Chapter 550: 4th & 10 (1/2)
”Nothing is more frightening that a lower enlistedbeing with a plan.” - Former Grand Most High Sma'akamo'o, from I Have Ridden the Hasslehoff
P'Kank watched as the clock hit hour thirty-eight. New Atrekna leadership caste point sources had appeared, almost desperately, and the Atrekna were still trying to fight off serious pushes into their final temporal zones.
They'd brought in more ships to attempt to stop Space Force Naval Vessels, but that had come out exactly as P'Kank knew it would.
The Admiral had ripped their ships apart without taking a single hit in return.
He checked his force levels again.
Active Duty was back up to 80% effectiveness and 98.54% personnel. He had tapped the Active Reserve forces at hour 26, ordering them from deployment areas and having them report to whichever unit 21st Replacement assigned them according to the planning. They had been on alert since Operation Billy Mays had started, waiting in the staging areas.
Planetary Guard was at 80% effectiveness and 96.28% personnel after a nasty attempt to take two of the cities with Dwellerspawn aerial forces.
P'Kank had tapped the Inactive Reserve and put them on notification at hour 24.
He still had 22.4 million troops in his reserves. All having undergone armor fitting and weapon/MOS re-familiarization in the last 12 hours. They were all in 21st Replacement awaiting their assignments, or moving out to take over Green Zones from the Active troops.
And I'll put everyone behind a gun if that's what it takes, he thought to himself. The people of Hesstla have put up with you for long enough.
P'Kank lit a cigarette, blowing out smoke from his footpads, He stared at the holotank, rotating it with one bladearm as he put his cigarettes away.
The command center smelled of old stale stress pheromones, stale cigarette smoke, kaff drinks, and sweat.
He had to admit he missed the smell of Terrans. The command center just didn't feel the same without the pheromones that told you that they were ready to kill you and everything you loved and anyone who might have seen the dim light of your star in their sky to achieve victory.
They may be gone, but they are not forgotten, nor are the lessons they taught us all, P'Kank thought to himself as he saw the lights blinking for several of First Cav's combat arms units committing themselves to battle. Their extinction is merely proof that the universe is malevolent and will wipe anyone out no matter how strong they are.
He zoomed in on a section and cocked his head slightly. 15th Forward Support Battalion, 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 3rd Regimental Combat Team, First Cavalry Division, was listed as 98.5% personnel and 80% combat ready.
Puffing on his cigarette he checked the records. They'd gotten reinforced from the reserves being moved around by 21st Replacement. For a moment, just a moment, he thought about ordering them to pull out.
But the unit's icon was blinking a steady green, stating they were in position and ready ti deploy. The Regimental Commander had pushed it up to P'Kank for the decision to keep them in position after the heavy casualties they'd suffered.
P'Kank tapped open a window and ordered a message sent.
”Witnessed.”
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In ancient days, Terrans used to mark their medical vehicles with the hope that the enemy would not attack them, to honor the idea that wounded warriors should be allowed to withdraw from the fight. That arguably naive belief had been tested over and over by warfare during Terran history. Even when enemies would strike Terran hospitals and medical vehicles, the Terrans withheld their own fire. At first the Terrans had only lightly armed or prohibited arming at all ambulances and medical transport vehicles, even forbid their medical personnel from touching anything heavier than a personal sidearm or small arm.
Melinvae had learned about that in medic training, just like she had learned how to treat injuries with little more than the equivalent of torn rags and scrap plastic and wood.
She was glad that the vehicle she was in was heavily armored and armed, as the Atrekna forces didn't care about wounded except to eat them or kill them. She was in a Shulacker Armored Fighting Vehicle, something most races would consider a light tank, maybe even a medium one, at 350 tons of armor, engine, and 'light' weapons. It was designed to deliver 13 man squads of bipeds or 7 man squads of Treana'ad quickly to the battlefield with enough armor to survive getting there.
It was heavy enough that the heavy weapons could be removed, integrity fields added, and sterifields added and the vehicle was lighter. Stretchers, medical equipment, medical supplies, and enough room for medics to work in the back.
It was cramped, but Melinvae knew that for the troops pulled into it, it beat dying in the mud.
Now she was in the back, with one other medic, working as fast as she could. She could hear the external guns being run, but put it out of her mind.
The Tukna'rn on the stretcher in front of her, there were four per side of the vehicle, had taken a chest hit from an autonomous war machine rail gun that would have gutted a Lanaktallan tank. She'd gotten his armor off, throwing it on the floor, and unsealed his pilot's suit.
She could see the mottled markings across his chest. She left his helmet on, merely retracting the visor so she could see his face. He was struggling to breathe and she looked closely at his neck.
His trachea was diverted to the left.
”Do you see it, ma'am?” Melinvae asked.
The russet mantid in the upper right of her vision nodded. ”I do. Do you know what to do?”
”He needs a chest tube,” Melinvae said. ”I've done it before.”
”Right. I'll walk you through it,” the russet mantid said. ”Gently thump his chest, you'll feel the spot where the air is collapsing his lung.”
Two years ago Melinvae would have apologized to the Tukna'rn for how much it would hurt to have a chest full of fractured cartilage rings thumped, but that was then, and this was now.
”Got it,” she said as soon as she heard the hollow sound.
A dot appeared in her vision, with a blue hazy ghostly image of a needle and her own hand. She didn't even look as she reached out with muscle memory and pulled open the auto-close drawer, grabbing a needle. She yanked it apart with one hand and her teeth even as she kept her hand on the Tukna'rn's chest.
”HOLD ON!” she heard over the intercom. She grabbed one of the 'poles' that the stretchers were locked into.
The hit rang the hull and Melinvae felt her ears pop, but the armor and the spalling liner held. The vehicle tilted slightly, slammed into something, then leveled out, the drive train roaring.
The lights didn't even flicker.
”YOU'RE GOOD!” the TC yelled.
Melinvae nodded, even though she knew the ambulance crew couldn't see her. She worked quickly, following the instructions. There was no time for any anesthetic, the Tukna'rn's skin was darkening as it lost oxygen.
The Tukna'rn merely stared upwards, his mouth working silently. Melinvae knew it was just as likely to be part of the Soldier's Manual of Common Tasks as it was a prayer to the Digital Omnimessiah.
When the blood and air sputtered from the needle the Tukna'rn took a whooping breath and Melinvae moved to getting him oxygen.
She straightened up and looked at the second patient, on the upper tier.
”How ya doing, soldier?” she asked the black mantid, who was missing two legs and a chunk of his abdomen.
”Will I be able to play the piano, doc?” the mantid asked, his antenna trembling with the pain.
”I'm sure you will, your bladearms and hands are fine,” Melinvae said.
”Good, because I couldn't before,” the black mantid said.
Melinvae chuckled, then shifted to the back stack, using the poles to keep her balance.
The ”Chimper” up top was unconscious, laying face down. Melinvae checked his vitals, saw that while his blood pressure was slightly low, it was still within acceptable ranges. She checked the spray on bandage that ran up his back where his spine had been, nearly halfway.
She shook her head. Terran Descent Primates, AKA ”Chimpers”, were apparently one of the uplifted primates from Terra, with tails, and were just as tough as she had heard Terrans were. A Dwellerspawn group had caught the Chimper scout and in the fight one had grabbed his armored tail and ripped it up and off, tearing out part of the Chimper's spine.
Melinvae knew that most species would be dead right there.
”You're on the way to the hospital, trooper,” Melinvae said, putting her hand on the unconscious Chimper's shoulder.
Training had stressed that sometimes the patient could hear you even if the instruments said they were unconscious, especially if they were of Terran Descent.
She knelt down and checked the bottom rear starboard side patient. A Rigellian female who smiled at her. The Rigellian looked down at the chest spray bandages and the shining gel from the spore counter-agent and then at Melinvae, still smiling.
”Gonna get these scars tattooed,” she said. Her eyes were slightly glazed and she was panting slightly.
”How are you feeling?” Melinvae asked.
”Um, my left shoulder itches, can you scratch it?” the Rigellian asked.
Melinvae cocked her head. ”Are you sure it itches?” she asked, pointing one finger at the restraints.
”um, yes?” the Rigellian said.
Melinvae shook her head and carefully leaned down, reaching across the Rigellian and gently scratching the skin on the shoulder.
”Kiss?” the Rigellian asked, trying to grab Melinvae's shoulder, the restraint holding her arm down.
”Uh-uh,” Melinvae said. She used a penlight to check the Rigellian's eyes. The pupil was still sluggish, still dilated wide. The Rigellian's greenish-gray skin was sweaty and flushed. ”Still feeling it, I see.”
”Uh-huh,” the Rigellian said. She started panting for a second. ”It's... it's sooooo goooood.”
”That's because you're full of the anti-toxin, otherwise your muscles would be turning to liquid,” Melinvae said. ”A chest full of red-dart spore shrapnel will do that to you.”
”Feels good,” the Rigellian panted, squirming.
”We'll get you to the FOB and run some blood cleaners through you, get that out of your system,” Melinvae promised.
The Rigellian just nodded and Melinvae stood up and turned around.
On the top stretcher was a massive primate. Just over six feet tall, heavy black fur trimmed short, flat black face with wide nostrils, and wide eyes.
”How ya doing, Staff Sergeant?” Melinvae asked.
”OK. Arm hurts,” the Grodd said. He grunted. ”Oh great, now my palm itches.”
”Here,” Melinvae said. She lifted up the arm, in the stasis sleeve, and scratched the palm.
”That's the stuff. Thanks,” the Grodd said.
”No charge,” Melinvae smiled, setting the arm back down.
”You could bill the Army,” the Grodd smiled. He looked to the left, the C-collar keeping him from looking down. ”How's the Telkan?”
”Unconscious, but he'll make it,” Melinvae said.
”Tough little fucker. The whippersnapper grabbed us both and started slamming us together,” the Grodd said, his voice thick from the anesthetics in his system. It wasn't safe to use the beamer when moving, a hard hit could make it swing around and the last thing Melinvae wanted was for it to beam directly into her face while she was working on a patient.
”He's going to live, Sergeant. Don't beat yourself up about it,” Melinvae said. ”They're the enemy, it's what they do.”
”Still,” the Grodd looked up. ”I feel like a fool, letting it grab me like that. Kid's lucky, not too many non-Terran Descent could take a hammering like that and live.”