mr. President.
It had taken some subterfuge to keep the press off his back. Alexander had ordered Thomas to send the double out in the limo and take it for a ride. To help out with the ruse, Sehera and Deanna rode with the double. That wouldn't bother either of his girls because Alexander knew that it took a hell of a lot more to bother Sehera, and Dee loved any chance she got to play with BIL.
Once the press was thrown off his scent, he dressed in plain civilian workout sweats, a Redskins sweat-wicking toboggan, cap and his running shoes. Nobody would have recognized him from more than a few meters away. He also had Thomas and Clay dress incognito as well. Thomas met him in the gym in similar gear but had armor on underneath his sweatshirt. The sergeant was wearing shorts and a Marine Corps T-shirt.
"Clay, don't reckon you'll get cool, do you? It'll be fifty degrees out there tonight," Alexander asked the marine.
"Marines don't get cold, sir, they just get angry at Mother Nature for being so damned hard to kill, sir."
"We need to get moving, boys. The limo is going to pick us up in Alexandria, right?" Moore looked at his watch.
"Yes, sir."
"I really don't like you going out on these types of excursions, Mr. President," Thomas told him.
"I understand, Thomas. But under the circumstances, I have no choice."
The three of them slipped out of the White House using various passageways that the Secret Service had kept out of the public eye for centurie
s. Once they were outside the grounds, they jogged Constitution Avenue westward to Twenty-third Street. From there, they jogged south around the Lincoln Memorial and then turned back west, crossing the Potomac on the Arlington Memorial Bridge. On the Virginia side of the river, they wound through Lady Bird Johnson Memorial Park until they could hook up with the Mount Vernon Trail.
The trail was full of joggers, walkers, and cyclists going in either direction. Alexander led them south past the airport at an even nine- minute-mile pace. They had already covered more than two miles, and Alexandria was still a couple to go.
Abigail, how about some running music?
What mood are you in, sir?
Whatever you think. Just none of that stuff that Dee listens to.
Yes, Mr. President. A modern version of a classic Martian fusion rock song played in his head. Moore hummed along to it, keeping his head down, and focused on his running pace. Thomas was beside him, in the middle of the lane, and Clay was right behind him with each step.
Thirty minutes or so more of the running brought them far enough south that they were approaching King Street. Moore stopped at the docks outside the seafood restaurant and noticed the ducks swimming around in the river.
"Clay, why don't you step inside the food court and get us some sports drinks?"
"Sir, I'd really feel nervous letting you out of my sight," the big marine growled.
"Yes, sir. Clay and I need to stay close to you. This isn't really a good idea," Thomas added. "Mr. President, sir, I am not comfortable at all with this. We really shouldn't be here without backup and prescreening the area," Thomas cautioned as his eyes continually scanned the park to their north and the alleyways on either side of them that led up to the dock and pier at the end of King Street. Alexander could see how nervous the two bodyguards were.
"Relax, boys. Nobody knows we're here or recognizes us, and besides, this is Old Town Alexandria, so we'll be fine. If the terrorists wanted me dead, I'd be dead already. That damned bot Sienna Madira could have blown me up as soon as I got into range of her. And it didn't. Think about it." President Moore leaned against aging-wood safety rails along the pier to watch the ducks swimming in the Potomac. The ducks quacked at each other and swam up underneath him, hoping that he would toss them some breadcrumbs.
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