by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
The medical rescue team almost overlooked the jumbled bodies. It was early evening and already quite dark, especially with the steady snow and heavily overcast sky. By chance, someone shone a light on Jonathan just as he shivered from the cold. In moments they had pulled Chasileah out from under her dead horse and had her placed on a litter under a thermal blanket.
Jonathan refused any medical help other than to be assisted up and have some of his cuts checked. He demanded to remain with Chasileah, holding her hand as she was hurried toward a waiting lorry.
Although the main battle had moved over the northern hills, there was still the occasional firefight to be seen and the random missile to avoid. It took twenty grueling minutes for the litter bearers to reach the lorry.
Jonathan was dismayed. “Couldn’t you have brought an airship?”
One of the medical rescue personnel smiled and replied, “Sir, they’re waiting down the valley. We didn’t dare bring ‘em up here in these conditions.”
She offered a hand to Jonathan, helping him into the back of the truck. Jonathan immediately crouched over Chasileah and started another little song. The medics watched a moment, then, looking at each other, smiled their approval.
The airship landed far to the south of the battle. Rescue crews quickly transferred Chasileah to an emergency triage center. As the medics brought her in, one of them said to the medical officer, “We found her! We found the general!” then, directing attention to Jonathan, added, “He was keeping her safe.”
Jonathan refused to release Chasileah’s hand. The medical officer scowled, but said nothing. He asked Jonathan to assist him with removing Chasileah’s armor and cutting away her clothing. “You’ll have to let go if you wish to have the surgeon examine her.”
After a quick examination, the surgeon shook his head. “Her pelvis is crushed, both legs have multiple fractures, and she suffers more internal injuries than I’d like to guess. I don’t understand how this child still lives.”
One of the medics answered, “He sang to her.”
The surgeon eyed Jonathan suspiciously. “You sang to her?”
“I’m…I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” Jonathan asked, his lips quivering with concern.
Laughing at Jonathan’s perceived dilemma, the surgeon shook his head. “No. You did everything right. I couldn’t have saved her with all my skills. You did, though, with your healing song.”
Now Jonathan became perplexed. “Healing song?”
“Another time, another time...” The surgeon motioned to a nurse. “Help this man with the general. I want her on the next flight back to PrasiaOdous. Make sure he’s permitted to stay with her - my orders!” The surgeon hurried off to help another wounded soldier.
Within an hour, Jonathan and Chasileah were being whisked away on a small transport, along with another six dozen other seriously injured soldiers. Jonathan recognized a few to be from the Glitter Brigade because of the pieces of armor they still wore. He found it hard to believe just how mangled and maimed a body could be and still live. For many of these people, it would be years before their injuries would fully heal, that is if they survived to heal. Three people died in transit to PrasiaOdous.