by Isaac Hooke
As I lay there waiting for the enemy to attack, my breath coming in spurts, my heart pounding, I was still convinced of our invincibility. My invincibility. The thought that we might actually lose never even crossed my mind.
Then the hail of bullets began.
I peered into my scope and picked out the facemask of an SK, peering over the edge of the plateau, his rifle aimed down at me.
I got him in the temple.
I got another SK in the chest just as the man got up to help his buddy.
I didn't feel any remorse. Couldn't. This was war. It was either those two, or two of my brothers.
I kept firing, taking down targets mercilessly. For a moment I truly believed my own bullshit. That we were unstoppable.
Then I felt this sharp, poking sensation in my lower abdomen.
I knew from my training that I'd been shot. I also knew that the skin of my gut would be sucked outward because of the pressure differential, and would partially seal the bullethole, while my coagulating blood would complete the seal.
At least, that's how it was supposed to work.
For two glorious seconds I felt no further pain.
Then it returned.
Tenfold.
This excruciating, burning sensation.
At first I thought I'd been hit with a certain illegal bullet called a helo-round: After it embedded in your flesh, the bullet sprouted six blades and started rotating lengthwise, chewing up your insides.
I bit down a scream.
Suffer in your head. Suffer in your head. Don't put your teammates in danger.
Though it probably wouldn't have mattered if I screamed: The SKs seemed to have a pretty good fix on us.
The pain increased, and I bit harder, feeling blood trickle down my chin.
I glanced down at the wound, and I realized why the pain was so bad.
It wasn't a helo-round. At least I didn't think so, because I could see this small, bubbling red mound protruding from my jumpsuit where the bullet had pierced. Pulses of red steam erupted from the bullet-hole in time to my heartbeat, just like what happened to Bender.
My insides were literally being sucked out and boiled away.
I had to fix myself up.
Fast.
I started shrugging off the medbag.
That's when I saw Alejandro's vitals take a dip.
I glanced at him. He'd been hit, too.
Worse than me.
He had a red spot on the left side of his chest, a little behind the armpit. He wouldn't even be able to reach the area to apply a suit patch. The wound was too high up on his back. He needed more than a suit patch, though: Between the pulses of red steam coming from the perforation in his jumpsuit, I could see a part of what I guessed was his lung bulging through. I'm not sure how he was even breathing.
Maybe he wasn't.
I didn't have time to properly stitch my gut. I had to repair my suit and go help Alejandro.
I slung the rifle over my shoulder and fumbled the suitrep kit out of my leg pouch, flinching at the terrible pain in my belly. I opened the kit up and haphazardly applied the patch to the tear in my suit, right over a fresh plume of red steam.
The pain didn't go away, but at least now I was just merely bleeding internally rather than having my insides sucked out. I could feel the hot blood pouring down my hip.
Not a pleasant sensation at all, but I'd finish patching myself up after I helped Alejandro.
I turned toward him, and it felt like someone took a sledgehammer to my belly.
"I'm coming over there," I sputtered. "Alejandro."
He answered subvocally with his Implant. Negative, Rade.
As I suspected, he probably couldn't breathe very well.
I started for him, biting down the agony.
I said negative! he sent. I'm serious. You make a move toward me, I'll shoot you hombre.
I punched the shale, partly in frustration, partly because of the sheer agony of my wound.
That's when I made my choice.
"If you have to shoot me," I said through gritted teeth. "Then shoot me. But I'm coming either way."
I crawled along the shale toward Alejandro, doing my best not to slip further down the slope, my jaw clenched against the waves of agony that throbbed through my abdomen.
Around me, my platoon brothers were firing for all they were worth from where they lay along that slope. Not a one of us would surrender, I knew. No one would ever give up. We'd fire to the last bullet, and when the bullets ran out, we'd fight hand-to-hand to the last man. Though a few of us might have our differences, we'd be here for each other to the end.
I reached Alejandro. He didn't shoot me.
I slid my medbag off my back, feeling utterly drained because of the pain.
That's when I realized I couldn't do this.
Sure I was tough. Manly. I could endure pain. But if it endangered my ability to help my friends, then pain was something I could do without.
I fetched the vial of morphine from my medbag and slid it into the injection slot above my glove. Inside my suit, a needle extended into my hand's dorsal vein network, feeding me the morphine intravenously.
The pain magically receded.
I knew it would be about three minutes before the effects of the morphine peaked. That meant three minutes of relatively pain-free work before the drowsiness kicked in.
I left the morphine slotted in place and retrieved a chest seal for Alejandro's body, along with a SealWrap, one of those funnel-shaped patches that I'd use to form a seal while I lasered into his suit. I started closing up the bag but my fingers slipped and half the contents spilled out, strewing the slope below. Oh well, nothing I could do about that now.
I carefully set the medbag down on the shale beside me.
Alejandro was still gazing through his scope, firing off rounds at the enemy. I had no idea how he could do it. Maybe his injury wasn't as bad as it looked.
But then I saw his vitals momentarily flatline.
Yup, it was bad.
I felt a wave of drowsiness, and I blinked it off. I couldn't go to sleep, not until Alejandro was safe.
The bullets continued to come in.
I gripped the occlusive chest seal between two gloved fingers, then secured the SealWrap around the wrist area of the same hand so that the wider portion of the funnel went out past my fingers. I pressed the rim down tightly over the puncture area of Alejandro's suit, timing the movement so that I wouldn't get caught by the pulses of red steam from the bullet-hole, and then I activated the sealant.
I felt the edges of the funnel tighten. Immediately the pressure within his suit equalized and the entire area sank in.
Alejandro's vitals fluctuated, and his head dipped. His insides were no longer being sucked out but he was still grievously wounded.
I bit down on my lip to stave off another bout of drowsiness. I could still feel some pain. That was good. Kept me awake.
I was vaguely aware as the bullets continued to whiz past, and my platoon brothers returned fire.
The funnel that sealed my hand to Alejandro's suit was translucent, allowing me to use the laser add-on in my gloves to cut away the punctured portion of his suit by sight. When I had revealed the bubbling wound underneath, I positioned the chest seal I still held over it, and then I slid the adhesive dial on the chest seal to the far right.
Done.
I'd sutured his chest lesion.
Battlefield medicine at its finest.
I could finally hear Alejandro panting in his helmet. His vitals seemed to stabilize.
He'd been shooting at the SKs the entire time. A true warrior.
Feeling really sleepy now, I pulled my glove away from his suit, stretching the flexible funnel that connected us. I groggily wrapped the fingers of my other hand around the neck of that funnel, crimping it just below my fingers. I carefully extracted my wrist out of the funnel, then turned the adhesive dial, completing the seal. The SealWrap would stay on Alejand
ro, a permanent fixture of his suit, at least until we could return to the ship.
I decided his blood pressure was too low, so I slotted one of the IV tubes into the injection slot on his glove, and hooked him up to a bag of plasma volume expander. I secured the bag to his belt with tape.
Alejandro glanced at me. "Owe you one." He sounded short of breath.
"Boy do you ever," I said.
Now I could sleep.
I lay back on the slope and closed my eyes.
I knew I needed to work on my own wound. And I probably could use a bag of plasma volume expander myself. I'd bled out. A lot. Problem was, the other plasma IVs were strewn along the slope farther down because of that little fumble with the medbag I'd had earlier.
Well, I'd just have to go get it, wouldn't I?
I wasn't a quitter.
That's when I felt someone press down really hard on my shoulder. I glanced at my suit, expecting to find Facehopper or Alejandro or someone, but instead I saw a small puncture wound.
That's when I realized I'd been shot.
Again.
The morphine prevented me from feeling much pain, thankfully.
Unfortunately, my vision was starting to grow dark.
But I wasn't going to quit.
My brothers needed me.
With eyes half-open, I took a step down the slope. Slipped a little. But that was good. It got me closer to the medical supplies.
But what was it I wanted to get from those supplies, again?
And why were my supplies strewn out like that anyway, when I had the medbag on my back?
None of it made any sense.
Shale exploded around me as bullets honed in.
"Rade, where you going, bro?" came a voice inside my helmet. "Rade?"
I glanced at my HUD map for a second, trying to figure out where I was.
On that map I saw a bunch of green dots near me, with a bunch of red dots at the top of the slope.
I saw another green dot moving in from the left. Very fast.
An MDV abruptly roared past overhead, strafing the plateau with gatling guns and rockets.
At first I thought it was our own MDV, but when the craft halted over the plateau sixteen more green dots piled out onto the map.
"Bravo Platoon!" said a voice over the comm.
I blacked out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When I woke up I lay in a bed. There were rails on the side to keep me from falling out. I tried sitting up but winced at the pain in my lower abdomen. Actually, it wasn't really pain, more discomfort really. Mostly I felt dizzy.
I glanced down. A light blue patient gown draped my body. I ran my hand over my abdomen and beneath the gown I felt a large bandage. It seemed to be wrapped around my entire midsection.
There was a needle connected to the top of my right hand, in the dorsal venous network. Connected to the needle was a tube that led up to an IV drip. Beside me was the beep, beep of a wireless EKG. I also heard the distant ambiance of the ventilation system, a subtle hum that indicated I was on the ship.
Convalescence Ward, then.
I glanced at the bed beside me. Alejandro was there, unconscious. I could see a slight bulge beneath his gown where gauze wrapped his chest.
Besides Alejandro and I, there were four other beds I could see, and each one was occupied. Lui, Manic, Big Dog, Facehopper. All asleep. I was expecting Bender as well, but he wasn't here.
I fumbled with the switches on the rails, looking for something to call the doc or nurse who whoever was in attendance.
A dark man dressed in blue scrubs came over. With his wild hair, disheveled beard and ingratiating smile, he looked like a cross between a Fakir and the Cheshire cat. "Welcome back, Mr. Galaal."
"And you are?"
"Doctor Banye. GMO." General Medical Officer.
I glanced at his rank device. "You're a Captain."
"I am. But not the Captain, of course."
"No. If the Captain looked like you I'd jump ship."
That ingratiating smile never slipped.
I nodded at Alejandro. "How is he?"
"He is fine."
I glanced at my platoon brothers. "What about them?"
"They are fine."
"And Bender?"
"He is fine, too."
I stared at this 'doctor.' "Care to elaborate?"
"In what way?"
I sighed. "Is everyone all right in Alfa Platoon?"
"Everyone is all right in Alfa Platoon."
"No one is dead?"
"No one is dead."
I screwed up my face. "What kind of doc did you say you were again?"
"GMO."
"Yeah. GMO." I rubbed my bandage. Damn thing itched. "Straight up, doc, what did you do to me?"
He steepled his fingers. "Me? Nothing. The machines did all the work. The 3-D bio printers recreated half your large intestine, and the Weavers put it in. Most I did was diagnose, help with the bandaging, and set up the IV. Doctors these days are more glorified nurses than anything else, you must understand. It's a shame what the profession has come to, really. A shame. Or maybe sham is the better word. And they said the machines would never replace us..."
"Help me sit up," I said.
Doctor Banye grinned widely. "I can do better than that."
The doctor eagerly showed me how to use the controls on the rightmost rail to tilt the bed up and down. "Give a man a fish, feed him for a day. Teach him how to fish, and feed him for life."
"What is that, a proverb?"
The corners of Doctor Banye's eyes crinkled. "It's from the Bible."
"I guess I should read that sometime."
"I highly recommend it."
I felt a jab of pain in my right shoulder and rubbed the muscle. "I thought I got shot in the left shoulder."
"You did. Your left shoulder was an exploded mess. We had to replace your rotator cuff, 3-D print some bone, and so on and so forth. You made quite the engaging task for the Weavers. I'm sure they enjoyed it. I wish I could have."
"Well, then why is my right shoulder sore?"
"Oh." That smile wavered for the first time. "Due to the morphologic characteristics of your acromia, you were genetically predisposed to developing a torn rotator cuff. So I had the Weavers replace your right rotator cuff too. With an elastic bio-substitute. You'll never develop shoulder problems thanks to me."
I looked at the doc dubiously. I noticed he'd sprinkled in far more medical jargon than he had while describing my abdomen or left shoulder injuries, like he was justifying what he'd done. Overly justifying. "You replaced my uninjured shoulder?"
"Why, yes. I just said that." He definitely seemed a bit nervous.
"Leave it to a doctor to find something wrong with someone perfectly healthy."
The doctor frowned. Good-bye Cheshire cat. "It's called preventative medicine. You should be grateful."
"Ah, you're one of those, are you? Maybe you should cut off my hands too, because they're predisposed to choking you out!" I leaned forward and snatched at him, but the doc wisely stepped out of reach. "I can't afford to have my shoulders replaced on some doctor's whim like this. You better not have my pay docked."
The smile came back. "You're a valuable piece of property now, Mr. Galaal. The Navy is footing your entire medical bill."
"The Navy is footing your experiments you mean," I muttered.
He bowed slightly, smiling away, steepling his hands in front of him.
I glanced at Alejandro. "Are you going to tell me what you did to Alejandro?"
Doctor Banye followed my gaze. "Mr. Alejandro Mondego. Yes. Left lung was completely unsalvageable. I had to bio-print up a new lung for him, and the Weavers put it in. He now has the left lung of an endurance athlete. He'll be able to climb Everest without an oxygen mask. The wonders of medical science."
"Yes, the wonders." I forced a smile. "Did you do anything 'special' to him, too? You know, to boost your professional sense of self-worth?"
The doc took a step backward. "Well, now that you ask, I noticed in the records that he had suffered from a prolapsed rectum in training. So I had the final three inches of his intestine replaced with an appropriate bio-substitute. Preventive medicine, you understand."
That actually made me laugh. I was imagining what Alejandro would do to the doc when he found out. "Let me guess, he'll be able to take a shit on Everest without toilet paper."
"Something like that."
"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it."
I glanced at the far bulkhead. Seemed a bit abrupt, given the design of the rest of the room. Too close to the beds.
I examined the map of the ship on my HUD. Yup. The Convalescence Ward was actually twice as big. A breach seal had been activated to cut the room in half.
I pointed at the bulkhead that blocked off the rest of the ward. "What's the deal with that?"
"Mmm?" Doctor Banye followed my gaze. "Oh. SKs, Mr. Galaal. A wardful of wounded SKs."
Many people might assume I'd feel angry about the SKs being here. Angry that we were healing those who were trying to kill us.
I didn't feel that way at all.
And I knew none of my teammates did, either.
The SKs were human beings with families, just like us, who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were just following orders, however wrong and against our interests those orders might have been. We were all taught in training that when you're told to do something, you did it without question because if you didn't your teammates might lose their lives. So I couldn't hold it against the SKs for following orders and doing their best to protect their own brothers.
When the battle was done and the guns were lowered, we didn't have any hard feelings.
I didn't, at least.
If any member of my platoon had been killed, I may have felt differently. I don't know. I was just glad everyone on my team was all right. I could imagine there must be a lot of anger and resentment coming from the other side of the bulkhead right about now though. By my reckoning, we'd wiped out at least a hundred SKs.
