by Jay Allan
It was the first time I’d seen blood like that. Not a few drops from a cut, but pools of it. I knew immediately he was badly hurt, and I couldn’t move my eyes away. I watched my father cover him with the blanket, even as I heard the approaching sirens of the sheriff and the rescue squad.
When the medics arrived, my father walked back to the car, and we continued toward town. I remember wondering how we would get our blanket back. I don’t recall what we did in Concord that day, or what restaurant we went to. But I remember the image of that man lying in the street, covered by our old gray blanket…feeling bad for him and worrying about how we’d get the blanket back.
I think about that day often, even now. I wonder if that man lived or not. I feel sadness, thinking about his suffering, about the fact that he might have died. I always imagine that he got up that day, just like any other. Maybe he was excited, as I was when we left the house. It could have been a special occasion. He could have been going to meet friends. Instead he ended up hurt and bleeding…and maybe dying…on the cold pavement.
I can’t explain the reaction I had…that I still have…the melancholy, the sadness I feel for that man. Even now, after ten years of war and thousands of casualties…after all the suffering and death…I still remember the biker lying on that back road in New Hampshire.
Empathy. Such an odd emotion. Sometimes it is predictable. Clearly, the suffering of a friend or a loved one triggers it more profoundly than that of a stranger. And yet it seems to have a mind of its own, manifesting in unexpected situations. As in the memories and feelings I still have over something that happened years ago…to a person I never knew. An event that I witnessed from a distance for no more than 3 or 4 minutes.
What makes some things affect us so much more profoundly than others? Why do we remember some events, yet forget so many others of equal import? I’ve seen thousands of young men die in this place, some I knew, others who were just names on a roster sheet. Why do some burn themselves into your consciousness, while others are quickly forgotten? Why does one stranger’s death or suffering affect you more profoundly than another’s?
The battle was over. They were calling it a brilliant victory, but all Taylor could see was the terrible cost. With all his tactical ability and ten years of combat experience on Erastus, he couldn’t claim ignorance…couldn’t even fool himself. He knew the losses he would suffer before the attack even began. And he sent his men in anyway.
Taylor’s savage attack had cleared the entire canyon, opening up the route for 5th and 6th Battalions to advance on the Machine production facility beyond. He wouldn’t command that attack…he’d be back at base, training the flood of FNGs his units would need to build back to full strength. But his people had already won the victory. The canyon had been the real line of defense. The base itself was isolated, situated 4,500 klicks from the nearest supporting enemy forces. It would inevitably fall now.
Jake looked out at the debris of battle as he walked along the ancient riverbed his men had died to conquer. It was late twilight, and only the dimmer of the two suns was in the sky. This was as close as Erastus came to night, but it was still as bright as late afternoon on Earth.
The canyon was quiet. His troops had advanced through, forming a defensive position on the far end of the gorge. He knew the enemy didn’t have the strength to counter-attack, but he wasn’t taking chances. Exhausted or not, his people were going to stand guard until 5th Battalion got there and relieved them.
There were a few medical teams rounding up the last of the casualties. The ones who had the Supersoldier mods would almost certainly survive if they hadn’t been killed outright. The others had a good chance too, as long as they’d remembered to activate their medkits. Taylor knew from experience that about 15% of his wounded would forget. And most of them would die.
Taylor stepped on something and twisted his ankle slightly. He looked down. There was an assault rifle under his foot. It had been partly covered with the dusty sand of the valley, and he hadn’t seen it until his boot rolled off it.
“Help me.” The voice was soft, barely audible. “Please.”
Taylor snapped his head around. He wouldn’t have heard the strained whisper if it hadn’t been for his mechanically-enhanced ears. It had come from the right, and he turned and walked that way.
There was a large boulder, and Jake spotted a pair of legs on the ground. He trotted over, around the giant rock. It was a man…one of his privates…lying on his back, barely moving. He was a mess. His shoulder was ripped open, a large portion of the muscle exposed. There were two holes in his armor too, right through the chest plate. Taylor couldn’t tell if the rounds had gone in the front and out the back or the reverse, but either way, he knew the man was badly hurt.
Taylor looked down at the soldier’s belt and harness, trying to see if he’d applied his medkit. The wounds were bad, but if he’d gotten the nanobots into his system right away, he’d have a chance. Jake’s eyes darted across the trooper’s form, but Taylor felt the hope drain away as he focused on the small rubber pouch, still in its place, unused.
“H…e…l…p…” The soldier moved, his arm sliding slowly a few centimeters along the ground. His voice was weaker than it had been a moment before. There was a heaviness there too, a gurgling sound behind the words.
Taylor flashed a thought at his com, opening a line to the med teams. “Medical…this is Major Taylor. I need a team at my location ASAP.” He was about the cut the line, but then he added, “I found a wounded soldier.” No point letting them misunderstand and think he was injured. The way they all looked at him half the time…if they thought he was down they’d all panic.
He looked at the stricken figure lying at his feet for a few seconds then he knelt down beside the wounded man. “Private…this is Major Taylor.” He reached out, taking the man’s hand in his. “Can you tell me your name?” He pulled the medkit from the soldier’s belt, and took out the injector. He thrust it in the soldier’s leg, but even as he was doing it, he realized it was too late.
Jake could feel the man try to move. His hand was cold, but now it squeezed gently on Taylor’s. “M…a…j…o…r?” He tried to turn his head to look toward Taylor.
“Stay still, son.” Taylor’s voice was soft, gentle. “Don’t try to move.” He was looking at the stricken soldier’s wounds as he spoke. He sighed softly as he did, wanting to turn away, to run from this mangled kid. He can’t be more than seventeen years old, Taylor thought grimly…and he’s going to die right here, scared and in pain.
“What’s your name, son?” Taylor whispered softly, his mouth next to the kid’s ear. Jake’s tactical display would normally have shown him the man’s complete file, but the stricken soldier’s transponder wasn’t working. That explained why he hadn’t been found by the medics. Most of the wounded in this sector had been evac’d, but Chandra had fallen behind a rock outcropping on the edge of the field…and without his transponder, no one had seen him.
“Private…” He had a coughing spasm, and Taylor could see the spray of blood coming from his mouth. “…Private Chandra, sir.” He was still breathing heavily, but the coughing mostly subsided.
Chandra, Jake thought…I don’t remember a Chandra. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling a wave of guilt. This boy could march out here on my orders and fight…and get hideously wounded…but I can’t remember his name. Taylor commanded a lot of troops now, but his expectations of himself hadn’t changed with the scope of his responsibilities.
“What’s your first name?”
Chandra had another coughing spasm, not quite as bad as the previous one. “Sanjay, sir.” He coughed again, spitting up a blob of partially congealed blood. “My name is Sanjay, sir.” Chandra was silent for a few seconds. Then he finally managed to turn his head toward Taylor. “Please help me, sir. I don’t want to die.”
Taylor opened his mouth, but he couldn’t force the words out. Finally, he leaned down and whispered, “You’re not going to die, Sanj
ay.” He almost choked on the lie. “I already called the medics.”
He wasn’t sure if Chandra believed him or not. Taylor was a 10-year veteran of Erastus…he’d killed hundreds of Machines, and he’d watched thousands of men die. But he couldn’t bring himself to be honest with this broken kid lying in front of him. What would honesty serve now, he thought…what could it do but scared this poor boy even more?
“I want to go home.” Chandra spoke the words softly, wistfully. He was crying, tears streaming down his dirt and blood spattered face.
“I know, Sanjay.” Taylor was trying to sound as soothing as he could. The detritus of battle was all around, but right now all he could think about was comforting this shattered, terrified kid. “I wish I was home too.” He pulled a rock out from under Chandra, trying to make him more comfortable. “Where are you from?” Just keep talking to him, Jake thought…don’t let him die alone.
“New Delhi, sir.” He coughed again, though only for a few seconds this time.
Taylor sat in the hot sand, holding Chandra’s hand. He was trying to think of things to say…anything to keep the dying soldier distracted. He knew it wouldn’t be long. It was a miracle the kid was still alive. So many men have died in this war, he thought, alone and unsuccored…does comforting one really make a difference?
Chandra’s body tensed and wracked with another coughing spasm. He fell back, moaning in pain. “I’m scared, sir.”
“I know, Sanjay.” Jake was trying to keep the emotion in his own voice under control, but it was hard to answer. He felt grief…and anger. He railed inside against his own helplessness. Veteran…Supersoldier. None of it meant a fucking thing. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. Nothing but sit and watch Sanjay Chandra die, terrified and in pain, in the bitter sands of an alien world.
“Don’t be afraid. We’ll have you out of here soon.” Taylor hated himself even as he said it. “Just be calm. Close your eyes and stay still.” He could hear Chandra’s breathing become rough, unsteady. It won’t be long, now, he thought. He watched the young soldier struggling for his last breaths, and the grief welled up inside him. He wanted to cry for this boy, but he couldn’t. His mechanical eyes didn’t produce tears. One more thing they had taken from him.
Chandra’s chest heaved with one more deep rattling breath, and then he was still, silent. Sanjay Chandra was dead.
Taylor sat silently for a few moments, turning away, unable to bring himself to look at the dead soldier lying next to him. He knew nothing about Chandra…nothing at all, really. But he realized he’d never forget him. The image of this dead soldier would stay with him the rest of his life.
“Sir, are you OK?” The medical team trotted around the outcropping, looking down at Taylor and Chandra.
Jake felt a wave of anger. Why, he thought, why are you worried about me? But he pushed it back. It wasn’t the medics’ fault.
“I’m fine, Sergeant.” He started to get up. The medic closest to him moved to help, but Taylor waved him off. “He’s dead.” Taylor was looking down at the still form of the boy he’d been talking to a few minutes before. “Transponder was damaged…and he forgot to administer his medkit.” Rookies, Taylor thought sadly.
He turned and walked away slowly, without another word.
Chapter 14
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
I met a girl here. I met her a long time ago. I don’t know why I never wrote about her before. Maybe it was too soon after I’d lost Beth. Or maybe I wanted to keep one thing just for myself, not even to share with this journal. I don’t know for sure.
Her name is Hope. I remember laughing when she told me. It’s a pretty name, but I can’t think of one less appropriate on Erastus. It’s no great romance story, ours…there is no such thing here. The only women on the planet are sex workers assigned to provide support services to the thousands of men in the combat units. There are no female soldiers serving in UNFE…not in any UN military force…nor are any UN administrators I’ve ever encountered women. I haven’t even seen a woman outside the brigade brothel in ten years.
The brothels are an integral part of every military force structure serving on a Portal world. We fight a war with no leaves, no trips home, no towns to visit for R&R. Not even a box of cookies sent from mom. Desertion isn’t a problem…there’s nowhere to go anyway, so why run? But mental breakdowns are common. You can force a lazy man to work, even compel a coward to fight. But when a man doesn’t care anymore…really doesn’t care…then he is uncontrollable. Punishment doesn’t work, threats don’t work. When a man loses it on Erastus, UN Central’s investment in training and transport goes up in smoke. The brothels provide a release, a stress reliever. They keep men on the brink from falling into the abyss.
UN Command calls the whole thing Sexual Support Services, or SSS. The program exists for a number of reasons, and the brigade facilities are an integral component of the military discipline system. Periodic visits to the SSS compounds are a privilege, one that can be withdrawn for soldiers or units that don’t perform as expected. For a lifetime soldier with no prospect of going home, a few hours with a woman is the only escape from a life of constant duty and bloodshed. It is part of the delicate morale system that kept men with no hope in the field and fighting.
I’ve sometimes wondered what the women had done to be consigned to such fates. Were they criminals? Political prisoners? Or just women blackmailed or conscripted, as I was? As far as I can tell, they serve life terms, just as we do. I’m not sure how that works over the long term. No one worries about what to do with a 70 year old soldier, because none of us live that long. Sooner or later, the god of battle comes for all of us. But the women of SSS don’t have the attrition rate we do. Certainly, some succumb at a young age, victims of a hostile environment or virulent alien pathogens. But most can expect to live something approaching a normal lifespan. What will happen to them when they are too old to continue their function effectively? I don’t know – the war on Erastus hasn’t been going on long enough for that situation to arise. But I don’t like the things that come to mind. Another dark secret, the kind of thing most people would rather not know about.
My father served alongside women in the old US Navy. Indeed, a woman had been the U.S. president when he enlisted. He mentioned it incidentally when he was telling me about his time in uniform. It was something I’ve never much considered, not until recently. I didn’t really know anything about military service, not before I ended up a soldier myself. And when I found myself on Gehenna fighting the Machines, I just adapted to the military establishment I’d become a part of.
Now it’s been ten years, and I’ve started to think more about it… about a lot of things I’d given cursory attention before. I know that some of the old military establishments had been gender-integrated but, again, that was pre-Consolidation history, and it wasn’t safe to go poking around too much. Most serious information on the old nation-states was on the quarantined list, and it was next to impossible to get anything reliable. UN Central didn’t want people waxing poetic about their ethnic and nationalistic histories…not while there was still living memory of the time before the Consolidation. I thought I understood that thinking once, and even approved. Eliminating anything that threatened the peaceful unity of mankind seemed worthwhile, even if it came at the cost of intellectual freedom. Now, I see other perspectives. Darker ones.
I used to wonder why UN Central didn’t recruit women, how the female gender had taken such a massive step back in equality and opportunity. Then I realized. The Consolidation had necessitated combining different cultures, each with their own gender, racial, and religious traditions. In the end, terrified by the prospect of the Machines invading, all of the nations of Earth voluntarily surrendered their sovereignty to the UN. The earliest nations to push for world unity had the greatest impact on the coalescing multinational culture…and most of those states were from the developing world, places where gender inequalities were oft
en deeply ingrained in the way of life.
Back home things were different. My mother, Beth…all the women I knew…they weren’t treated as second-class citizens in any way I’d ever noticed. But New Hampshire had been part of the old U.S., and from what I knew of pre-Consolidation American culture, the genders had been more or less equal in terms of rights and societal obligations. UN Central didn’t interfere too much with local customs. They didn’t make a big deal out of it…nothing that could turn into a rallying cry. They didn’t talk about it at all; they just went ahead and did what they wanted. Now that I thought about it, I’d never noticed a woman in any significant government position. The Inquisitor who’d come to our farm demanding the taxes…the recruiting agent who offered a waiver of the debt in exchange for my enlistment. Our local UN Admin…and every other one in the surrounding areas. All men.
I remembered my father’s rants, his constant complaints about UN Central and how much we had all lost since he was younger. Now I wondered about those women he’d served with, about what they felt they had lost. They had served their country, bled for it – some had died for it – and their reward was to see their daughters and grand-daughters barred from the same freedoms and opportunities they had enjoyed. I saw my father’s anger first hand, but now I wondered about those women. I couldn’t imagine how they lived with the bitterness. It was a different hell than mine, but perhaps one as painful in its own way.
Taylor was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, holding his head in his hands. He hadn’t said a word in over an hour. He used to look forward to his allotments at the SSS facility, especially after he met Hope. She was pretty enough, especially by Erastus standards…but it was more than that. She had a tenderness, an empathy…a gentleness that was utterly at odds with every other aspect of his life. He was drawn to her; she made him feel whole again, at least for a little while. He felt a longing to help her too, to give to her the same comfort she provided him. Indeed, much of the solace he got from her came from knowing that he was there for her as much as she was for him. It made him feel normal, just for a few minutes. It might not be a real relationship they shared, but it was close enough that they could both pretend.
