Corpsman

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  There was a knock on the hatch, and Liege turned to see the staff sergeant discreetly rapping on the glass, head down.

  Sergeant Vinter saw it too, and taking her cue from him, said, “OK, everyone say your good-byes. Tamara needs to get to the CO and then off to her shuttle.”

  One-by-one, each Marine went up to Tamara and shook her hand, followed by a hug. Liege hung back, then as everyone else had said good-bye, stepped forward.

  “I’m going to miss you, Tamara,” she said.

  “I’ll miss you, too, Doc.”

  Liege didn’t bother with the handshake; she leaned in and pulled the big Marine into a hug, squeezing as hard as she could.

  “Kick some ass,” Liege whispered.

  “Tamara, you’re running late,” Sergeant Vinter said.

  The two broke their hug, and Tamara looked around before saying, “After being on the track team, I want to say I’m glad I was finally a ‘real’ Marine, and that it was with you. I could never pick a better bunch of warriors to go into battle with. Semper fi.”

  There was one last shout of “ooh-rah” as Fanny picked up Tamara’s seabag. She was going to make sure she accompanied Tamara all the way to the shuttle, Liege knew.

  It took a few more moments to get Tamara through the front hatch, where she received a rousing welcome from the gathered Marines.

  “So much for no send-off,” Vic said.

  “Did you really think that was going to happen?” Tyrell asked.

  Liege had intended to follow Tamara to the battalion CP, but it seemed as if the entire battalion—and more—had gathered. The honor of being selected was Tamara’s, of course, but still, it was also a point of honor for the battalion as well. The Fuzos had a storied history, and this was just one more page added to it. There wasn’t a Marine or sailor in the battalion who wanted to miss this.

  Tamara, Fanny, the lieutenant, and the platoon sergeant were making their way down the sidewalk, Tamara reaching out to shake hands as she went, while more Marines closed in behind her.

  There wasn’t much more for Liege to do. She’d said her goodbyes, and the mass of people was just too much.

  “Fair winds and following seas, irmãs,” she whispered before turning back into the barracks.

  FS JOSHUA HOPE-OF-LIFE

  Chapter 8

  Liege leaned back in her chair so she could look Greg in the eye.

  “Regeneration? Why that?”

  “Oh my sweet dear newbie,” HM3 Gregory Knutsen said. “Regeneration. No deployments, just a nice hospital gig. And when you do your time, beaucoup credits. More than our good Doctor X‘anto is making now.”

  Liege didn’t think she was still a newbie, but she was more interested in what Greg had to say. She’d never considered putting in for regen training, but maybe she’d have to consider it.

  It was only the second day of their deployment, and the Marines were pretty busy getting settled in, so the morning’s sick call had been light. The ship had given the battalion medical team their own space. If there was anything serious, they could send a Marine to the ship’s sickbay, but the initial assessment was the battalion corpsmen’s to make.

  With no customers, talk had gravitated to follow-on specialty training. Taking the training would increase a corpsman’s service commitment, but that didn’t matter to Liege. She wanted that training in order to make her commercially viable out in the real galaxy. And as an HM, an E3, one more promotion and she could bring her Avó and sister out to live with her.

  Liege had been considering several specialties. Being an imaging technician paid well, and there was a huge demand for them. Respiratory therapy had caught her attention. It wasn’t a huge field at the moment, but with more and more people suffering from environmental regression, the need was growing.

  “You and your regen, Greg. Most of that is with the government, and those pay scales are locked,” Bibi said.

  “Au contraire, mon ami. You’re out-of-date. There are tons of civilian opportunities. Hell, the Confeds are contracting out their military’s medical services.”

  “So you’re under Confed pay, not Federation. No difference.”

  “But working for GenMed, not the government. Civilian pay scales,” Greg said, a bit of smugness seeping through into his voice.

  Cal Zylanti looked his fellow corpsmen and frowned. Cal, the senior corpsman with Fox, was a diehard fleet Marine doc. He had orders to the Special Reconnaissance Corpsman Course waiting for his return from the deployment, and for him, happiness was serving with the Marines. Liege planned to do her duty on this tour, but she had no intention of staying on the green side. She needed the skills she could then parlay into a good job on the civilian side, and taking out bad guys wasn’t high on the list for most civilian companies.

  Still, the Fleet Marine Force Enlisted Warfare Specialist badge Cal wore on his blouse looked pretty cool, and Liege knew it would stand her in good stead whenever she finally decided what specialty she wanted.

  Liege had already completed some of the requirements for the badge merely in her day-to-day performance of her duties, but she didn’t know the entirety of them. This cruise was low-key, and not much was expected to be accomplished, so she wondered if she’d have time to earn the badge before getting back to Tarawa. She made a note to herself to find out what she had to do to qualify.

  “So, regen tech. You really think there’s a demand for them?” she asked Greg.

  “I swear there is. One of my buddies, he’s a tech now, and he’s already got standing offers for when he gets out. And 120k is the starting salary.”

  Liege took a surprised breath. 120,000? Starting salary? That was more than five times her current salary. That would provide lots of care for her Avó.

  She’d been leaning toward respiratory therapist, but starting salary for them was 90k. Regen therapist was pretty routine, from what little she knew, and might not be as exciting, but 120k was nothing to sneeze at.

  “So, what is the training like for that?” she asked. “What’s the extra commitment?”

  With an interested audience, Greg’s eyes lit up as he launched into his spiel. Liege listened with rapt attention. She was actually enjoying her tour with the Marines, but she had a family to take care of, and she had to think of what was best for them. Maybe being a regen tech was the right choice after all.

  JERICHO

  Chapter 9

  “Keep it tight, Doc,” Korf hissed.

  Liege hurried to close the gap between Corporal Wheng and her. She’d been looking up, expecting to see an enemy sniper, and had lost track of her place in the column.

  With Tamara leaving just before the deployment, there hadn’t been a replacement for her, and instead of bird-dogging the sergeant, Liege had stepped into Tamara’s billet. She’d had training for just such requirements back at FMTB, but she’d be foolish to believe that short training had made her as skilled in warfighting as even newbies like Lassi or Pablo.

  At least it wasn’t a real war, but more a show-of-force. The battalion had absorbed a few mortar rounds, but there hadn’t been a clash with the locals. Liege didn’t even know who they supported in this conflict. Both sides were Federation citizens.

  As both sides were Federation, there wasn’t an official enemy. The battalion had been sent in as a neutral force of peacekeepers. Everyone knew this really should have been an FCDC mission, and the FCDC had also been deployed, but the fact that the Marines had been sent in as well was telling in its own right. The Federation thought fighting might break out again.

  There were 217 planets and stations and another 87 nations in the Federation, so it was probably inevitable that mini-wars would break out between and within Federation worlds. Mankind had warred since Homo habilis climbed out of the trees, and that hadn’t been bred out of their DNA. This conflict had been over resource rights, with the northern continent’s population revolting over what it saw as the western and eastern continent’s control over its resources. When
they shut down the mines, the government had sent militia to reopen them, and fighting had broken out. The militia was driven back, and a state of war was declared.

  It wasn’t so cut-and-dried, though. Svealand, the northern continent, was controlled by the Opal Party, which was the minority party on the planet as a whole. The People’s Right Party, the PRP (which had members spread over half of the Federation) and the local Republic First Party were the major political powers in the two southern continents. All three parties were spread throughout Jericho, however, and between themselves, controlled more than three-quarters of the planetary parliament, with the remaining seats belonging to independents and minor parties. So when war broke out, 40% of Kaglsand were self-declared loyalists and almost 15% of the southlands supported the north.

  One FCDC regiment had been sent to the planetary administrative center of San Martin, and a second regiment was at Nya Asgard, the largest city in Svealand. The Second Battalion, Third Marines, the “Fuzos,” had been sent to Skagerrak Point, the 300,000-person city on the isthmus connecting Svealand with the eastern continent of Gran Chaco. Skagerrak Point, besides having a protected deep-water harbor, was the nexus for the roads and maglev lines between the two continents. Within the borders of Svealand, the population was pretty evenly divided between those supporting the north and those supporting the southlands. The war’s worst fighting had been in the city, atrocities had been committed by both sides, and now the Marines had been plopped down right in the middle of it.

  Liege knew that both sides claimed that the Marines were there to support them, so it was doubtful that they’d come under direct attack. Still, she felt her stress levels rise as she scanned the buildings for signs of aggression. The dark alleys of Barrio Blanca, a Tino neighborhood, weighed heavily on her heart. If the Tinos decided to hit them, they’d be able to inflict heavy casualties.

  With the bulk of the Tinos supportive of the PRP, and the PRP being a Federation-wide party, logic would dictate that here in the barrio, the citizens would welcome the Marines. Logic was not a universal trait, however.

  The favelas back at home looked far more hostile, but Liege understood them and their rules. The barrios here, though, were new territory, and Liege didn’t feel comfortable in them at all. When the patrol emerged from the barrio and snaked back across Drottninggatan—which the Marines designated Route Gazelle—Liege felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The Svea who lived north of Gazelle might not wish the Marines well, but at least Liege felt the Marines could now see any threat that might be waiting for them.

  Two hours later, the patrol returned to the battalion base camp, back in what had been the port’s bonded cargo facility. It wasn’t home, nor was it the Josh, but Liege felt much better and less exposed than she’d felt patrolling in Barrio Blanca.

  They’d been on Jericho for only two days so far, and as far as Liege was concerned, that was already two days too many. She just hoped that the two sides could come to an agreement without it breaking down into a fight again, and that the Fuzos could re-embark and get on to its previously planned missions.

  Chapter 10

  The mission took a turn on the seventh day of the deployment. Liege was just getting chow when the QRF[11] was called out. She dropped her half-eaten burger and rushed out of the chow hall and down to the aid station.

  Liege was attached to Golf Company, but her secondary billet was with the rest of the corpsmen in the battalion aid station. If she wasn’t on a mission or training with her squad, she was to report to the station for both routine sick call as well as for any emergencies. If the QRF had been called out, she knew she might be needed.

  Most of the corpsmen were pouring in while HM1 Anthony, the battalion’s second-senior corpsman, manned the command net. Liege waited nervously, straining her ears to catch sounds of fighting. She thought she heard a single blast, but if she had, it was pretty far away.

  She almost jumped when Anthony turned and shouted out, “We’ve got one Class 1 WIA inbound!”

  A Class 1 was serious, life threatening. Liege felt her heart leap in her chest.

  Dr. X‘anto went into action, pulling his Trauma Team 1 into position while others scurried to be ready for the patient. With only one WIA, neither Liege nor any of the other company corpsmen would be needed, but she didn’t want to leave. Couldn’t leave. She felt a compulsion to stay.

  When she’d worked on Seth, she’d almost been on auto-pilot. She’d reacted, and when trying to recall things later, her memory had been curiously muddled. With the civilians on Wyxy, she’d simply helped assess some of them and administer initial aid to the burned woman. Even the gut-shot pirate on the Confederation ship hadn’t really affected her, and she’d simply ziplocked the man for someone else to treat. So in some ways, this was going to be her first opportunity to see an actual medical team in action, doing what all their training should have led to. She faded back to the rear bulkhead along with Nica and a few others, trying to stay out of the way but still able to observe. Gnish saw them, nodded his approval, before he slipped out.

  It was almost ten minutes before the patient was carried in.

  “It’s First Sergeant D-Ski,” Nica whispered.

  Liege had been looking at the mangled remnants of the Marine’s right leg and had not looked to his face. She sure did now.

  First Sergeant Dzieduszycki was the very popular India Company first sergeant. Liege knew this would hit his Marines hard.

  “He’s had a Two,” Doc Psythe, one of the India company corpsmen, said as they carried him in, indicating the Series 2 recipe of nano-bots. “And two Hemocaps.”

  Liege thought that a Series 1 would have been more appropriate given the first sergeant’s injuries, but she wasn’t about to second guess another corpsman.

  “Motherfuckers hit us with two mortars, and the first sergeant got it when he was getting everyone else to hit the deck,” Doc Psytle added as they put the first sergeant on the table.

  “We’ve got it now,” Dr. X‘anto said. “You’re contaminated, so you need to step back.”

  It looked like Psytle was going to argue, but with a shake of his head, Chief Sou squashed that. Pystle and the three Marines who’d brought in the first sergeant hesitated, then left the theater.

  The prep team quickly stripped the first sergeant, who was shifting back and forth in and out of consciousness, then sprayed him down. Ellen Western-Roulade brought the irradiator down over the first sergeant, then stepped back as the doctor and his team stepped up. Between the spray and the irradiator, the first sergeant and the bed were as sterile as possible.

  Liege stepped a little closer to be able to see. Bright bits of white bone were visible emerging from the scarlet mass of tissue that had been his lower leg. Her stomach churned, and she upchucked a tiny bit of vomit, the gastric acid burning her throat. No one was looking at her, so she swallowed, forcing it back down. She might have to deal with similar trauma in the field, and she had to master her emotions.

  Trauma Team 1 did a quick assessment. Both visual and scanner indicated that other than a few minor wounds, the leg was the only major injury. After receiving the report, Doctor X‘anto stepped up to examine the first sergeant. It took him less than a minute to make up his mind. What was left of the leg had to be taken off at the knee at a minimum, and while he could do that in the aid station, there was no need with the better equipped medical facilities on the Joshua.

  “How long before we can get him back up the ship?” the doctor asked Anthony.

  “Shuttle is inbound now. ETA nine minutes.”

  “Then we just stabilize him and get him on up,” Doctor X‘anto said.

  He pulled out a Number 6 pressure patch and molded it around what was left of the first sergeant’s leg. If the patch had problems with the uneven surface and mangled bits, Liege couldn’t see it.

  “Are they going to put him in stasis?” Nica quietly asked Liege.

  “I don’t know,” Liege answered, wondering the same
thing.

  Doctor X‘anto gave First Sergeant D-ski another injection of something, but that was about it. The first sergeant was wrapped up in a blanket, and the examining table’s legs were lowered to make it mobile. In a modern hospital, the table would have hover capabilities, but in a field facility like this, the less complicated the better.

  Within a minute, two corpsmen, followed by Doctor X‘anto, were taking the first sergeant out of the aid station and over to the LZ. In thirty minutes, the first sergeant would be on the ship and probably losing his leg. He had a pretty long regen in front of him.

  Liege and Nica walked out of the aid station together. Liege considered going back to finish eating, but her appetite was gone, and the sour taste of gastric acid still filled her mouth.

  The one thing that had hit her was that there hadn’t been any magic cure just because the first sergeant made it back to the aid station. Doctor X‘anto hadn’t done anything more than what Liege could do out in the field.

  The lesson in that hit Liege hard. Out there, it was up to her. She was the first, and probably the most important factor in saving her Marines. There wasn’t some big brother who could take over for her. Her squad’s life rested squarely on her shoulders.

  It was a very heavy load.

  Chapter 11

  Liege trudged ahead, her stomach growling.

  I should have eaten more for breakfast.

  On the patrol the day before, Liege had gotten nauseous and had tossed her breakfast, much to her embarrassment, and she’d vowed not to let that happen again. Today’s platoon-sized patrol had been planned for three hours—a simple escort of a Navy civil affairs officer to meet with a barrio president—so Liege had figured she could go light. But plans were just plans, and when the barrio president had suggested he call in the presidents of two other barrios, the Navy lieutenant commander had readily agreed. So the platoon had set up a perimeter and waited—and waited. Now, at 1840, they were finally heading back. Liege hoped that Staff Sergeant Abdálle had called back to Gunny Coventry, the battalion head cook, and asked him to hold hot chow for them. It wasn’t like it would be difficult; just keep the fabricators warmed up and waiting for them. Knowing the platoon sergeant, though, he hadn’t bothered. The guy lived for field rats, telling all who would listen that they made Marines “hard.”