by Chris Hechtl
“I believe the gaijin were correct. War has indeed changed,” Duke Troy said proudly, smiling gleefully. Rojer glanced his way and then to the other lords.
Duke Pryor sat back in his saddle, seeming to slump in relief at not having to fight in such a mess. Rojer couldn't very well blame the old man. He too was glad he hadn't been called forth.
“None gained glory?” Pettigrew asked, looking around. Some of the other lords were already calling servants to help them out of their armor.
“It seems not today,” Pryor said.
“None but the gaijin,” Troy said, suddenly subdued.
“Indeed,” Rojer murmured.
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Ryans and Perry rode in deathly silence as they watched Scooter pick his way through the battlefield casualties. Scores of men and animals lay dead or dying all around. A handful of men and women were going around picking at the wounded. Perry looked away in disgust as a woman pulled out a dagger and stabbed a wounded man who was trying to keep her from stealing from him.
Doc had reportedly run out of Biofoam in the first hour of triage. Her surgical teams were fighting valiantly to save as many as they could. It was a losing battle for some. And for some here, the battle had already been lost.
“God,” Ryans croaked. They pulled up to a mound of dead, unable to go any further. Scooter got out to see if he could pull the bodies aside. There was no going around, one side was burning, and another had titan beasts fighting over carcasses. After a moment Ryans and Perry followed.
The first man Ryans pulled was dead. The second was limp. He hefted the man; little more than a teenager covered in blood and dragged him to the side. He felt his cheeks were wet. When he gently set the body down he tried to withdraw but a hand clutched at his. He looked down to see the boy was awake, alive but barely clinging to life. He looked at the wounds and grimaced.
“Get a medic over here!” he roared, looking around. Perry rushed over with a kit. “Hang in there kid,” he muttered, avoiding the terrified eyes. He put pressure on the wound. The boy gave a weak mewling cry.
“Damn. I thought they got all the wounded out?” Perry muttered. He slapped a patch on the wound, lifting Ryan’s bloody hand to do it.
“Apparently not,” Ryans growled. The kid coughed then his head lolled back. Perry checked for a pulse then lifted an eyelid to check the kid's eyes.
He sat back on his haunches. “Fuck. We lost him. Heart or artery collapsed from lack of blood,” Perry said, after a moment he rocked back on his heels and shook the blood off his hands. Ryans frowned, looking down at the body. “Come on,” Perry said, hand on his arm. “It's over for him Ryans. Maybe we can save another.”
Ryans frowned. “That still won’t make it right,” he said softly.
“No, but they still need the help,” Perry said, locking eyes with him. After a moment they each nodded.
They checked each body and brought the wounded out near the vehicle. They quickly ran out of dressing and resorted to their socks and undershirts and the rags the wounded and dead wore. Perry called in for help when they had twenty wounded. The area around the hummer was cluttered with broken, groaning bodies. The men whimpered softly, expecting to die.
After nearly an eternity of an hour men began to arrive. They were dressed in white smocks with the Red Cross. Blood was splattered all over their outfits. They looked like something out of a gore movie, but Perry blessed the sight of them anyway. The men and women didn't say anything, they got to work right away, gently pushing Ryans and Perry aside as they began to treat and then carry the men to the waiting surgeons.
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The Imperium lords who rode out with them were disdainful of aiding the fallen enemy. Many ended up in a party after the battle celebrating their victory. Duke Emroy's sally had met up with the others and the old Duke was met by slaps on the shoulders from his fellow Dukes and lords. He roared in mirth as his fellows told him of their view of the battle. They turned as one and headed to the tent servants had erected for them.
Even the general joined the party much to Perry's undisguised disgust. He managed to pry the general out when reports of pockets of enemy began to come in. Reluctantly the general backed Perry when the gaijin lieutenant respectfully requested they send out cavalry and other units to hunt them down and round them up.
<==={}------------>
Lewis radioed in large pockets of retreating soldiers. She circled during the day making the rising smoke swirl around, blocking and dimming the two suns. Eventually she came in to land on the straight stretch of road to refuel once. When she became tired and punchy Perry stood her down over her objections and had Sergio Velenkov orbit the area while she rested. Sergio however had to land when the suns set and it became too dark to see. He lifted off when the moons rose; giving off enough light, or so he said, to see. Perry was certain the Russian just wanted to get away from the battlefield. He couldn't blame the guy.
As Ginger rested with the other gaijin Duke Emroy and the general visited her and both shook her hand. The elderly Duke was dressed for battle, but quickly shed his heavy armor when Perry pointed out it wasn't needed. He was relieved and joked about having to wear the heavy kit in his advanced years.
The catcher team, so called because they were the reserve cavalry sent out fresh to round up enemy units brought back hundreds of enemy soldiers. A few were wounded; others were just terrified and cowed by the day’s events. Hundreds more turned up at the wall several days later only to surrender when they were caught between the wall's defenders and a cavalry unit.
Deidra met Ryans after dark. One moment he was carrying a broken body and the next she was there, looking dirty and forlorn. He smiled tiredly at her and ran a grimy hand through her hair. She cupped his hand to her face and then nodded, stepping aside to let him pass. Buoyed by her survival he continued on his task to save as many as they could.
<==={}------------>
Deidra managed the logistics, taking over when the Dukes and other nobles became too inebriated to handle the task. Doc, Charlie, Wanda, the local healers, and what medics the gaijins had and others they had trained were busy fighting their own battle, a desperate and losing battle against death.
“Triage Doc, triage,” Ryans said one time when the Doc was seen leaning against a tent post with her head between her legs. She looked up and waved. She was in a surgeon's smock, covered in blood. She had a cloth mask around her neck, dangling there. A cloth hat covered her hair. Her hands were pale, scrubbed too many times.
His heart was torn like hers, he tried to help all he could, at least give them some measure of comfort until a medic could get to them. He came over to check on her. She leaned into him as he forced her to the waiting table. She noted the food and hid her intestinal distress. He smiled tiredly, noting it. “Doc, I know you don't want it, but even you need fuel and rest,” he said patiently. She was beyond exhausted but agreed. They kept it simple, a sandwich and a drink. She asked for Sergio, but he told her he was scouting.
She was instantly upset by this, he patiently explained that Sergio was needed right where he was, helping them find and round up the enemy units before they became a bigger problem. She looked stonily at him. “Doc, honest, we've got to stop them before they turn into locusts. Just one of those larger pockets turned loose on a small town or village? You really want them to get their hands on any more kids or girls?” he asked. She shook her head then sighed, letting her shoulders slump. He patted her shoulder in commiseration.
He caught sight of an exhausted and grimy Deidra and waved her over. He noted a look on her face and noted the jealousy but let it pass. “What do you need?” she asked Doc.
“Blood,” Sue answered tiredly. “More doctors, more time, more dressing, more ether or chloroform. Buckets of biofoam and surgical gauze. Clean instruments. Alcohol.” She scrubbed at her tired eyes. “Sleep,” she groaned. “God a week’s worth of sleep,” she muttered. Perry came over and gave her a sh
oulder rub. She bowed her head and groaned again, this time in relief.
“I'll get a blood drive going. We Terrans can donate to set an example,” Perry said quietly.
Ryans nodded. “Best to lead from the front,” he said. He smiled and then the smile faded. “Butchers bill?” he asked quietly, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
Perry grimaced as Doc groaned. “About two hundred on our side. About twice that wounded. Half came from that flanking cavalry battle,” he sighed. “I told them, god I told them to keep the range open,” he said. He shook his head in disgust.
“Easy there, don't manhandle the patient,” Ryans said pointing to Doc. Perry looked down and blushed. “Sorry Doc.” She chuckled, head still down as he eased up.
“The enemy casualties are heavy.” Luckily Doc here has a good triage team and we've got as many as we can stabilized. “The battlefield is clear of wounded and the dead are off to the afterlife...”
“The anesthetics helped a lot,” Doc sighed softly. “And the training...” she said. “I don't think we'll have as many amputations as they did in old battles. Thank god,” she said and then shuddered. Deidra did as well. She'd heard the pitiful cries of the wounded; they tore at her heart, especially the cries from the young. “I'm keeping the Imperium healers on light wounds and I'm handling the worst myself. Well, me, Charlie, and Wanda. Both ladies make dandy surgical nurses,” she sighed again then patted Perry's hands. He wearily sat beside her.
“I'll go get the blood drive going,” Ryans said patting Doc and Deidra’s hands and then moving off.
“Blood drive?” Deidra asked turning to the others as a servant placed a bowl of mushy porridge in front of her. She picked up a spoon and toyed with the steaming bowl. She had just got the supply situation sorted out. Duke Emroy had taken charge of the supplies headed to the duchy.
“We take a pint or two or three from volunteers. Separate the blood into plasma and red cells. The plasma can go into anyone, the red cells or whole blood can only go into people that have the same type of blood,” Perry explained. Deidra looked confused and then nodded anyway.
“Many men lost blood. We don't have enough. We can't refrigerate it, so it spoils in minutes,” Doc said groaning softly. “We've got to have more, saline is almost out and isn't enough. If we can get them stable then we can hopefully keep their hearts and arteries from collapsing from the lack of blood. Don't even get me started on air embolisms,” she sighed.
“Can anyone donate?” Deidra asked, looking off to where Ryans was, standing near a pair of nurses drawing blood from a volunteer. Ryans was holding a bandage to the inside of his arm.
“Men and women both yeah. It doesn't matter as long as they're healthy and don't give too much. It's a good idea to get them to drink fruit juices or eat after though so they began to make new blood to replace the lost blood,” Perry answered. “The blood will be completely replaced in a week.”
“It's the simple things that can save so many,” Doc murmured tiredly. She weakly picked up her fork. Her hands shook. Tears fell from her eyes. Perry rubbed her shoulders. “Easy Sue, it's okay. Just relax,” he murmured. She sobbed silently then gushed a sigh as she began to relax. Deidra hugged her from her other side.
She waved a servant over and told her to get some of the women to donate blood too. Many of the camp women were serving as nurses to the wounded or cooking. Bandages were being made out of ripped and torn uniforms. They were boiled to sterilize them.
A woman nearby was cleaning clothes in a bucket of water from the river. Another was doing laundry in a helmet. Knots of soldiers were standing around, showing off trophies or boasting as they drank themselves silly. Perry looked over, frowned, but didn't say anything. They had enough problems to deal with. Some things you just couldn't deal with.
Chapter 22
Over the next several days the remaining Duluth army survivors were rounded up. Lieutenant Galloway and centurion Ticundus blocked a group from leaving. Tired, fearful, hungry, and frustrated they threw down their weapons at the wall. Galloway had them build a small internment camp and detailed some of his people to guard them.
Duke Emroy estimated less than one in ten of the survivors got away, most would either turn bandit or try to get over the mountains to go home. A few would most likely try to blend in to the area.
Nearly two thousand were dead, nearly twice that were wounded. A little over three hundred and seventy wounded soldiers didn't survive the first week despite the frantic efforts of the surgeons. Many of those who did would be maimed, missing limbs. They would have a long road to recovery... if they could be kept from picking up an infection.
Many of the peasants in the area were starving. The Queen sent in convoys of food when she received the good news from Jesse. The Terrans organized work parties to first improve the internment camps with latrines, and then go around the area rebuilding the villages and farms. It was one way to keep the knots of soldiers busy, make them think about the true costs of war, and to make the ones who didn't participate actually participate and give them something to talk about.
Flush with the victory the Queen sent in seeds and materials from the royal warehouses. Perry and Ryans drafted the surviving Titans and war beasts to be used as draft animals with mixed results. Ryans even used the hummers and Strykers to pull modified plows, much to some amazement of the locals, and annoyance from Perry when he found out about the little project.
When some of the POW work parties saw the new plows and other tools they were impressed and began to talk amongst themselves. The surviving Duluth lords and knights were sent to the capital under guard.
Perry was torn between keeping an eye on things, training, and running a war crimes tribunal until Duke Emroy came out to help. The elderly Duke wasn't very spry but he had a wicked sense of humor and a commanding presence. He sent out refugees from the duchy to aide in the repairs to his lands.
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“What's that?” Ryans asked indicating a second internment camp. The tesserarius looked over to it then back, eyes hard.
“Traitors,” he said darkly.
“Conscripted or voluntary?” Ryans asked. The aide shrugged.
“Does it really matter? Either way they're traitors to their countrymen,” he spat toward the faces lining the improvised fences.
“Yeah it does,” Ryans said walking over to the fence.
“My lord come away we really must...”
“Oh yes, we must,” the general nodded and walked off with the aide.
“If you must, you must,” Waters said shaking his head. He trotted over to Ryans, catching up. “What are you up to?”
“Treason is punishable by death in these parts remember?” Ryans grunted, climbing over a trench.
“I seem to recall something about that,” the Sergeant said, cracking a rare smile.
“Yeah well, I think these kids know that too...and if someone... oh say a group of soldiers came, pointed a sword at their throat and said that if they want to live they have to fight for them...?” He turned to look at Waters carefully.
Waters grunted. “Yeah. I get your point.”
“Yup. Most people aren't into the whole death or dishonor thing. Living to see the next day sometimes beats all deaths hollow by a country mile in my book.”
“Yeah, there is that,” Waters said nodding. “I've done some shit I ain't to proud of in my day.”
Ryans got to the edge of the fence line. Soldiers looked at him. He nodded politely to the nearest and then looked at the men.
Most of them were young; a few were boys, not even five feet tall. He could see what must have been a thirteen year old in the back. He pushed his way to the front.
Most were wearing rags, or dirty torn linen shirts. A few here and there had dirty military tunics. Many were injured, bruised and battered. He sighed looking at the faces. Hunger had puckered a few faces. All of them were filthy and their shoulders were stooped.
“When was the
last time these people were fed and given clean water?” Ryans asked. Waters looked angry as well. He took a long look at the thirteen year old and turned to a guard.
“I want the tesserarius or centurion of this guard here now,” he snarled. The guard looked amused, but his fellow hit him on the side and then jerked his chin. “I gave an order son. Best see it obeyed,” Waters' growl turned ugly.
The soldier's face fell, and then he trotted off. He glanced over his shoulder once and then sped up.
“What's your name son?” Waters asked, coming up to the fence. The startled boy looked at the Sergeant in wide eyed befuddlement until someone kicked him.
“Me name's Brom sir,” the boy said hastily.
Waters grunted. “Right. How old are you son?”
“I've six winters sir,” The boy said nodding. Ryans did the math. That meant the kid was about twelve or thirteen. He looked at the puckered face. He could see tear streaks in the mud and dirt on the boy's face.
“And where did you come from?” Ryans' asked.
“From a village north of here sir,” the boy said nodding. “We were rounded up when the soldiers came.”
“Ah,” Ryans nodded as the guard approached. “So they gave you a choice?”
“Choice?” a middle aged man nearby croaked. “Like they gave a choice to my poor Nan before they had their way with her and then threatened to slit her throat like a chicken?” He looked like he could spit but then shrugged.
“And you came here against your will?” Waters asked. “You expect us to believe it?”
“It's the truth,” the man said, squaring his shoulders and wiping at the mud and blood on his face. His bottom lip was swollen and his nose was obviously broken. He had a cut on his forehead that hadn't been treated. “I did come here on my will. I admit it. It was that or let my Nan have her throat slit,” he hissed. His face worked. “I love her too much. She may be carrying some bastard now, but I don't care. As long as she lives...” he shook his head, eyes closed and then his shoulders slumped. “That's all that matters,” he ended in a husky whisper.