“You fucking,” was all the Separatist spat before he charged.
Calmly Simon raised his gun and depressed the trigger putting four rounds through the enemies’ head. He didn’t wait around to watch as the headless corpse buckled to the parched, dirt. He had more pressing matters to attend to, he had got separated from Luke during the worst of the fighting, when the Separatist were like a living, breathing sea of auburn, bursting upon the foxhole. He had to find him, he had made a promise, and it was one that he couldn’t break. The image of his mother in her bed, the weeping sores covered her emaciated frame, glazed eyes staring up at him helplessly.
“LUKE!” he shouted as he ran down the trench.
He shot passed his colleagues living and dead. As callous as it may sound, he didn’t have time to worry about them now. He leapt over the bodies of more of the enemy than he could count, their frames locked in knotted expressions of agony. He peered away and tried to force his psyche from this place, he had never thought that he would end up here.
He had never, been very imaginative even as a child, he had never dreamed of travelling the universe, or going on some grand adventures. All he had really ever wanted to do was help his Father run the farmstead, which was where he felt most at peace, out amongst the fields, in the fresh air, with the animals and hydroponic beds. Luke was the reason he was here, not that he blamed him, you couldn’t fight who you fell in love with and his brother happened to love other men. In the Empire, that was a crime, you were branded as unclean and were given a simple choice, death or a lifetime of service in the Marines.
“LUKE!” He bellowed again, this time more frantic, like a parent, chasing a missing child.
As he rounded a corner, he caught sight of some troopers from his company, private John “Feeler” Power and Julie “Sweet tooth” Myers, both were bloodied but alive, that sat amid the filth and carnage, simply thankful to be alive.
He strode over to them with a chased smile, “Good to see you two are in one piece.” A he spoke his eyes were constantly scanning the immediate area, “either of you seen my brother, I lost him when the shit got bad?”
“Good to see you too Sarge!” John exclaimed, as he removed a canteen from his belt and took a long, and desperate gulp of the cooled water. “Yeah I saw him get hit, not long back, he took a round through the shoulder, but I think he was alright, one of the medics from first, took him back to the aid station, just to get him patched up.”
Simon felt relief swell over his body and took in a slow deep breathe. “Thanks Feeler, you two take it easy and be ready just in case those crazy bastards come back for seconds.”
“I’m ready Bear,” Julie replied in her relaxed twang, as she stroked the automatic grenade launcher in her lap and then pulled the wrapper feverously from a giant chocolate bar.
Simon laughed, “That shit will kill you Candy.”
“I can only wish Sarge!” She answered in between, impressive bites of the sweet.
“You’re not even going to share?” John asked, his hands up in simulated anger.
“You know that sugar makes you go hyper Feeler, I’m just looking out for you.” Julie sniggered, as her tongue escaped her mouth and tried to mop up any of the sugary treat that had smeared itself around her lips.
Simon left the two arguing happily, he dragged his colossal frame out of the foxhole, lactic acid burnt in his lungs and fatigue sapped his strength. Yet he pushed on unabashed and made his way towards the forward aid station. It was only set back a few hundred metres from the trench line. As he neared it he could see the squat medi-vac shuttles, lined up back into the dense, sandy clouds that were now rolling in over the battlefield. He shuttered his eyes for a second, he knew it had been a brutal day, but by the number of transports, it must have been even worse that he had thought.
As he entered the sprawling and thankfully artificially cooled tent, although that was probably the wrong choice of words, as it made him at least, visualize the two man, pop up kind, he and his brother had taken camping. This monstrosity though was in a whole different class, sprawling out as it did for miles in every directions. The chilly air, struck him almost immediately as did the smell, the same stench all hospitals had, disinfectant attempting in vain to mask the smack of vomit, blood and death.
Everywhere he looked doctors and nurses clad in filthy, stained uniforms rushed from bed to bed, each filled with writhing, screaming, and begging soldiers. Soiled, tarnished sheets covered most of the wounded, those that were lucky enough to be on a cot that was, some were simply laid haphazardly upon the floor, in small heaps of human misery. The scene seemed like something that wouldn’t have been out of place in some version of the darkest pits of hell. But then when you thought about it, that was what this place was.
He pursed his lips as fury simmered within him, not just for those poor souls here but those at thousands of these makeshift clinics in countless warzones. He had seen aid stations before, in the three years he had been fighting he had borne witness to men and women die from every conceivable wound, shot, stabbed, beaten, burnt, torn asunder by all manner of shrapnel’s, and improvised explosives, to name but a few. Yet it never ceased to move him and almost make him want to crawl up in the foetal position and blubber like a babe. He was a boy again, his father yelling at him to stop crying, that real men don’t cry especially in his family.
He shook his head, he would challenge even his pop, a man of steel and iron, forged in the struggle of the land, to not feel empathy or pain, when you were seeing boys and girls, suffering in agony and desolation. He wondered if even the great man himself, would shed a tear, if he stepped foot into this hall of dead.
He tried desperately to inhale through his mouth as he began to make his way down the seemingly never ending row of plastic berths. Past the wounded, the dying and the dead.
Abruptly a hand shot from underneath a crimson smeared sheet and grabbed him frantically, “Help me” a voice that sounded like the rasps of loss itself, coughed.
Simon swung around and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. What he beheld was a man, although half his face was missing, replaced by scolded and singed flesh, through which the white of bone seemed to shine. His right arm and both legs were now just bloodied stumps and the parts of his body that were visible beneath his uniform were burnt beyond recognition. A macabre and sickening image of a roasting boar, flashed within his mind as he surveyed this soldier. He wasn’t a doctor, but already he knew this trooper probably wouldn’t make it, back on the core Worlds at one of those fine hospitals, they made glitzy and glamorous shows about; they could have saved him easily. Yet out here on the frontline in this forgotten struggle, they had neither the skill, nor the money, maybe if he made it up to the medical frigate they could do something, yet he knew very well that was a longshot.
“Please” The man whimpered, the blistered remnants of his tongue attempting to lick what was left of his lips.
Simon had to force back down bile and his own tears, “You’ll be ok soldier.” He tried to sound comforting, yet the words seemed muted and worthless.
“Are you a doctor I can’t see anything?”
“No I’m Sergeant Telsieell, I’m with the first company.”
“Please I need some help!” The man begged, as his one remaining milky eye found him, it possessed that frantic fire, that only those close to death exhibit.
“Ok just hang in there trooper you’re gonna make it you hear me, we’ll get you some help and then those pretty nurses up there on the medical frigate will have you back to normal in no time.” He desperately attempted to sound upbeat and positive, it was a lie, yet right now it seemed like a comforting evil, what would be the point in adding to this poor troopers suffering. He then pivoted around and shouted “I need some help here!”
A nurse appeared seemingly out of nowhere, she was diminutive and pretty in a natural way, the kind of girl that even looked beautiful in the first rays of dawn light, or now when she appeared exhauste
d, bloodshot eyes with heavy, dark bags under them. Yet her pale, porcelain skin still seemed to gleam, through even the caked on filth and grime.
“Are you ok?” She whispered, her tone, soft and kind, even though it seemed like she had been crying recently.
“Yeah I’m fine it’s this soldier,” Simon replied uneasily as he directed her attention to the gravely wounded trooper.
“You’re going to be ok son,” she said sensitively, as she hunkered down next to the wounded man, who seemed to be quietened just by her voice, after a cursory examination, she turned and yelled. “Doctor Curtis I need you here now!”
A young man, who appeared like he should still be in school, shuffled over, with a glazed, almost drug induced stare, he took one look at the wounded soul, and simply shook his head. “Nothing we can do, move on.” His voice was dour and robotic, as if he was simply reiterating a pre-programmed message.
As the doctor tried to turn away, Simon seized him and snarled. “What do you mean there nothing you can do? Can’t you get him up to the fucking medical frigate?”
The doctor appraised him casually, his face a blank mask. “No,” he retorted curtly.
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean no!” the doctor exclaimed, then his tone shifted. “Now if you don’t take your hands off me, I’m going to get a purity officer and have you shot”
Simon felt fury and wraith, rise from stomach, he felt the muscles in his arm twitch and he could imagine his fists flying. He could picture the doctor’s nose exploding in a sea of scarlet.
Then he felt the hand on his arm, fondly. “Let him go,” the nurse begged. “You don’t want to die as well.”
The doctor sneered, Simon glanced down at the young woman, her face, a mix of fear and pity. He let go and the arrogant medic simply pirouetted and shuffled away.
Simon peered down at his hands and saw they were juddering.
“There was nothing you could do,” The nurse placed her hand on his, her skin covered in the rusty dried fluids.
“Maybe,” Simon answered, trying to temper his rage. “What about him?”
The nurse spied over at the wounded soldier, “I’ll do what I can,” she turned and lay a hand on the man’s head and tried to soothe him.
“Can’t you at least give him something?” he asked lowering his voice so it was little more than a whisper.
The nurse shifted her gaze to him and a thin smile followed, that was enough to take Simon away from this miserable place. “I wish,” she murmured. “We don’t have enough medicine to go around, so we have to save it for those that we can save, it’s a simple numbers game, if you have a fifty per cent chance, then we can treat you, maybe get you up to the medical frigate, if not, then we do what we can, however when we’re running low, there’s nothing that we can offer, no help we can give.”
Simon, felt his ire return, like a red hot poker, searing his intestines. He attempted to centre his thoughts, he fumbled around in his webbing and pulled out the med kit he had managed to cobble together. He had been saving it, either for Luke or himself. Yet he couldn’t just stand around and let this soldier suffer and die in agony. Not when he was able to do something to help, that would make him no better than, the rest of the Empire who sat back happily as the Marines, bleed and died for their protection and enabled them to live in peace and lavish comfort.
He opened the battered, tin box and pulled out a syringe. “Here!” he said handing it to the nurse, “I don’t know if this will help.”
She stared at the syringe and broad grin creased her blanched cheeks, “Are you sure?” she asked. “Do you know what you could get for this on the black market?”
He returned her smile, “Yeah I’m sure, I was saving it, but this is more important, and anyway what am I going to spend the credits on out here.”
They both laughed tensely and then the nurse arched and jabbed the needle into the wounded soldier’s neck, and delivered the combination of pain killers and other drugs, which should provide him with at least some peace. The man’s broken body, shook and then he seemed to relax, his good eye closed, and his respiration became slow and steady.
“I wish we could do more!” she rested her hand again, softly on the soldier’s forehead, and pushed his hair back kindly.
“He deserves more!” Simon retorted his voice tinged with some of his own fury, “more than dying here on this fucking.” He stopped his rant and glanced at the young women. “I’m sorry mame, you don’t need to be hearing this.”
She fixed her eyes upon him, a genuine beam followed, lighting up her face, it was the kind of smile, which could melt your heart and the kind that you could truly get lost in. “Its ok, this isn’t any place for anyone to fucking die!”
“Well put,” he exclaimed, “How long will the pain treatment last?”
“Should be almost six hours,” she turned again and her gaze fastened on the burnt soldier. “I don’t think that he’ll make it that long, but I’ll keep an eye on him, maybe I might be able to get him up to the medical frigate somehow.” Her voice seemed to drift off, as if she was lost in her own world, when she spoke again her timbre was changed. “I didn’t even ask, was he one of your men?” she paused and appeared to be surveying his uniform for his insignia of rank.
“I’m a sergeant,” he said, suddenly feeling uneasy and anxious, as he always was around beautiful women. “Simon,” he blurted out and then had to look away, “And no he wasn’t one of my men.”
“I’m Gemma,” she seemed to purr as she held out her hand, “It’s nice to meet you Simon.” It was only now he noticed, how well-spoken she was and he began to wonder what she was doing here.
“It’s nice to meet you too mame,” he caught himself and hurriedly added, “I mean Gemma.”
Her smile returned, “I don’t know I like the mame, thing.”
“Very well then mame,” he snickered.
“So what are you doing here Simon?” She asked as she got up, she leaned back and her back cracked loudly.
He winced as he saw the pain etched on her face, “I’m looking for my brother, Luke, he took a round in the shoulder and I heard that the medics brought him here. He looks like me just smaller and not quite as good looking.”
Gemma giggled lightly, “Well I didn’t treat him, however the triage centre is just outside and if it was only a flesh wound that’s where they would have taken him.”
Simon nodded his head, “Thank you mame.”
“Ok maybe the mame is getting a bit much I feel like my mother, I think Gemma, will be fine.”
“Ok then Gemma, thank you.”
She shifted her gaze to him and he noticed for the first time the sapphire pigment that still seemed to sparkle within them, “I could show you if you wanted.”
“That would be great, as long as I’m not keeping you from anything?” Sam rubbed his hands together and studied his feet.
She shook her head softly, “No I’m due a break anyway and to be honest it would be nice to be able to talk to someone who’s not a doctor or a nurse, just to make a change.”
“I hear that, it’s nice to chat with someone who’s not a trooper, not that I get much chance, not out here. Aren’t usually a lot of people other than troopers where they send us.”
“I know,” Gemma replied and then pointed towards the far end of the tent, “It’s this way, follow me.”
“Ok,” Simon answered with a grin and followed in step behind Gemma. They passed rows and rows of bed and the sheer scale was almost too much for him to take. As he pictured all of the soldiers, beneath those grubby sheets. Finally they made it out, and he stopped and took in a deep lungful, even this dry, humid air was better than what was inside.
“You get used to the smell, I was the same at first.” Gemma said absently as she made her way to a group of shabby plastic chairs, around a small fire pit.
Simon smiled falteringly, “Yeah just could never stand the smell of hospitals, not even as a kid.” As h
e spoke his mothers, gaunt frame, upon the floating bed whipped into his mind, the tubes entering and exiting, her diseased, and necrotic flesh.
Gemma fell into the seat and let out a satisfied sigh that in any other environment, may have sounded sexy, “How long have you been in the Marines?” she asked as she pulled out a small packet of cigarettes, she took one out gingerly. “Do you mind?” her tone tentative.
“No not at all,” Simon replied as he removed his rifle and lay it down on the ground, and then sunk into the hard pew. He tried for a moment to fit his figure comfortably into the rough plastic, then decided it was pointless, and kind of perched on the edge.
“I know it’s a terrible habit,” She said as she reached an almost regal hand out to the fire and lit the cigarette. “However it’s my one vice honestly,” she said playfully.
“It’s not a problem, I’ve got some smack in my webbing, so I’ll be using that latter.” He grinned broadly.
She giggled slightly even though it was a terrible joke, “So you didn’t answer me, how long have you been in the Marines?” She took a long drag and then blew a thin haze of smoke into the air.
He craned his neck to the side and his own bones popped. “Going on three years now, my brother got given the choice, after he got caught with a man, and well I couldn’t let him go, and get himself killed, so I volunteered.”
“Wow!” Gemma exclaimed, a look of candid shock clear on her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a soldier who actually volunteered for this,” as she finished another mist of vapour escaped her lips.
He shook his head, “I know fucking crazy isn’t it, but what could I do.” He proclaimed and once again his mother was staring up at him, “I made a promise and he’s my baby brother. If I had let him go and something had happened I don’t know what I would have done.”
The Last Foxhole (The Forgotten War Saga Book 1) Page 8