Corpsman

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Liege wanted to protest Gnish taking over. Korf was her squadmate, her responsibility. But as shock was taking over, she realized that she was not totally all there. Gnish was a good corpsman with plenty of experience, and he’d be able to take care of Korf.

  Liege leaned back, not caring that she’d just put her butt in her vomit. She watched Gnish work on Korf, trying to professionally evaluate her fellow corpsman’s work, but not being able to make much sense of it.

  She wasn’t aware when the fighting outside stopped. The rest of the squad came in to check on Korf and her, but she waved off their concerns. She did try to stand up when Korf was CASEVAC’d, but Vic calmed her down. Korf was in good hands, he kept telling her.

  Wythe and Vic helped Liege to her feet, and with legs that didn’t want to obey her commands, they supported her while she left the store. Five Marines were standing on the rubble pile about where she’d thought Corporal Wheng was buried. She tried to change direction to reach them. Maybe Wheng was resurrectable.

  “No, Doc, let them get Killer. You need to get back to the aid station,” Wythe told her.

  The battalion had one Armadillo tracked fighting vehicle, an ambulance variant, and it had arrived to pick up the wounded. Liege was helped inside where HM1 Knight met her and sat her down. Two other wounded Marines were loaded as well, but Liege couldn’t make out their injuries.

  “How’re you feeling, Neves?” Knight asked, running a scanner over her.

  “Not too bad,” Liege told him. “I’ll be—”

  And that was the last thing Liege remembered.

  FS JOSHUA HOPE OF LIFE

  Chapter 16

  Liege came to under harsh, bright lights. Her head felt fuzzy, and she was confused.

  “You feeling OK?” someone asked.

  Liege turned her head to the left to see a young man in scrubs standing over her, looking expectantly.

  “I’m fine,” she croaked out by force of habit.

  But she wasn’t fine. Her thoughts were not particularly clear.

  “Good. You got quite a jolt down there, close to a level three. You’ve got a hairline fracture of the right tibia. But I think you’re going to be fine, given time. No need for regen, at least.”

  Regen? Why?

  Then slowly, things began to coalesce into something that made sense. They’d been on patrol, and they’d been hit. She’d gone to recover Korf.

  Korf!

  “How’s Korf? Is he OK?”

  The nurse, for that’s who the guy had to be, repeated “Korf? Let me see. Ah, yes. Lance Corporal Reynaldo Korf.” He paused a moment while she looked at his PA. “Oh, pretty serious.”

  Liege’s heart dropped as she tried to sit up.

  “He’s suffered severe internal trauma and will probably lose a leg. He’s in stasis now for transport back to Tarawa where he’s going to face some serious regen time.”

  “But he’ll make it?”

  “I don’t see why not. You never know, of course, but I would imagine he’ll make a full recovery.”

  Liege sunk back down relieved. At least Korf had made it.

  “And Corporal Wheng?” she asked.

  The nurse didn’t have to look at his PA for the answer.

  His face fell as he said, “I’m sorry, Liege. Corporal Wheng didn’t survive.”

  “What about resurrection?” Liege asked.

  “His head was crushed when the building fell on him. No chance for that.”

  Liege felt as if someone had poleaxed her in the gut. She was serving with the Marines, and that was a hazardous job. She knew on an intellectual level that Marines died. But not her Marines. Corporal Wheng—Killer Wheng—was someone she knew, someone she trained with, went on missions with, sat around the Vineyard and shot the shit with. He wasn’t some sort of abstract. He was a living, breathing compatriot, even a friend. She’d never hear his wry take on life again, never hear him offer an observation that sounded complacent, but as it sunk in, would cause Liege to laugh out loud.

  “. . . out as soon as he’s free. So until then, if you need me, just ring your buzzer.”

  “Pardon?” Liege asked the nurse, missing half of what he’d just said.

  “Doctor Mannerheim. He’ll be in to check you out and let you know what’s happening.”

  “Oh, OK,” Liege said.

  Doctor Mannerheim was the ship’s surgeon. He was junior in rank to the battalion’s Doctor X’anto, but on the ship, his medical decisions ruled. He could even overturn a decision by the ship’s commanding officer if it pertained to health.

  Things were still a little fuzzy, but the pieces were falling into place. She remembered the frantic digging to pull out Korf. She remembered getting hit by an energy weapon of some kind.

  What did he say? Almost a Level 3?

  Level 3 wasn’t necessarily lethal, but it would effectively fry out a person’s nervous system and cause significant tissue damage. Getting hit with a Level 3 for more than two seconds meant long term regen, and the process might not be 100% effective.

  He’d also mentioned a fractured tibia. She looked down at her leg, which was enclosed in a regen chamber. The chamber was probably overkill. The B nanos would be weaving their lattice around the broken bone, injecting small regen pellets around the fracture, and she knew a couple of session in the Electrolavage System, the ELS, would be more beneficial. The regen chamber might optimize healing, but with this kind of injury, the nanos, aided by the ELS, could repair the bone within a couple of days.

  She wondered where she’d broken it. Probably the shot she’d taken, but it could have been while she was climbing around the rubble.

  “So how’s our hero doing?” Doctor Mannerheim asked, pulling back the curtain.

  Hero?

  “Um, I’m fine.”

  The doctor looked at the readouts in the regen chamber clamped around her leg and then nodded approvingly. He ran his PA across her repeater and took a moment to read up on her chart.

  “Well, HM Neves—can I call you Liege?” he asked, not waiting for a response. “You came close to some pretty serious damage, but close doesn’t count. I watched the battle recordings, though, and I don’t see how you escaped with so little. You were very, very lucky. Commander Barnes ran the CIC-W on you, and he counted no less than 29 rounds that either hit you or came within 15 centimeters. Four of those that missed were .50 cal rounds.”

  .50 cals? Liege thought, her eyes widening.

  A Marine’s skins and bones were pretty good defenses against most small arms, but they offered no protection against a .50 caliber slug.

  “In fact, the .42 cal round that hit your side should have penetrated into your lungs, but somehow, it deflected off. It must have been just at the right angle. Another belt of fire, and I’m afraid you might not have made it. Lucky for you, that sniper took out the machine gunner before he could fire again.”

  Machine gunner? Sniper?

  Liege’s thoughts were getting muddled again. She remembered a blow to the ribs, but she had no idea what the doctor was talking about it.

  “What sniper?” she asked.

  “Oh, I saw the recording of her, too. At one point, she was dangling off a building with another Marine holding her up like a marionette.”

  The doctor looked excited as he recounted what he’d seen. The Josh would have been recording the entire battle, and evidently, the visuals were open to the staff.

  “Which sniper?”

  “Oh, the one with the odd name. Medicine Crow or something like that.”

  Liege raised her eyebrows. Corporal Medicine Crow had been the one to save Tamara Veal’s ass, and now it looked like she’d saved her ass as well. Maybe there was something to this guardian angel stuff.

  “So anyway, back to your medical situation. Your leg will be fine in another two or three days. You’ve suffered minor tissue damage; you know, the typical cuts and scrapes—nothing serious. Your main issue is the peripheral nerve damage. I don’t want
to put you into regen if I can help it, but I’m sending you back to Tarawa for a full work-up. I’ll let one of the staff neurologists make that call.

  “Tarawa? Back at the hospital there?”

  “Yes, of course at the hospital there. We’ve one of the finest staffs there in the Navy. Hell, the entire Federation, I’d say.”

  “But you mean after the deployment, right?”

  “No, Liege. You’re going back on the next picket. You’ve grabbed the Golden Ticket back home.”

  “But, I can’t go back now. I’ve got to be with my squad.”

  “That’s an admirable emotion, Liege, but there’s no need. There are more than enough corpsmen to cover for you. I know it’s not very comfortable down there. I came down for a day, after all, so I’ve seen what they feed you,” he said with a knowing laugh. “No, in a few days, you’ll be back with the Navy—on Tarawa, of course, but at least in the hospital. No more gung-ho Marines for a while.”

  Liege felt a rise of anger that she had to push back down.

  “Is there a medical reason I have to go back now?” she asked, her voice calm.

  “No. Well, yes. You can’t risk getting hit again for at least a year. As you know, energy disrupters like what hit you have a cumulative effect. If you get hit again within a year or so, it could end up much worse. Technically, you’re non-deployable until cleared.”

  Liege had been taught that at A Schools, but she’d forgotten it.

  “But other than that, is there a reason I can’t stay until the battalion rotates out?”

  “Well, no. You won’t suffer any more damage. But I’d feel better if you were evaluated by the neurosurgeons.”

  “But in your professional opinion, you think I’m stable?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I trust your expertise, Doctor. If you think I’m stable, that’s good enough for me. And I’d really like to get back to my battalion. I don’t have to go out into the ville, if you require that. But I can at least run sick call and help in the aid station. Chief Soukianssian can use some help. You can ask him yourself.”

  The doctor seemed to waver, and Liege wondered if she’d laid on the compliments too heavily.

  “Chief needs you?” he asked, sounding unsure.

  “Yes, sir. You can call him up. If I’m out of action, he’s going to have to pull someone else to go out with my squad. If he does that, he’ll be even more shorthanded. “

  “But don’t you want to get back to Tarawa? It can’t be that comfortable serving with the Marines. Wouldn’t you like to get back to the blue side?”

  “I appreciate that, sir. But as they taught us at FTCS, the Marines count on us. So I’d like to uphold Navy tradition of giving it everything I’ve got.”

  Shit, that sounds fake.

  The doctor seemed to be swayed, though.

  “Well, Liege, I have to say, I’m impressed. I thought I’d give you an easy out, but I forgot the big picture. Yes, we need to support our green brothers.

  “OK, two more days here on the ELS to get your leg healed, and I’ll run another eval on you. If everything’s still green, I’ll let you return to the battalion.”

  Liege was surprised at how relieved she felt when she heard that. Sure, it would be nice to be back on Tarawa, and not just from the comfort aspect. She’d be an HM3 soon, and she’d need to work out the details to bring Avó and Leticia there, so the extra time could be a godsend. But she couldn’t leave the battalion while there was still a mission. She’d come with them, and she’d return with them. Nothing else was an option.

  JERICHO

  Chapter 17

  “Grab a seat, Doc,” Wythe said, kicking out a folding chair. “You looked pretty copacetic out there, standing proud.”

  “True that,” Pablo said. “Copacetic to the max.”

  “Thanks,” she said as each of the Marines lifted a fist for a bump, even Doc Opah, her replacement with the squad.

  Opah wasn’t a total replacement. Liege hadn’t moved out of the Vineyard, and Opah hadn’t moved in. But when the squad went on a mission, Opah took her place. Doctor Mannerheim, and supported now by Doctor X’anto, had insisted on no combat missions for her.

  Liege had been surprised at how she’d just felt. When the chief asked her to be part of the color guard, it had just been one more task. But holding the Navy colors had been more emotional than she would have guessed. She felt honored. She might be serving with the Marines, but she was still a sailor, and pride ran deep.

  “Did they read the commandant’s birthday greeting yet?” she asked, having marched out of the warehouse after posting the colors and having only just returned.

  “Yep,” Wythe said. “All Marines, blah, blah, blah, tradition, blah, blah, blah, I’m proud, blah, blah, blah, Joab Ling, General, Commandant.”

  “Oh come on, Wythe,” Fanny said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “I’m not saying it was. I gots me a tingle, I did, by jove,” he said, the last “gots me a tingle” in a comically weird old-timey accent of some sort. “But are any of the birthday messages any different?”

  “Fucking Wythe,” Vic muttered. “I liked the message.”

  “I liked it, too,” Wythe said, suddenly sounding defensive. “But if any of you can recite the entire thing to Doc, be my guest.”

  Liege looked around the Warehouse D. Almost half of the battalion was gathered inside the warehouse, one of the port’s two largest and the one not chock full of cargo. It didn’t matter where they were or the mission, the Marines did not forget their birthday. The entire battalion was not gathered together, however. The “police action” (it was not to be referred to as a “war”) had only gotten more intense, and the battalion XO had taken a heavily reinforced Hotel Company to create a secondary camp on the south side of the city. Other Marines were out on patrol or manning positions, so half of the battalion was most of the available Marines. During the second seating, Marines now on post would be relieved for a second ceremony.

  Liege’s duties were over for the moment, but there was more to the birthday ceremony. There was no official guest of honor, so the CO stood in, giving a short speech. Liege tried to listen, but the acoustics in the warehouse left a lot to be desired. She did catch the end, though, where the CO told the S-3 to get on to the birthday cake.

  “Present the cake!” Major Cranston shouted out.

  All hands stood as four Marines solemnly marched forward, carrying a good-sized birthday cake.

  Gunny Coventry has outdone himself, Liege thought.

  It looked like it could have been bought from a professional bakery.

  Once the cake had been placed on the table, the major called forward the oldest and youngest Marine to get the first pieces of cake.

  “Sergeant Major Jassus Douber-Link is the oldest Marine in the battalion. He was born on 13 July 338. He enlisted in the Corps on 14 July 346,” the major called out.

  The sergeant major graciously accepted his slice, taking a bite and nodding that it met with his approval.

  “And, also per tradition, the next piece of cake goes to our youngest Marine. Private Klip Poussey was born on 9 May 367. . .”

  There was a collective moan from the Marines in formation. Wythe and Pablo bumped fists while rolling their eyes.

  “. . . and enlisted in the Corps on 9 May 384. He joined the Fuzos on 12 August 384, 11 days before our current deployment.”

  Poussey, standing proud but looking slightly nervous, accepted his piece and took a tiny bite.

  “I can’t believe they are letting babies serve now,” Corporal Sativaa said.

  Liege had been the same age as Poussey when she enlisted, but she felt much older than Poussey looked.

  Normally, the guest of honor would get the next piece, but as expected, the CO refused. The S-3 put the body of Marines at ease, and Gunny Coventry started cutting up the cake. Table by table, the Marines and sailors rose and joined the line to get their piece.

  Liege was stand
ing next to Fanny and Lassi when a familiar face made her way back to them.

  “Corporal Crow, happy birthday!” Liege said.

  “Happy birthday to you, too. You’re looking good. I didn’t see a trace of a limp.”

  “Oh, I just got kissed a little. Doc Gnish sent me up to the Josh, and a couple of sessions on the ELS, and I’m good as new.”

  “ELS?”

  “You know, the Electrolavage System.”

  “I just wanted to say that what you did was pretty ballsy. I. . .I. . .” the corporal said. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that.”

  She started to turn away when Liege said, “I heard it was you on one of the buildings keeping the jericks off my ass.”

  “It wasn’t just me. And your platoon was showing their fight, too.”

  “Maybe, but I appreciate it,” Liege said, holding out her hand.

  Corporal Medicine Crow took it, then asked, “The Marine you pulled out. I know he got CASEVAC’d, but how is he?”

  “Korf’s gonna make it,” Wythe said, answering for Liege. “He’s back on Tarawa in regen, but that son of a bitch will be back before we know it.”

  “Good to hear. Well, I, uh, I need to get back in line if I want to get my cake. All of you, happy birthday.”

  “You, too,” Liege told her.

  “That was decent of her,” Fanny said.

  “Maybe she was lording it over us,” Wythe offered.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But she zeroed a shitload of jericks, and she probably saved at least half of our asses.”

  “Yeah, but from up on the roof tops, out of danger. Not like Doc here. That’s why Doc’s getting a Navy Cross, and the Ice Bitch’s getting nothing.”

  “I don’t know. I saw the recording where she had her a-gunner hold her over the edge of the building. That had her more exposed than any of us, and that’s when she zeroed the crew-served gunner who had me in his sights. I don’t know about you guys, but I think she saved my pretty ass, at least,” Liege said.

  There was laughter when she said “pretty ass,” as she had hoped. Yes, everyone knew she’d been recommended for a Navy Cross, but she still felt awkward about discussing it. And she felt more than a little unworthy. When she’d been out there digging Korf out, her mind had been on autopilot. She hadn’t really contemplated that what she was doing was dangerous. It wasn’t until later, when she’d watched the recordings, that she’d really processed the fact that she could easily have been killed.