[GZG] [GZG Fiction] Only The Dead Are Sure of Rest

Only The Dead Are Sure of Rest

Looking about the cavernous bay there was nothing to do but wait. The
emptiness was palpable. There were 972 newly made beds, with new blankets. One
deck lower there was a sparklingly bright, well scrubbed and sanitised fully
equipped operating room; cutting edge equipment
lining the walls and on every surface. The latest bio-regen growth labs
located a stone's throw down the hall; vats of synthetic skin already
approaching maturity. Synthetic blood in self chilling bags sitting stacked in
a storage room. For those constrained by religious beliefs there was even
canisters marked "Whole Blood". Stockpiles of drugs and large bales of old
style synthetic fake skin rubbery bandages were stored in a series of pull
down easy access storage bins. All was ready.

Unlike the clearly marked hospital ships of previous conflicts, this
airship was painted with dull two-tone camouflage, white below blending
to rusty regolith matching red above. Also unlike previous hospital
ships this one carried plenty of protection - an armed marine guard and
on-board batteries of large bore guns with a smattering of machine guns.

Besides the marines there were thirty six combat trained nurses and nineteen
medic qualified orderlies. They had been drawn originally from
the land-based hospitals back in the main bases. All had front line
experience and close quarter combat certifications. This war threw up many
surprises, not the least of which was that while these people had trained for
stable field hospitals, they found themselves deployed on this airship ready
to move out across the dark waters of the Binzert Channel.

The nurses and orderlies, supplemented by some of the stores staff and a troop
of cleaning bots, had worked day and night for a week to prepare the ship to
receive wounded. Everything had been scrubbed with disinfectant, beds were
made, supplies brought aboard and stowed in clearly marked colour coded
locations. Now with that task complete their only duty was to wait for
clearance to depart. They were headed for the Tokalau coast, where they would
begin ferrying the most heavily wounded back to the rear bases. The casevac
methods, based around VTOL extractions, used for the past two hundred years
overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of this new war.

Fully aware of what lies before them, the medical staff still can't rest.
Nervous anticipation has gotten the better of them. Instead they go on
working, inventing menial tasks and make work to keep their hands and minds
busy during these final drawn out hours. The only exceptions are two tired,
but still cheery girls in their twenties who have holed up in the tea room and
chatting gaily about music, dances and sweethearts while they paint their
nails with garish colours.

One of the ship's flight officers, Dale Jupp, who was a Merchant Marine prior
to the war, piloting long haul freighter traffic to the rim colonies, comes in
to grab a coffee. He looked tired when he pushed through the door, but the
sight of the nail polish sees him burst out laughing. Rich belly laughs that
do him a world of good. In an impish moment of impulsive release he even
consents to having his nails done, though he insists it be his toenails only.
He comments he'd much prefer to be escorting the girls to a dance somewhere
they could all flash their nails rather than be heading for a hospital run. As
the he holds out his toes to let the nurses pass judgement, the taller of the
two nurses declares she is glad to be going where she is. "Don't ya all know
just how happy them little old boys will be when we arrive?"

"Yeah I guess" the officer concedes, under the pressure of her imploring gaze.
Not long after he is called back to the bridge, donning his shoes and grabbing
a cup to take with him. He'd only been gone ten seconds before he was back for
two doughnuts and another capped cup. "Better grab one something for the big
guy or he'll have my head" volunteered Dale, flashing a smile and juggling his
load out the swing door. This created a new wave of giggles amongst the
nurses.

About an hour later the other nurses and the orderlies began to drift in. Soon
the tea room was jumping with chatter, laughter and bodies bustling about
warming up prepackaged meals. Noticing that one of the nurses Karen Brede
hadn't claimed a tray, her best friend on board Sunhee leaned over and asked
"Not eating then Karen?"

"No, well not the box dinners. I swung by the markets on the way here. Want a
King's fruit?"

"Would I ever!" exclaimed Sunhee swiping the proffered fruit from Karen's
hand, pushing her feet from the foot stool and taking it as his seat. "How on
Earth did you get these aboard with the weight restriction?"

"Ask again in three shifts when I'm out of clean washing" Karen grinned.

"Ooooo" Sunhee replied before taking another bite of his fruit, purply blue
juice dribbling down his chin, despite his best efforts.

"We really can't take you anywhere, can we" Karen laughed handing him a
napkin. Sunhee just smiled in response, dabbing at his shin and tunic breast.

Over by the sink the chief orderly and head nurse were in deep conversation.
"... and the finalised rosters are filed under the date they begin. The
database has been activated for supply tracking and IT has added a patient
manifest global update so the bugs in the medical cross checking should be
sorted..."

"Should?"

"Well I checked them pretending that you, Wenju and I had come down with The
Fever and it seemed to work fine, even questioned the rate of recovery when I
posted we had pulled through. So like I said should be fine."

"Well we go live in a few hours so bit moot really isn't..."

The tone was lighter in the corner where Hal Gras and Penny Soriano were deep
in conversation regarding Hal's recent wedding. " and then he pronounced us
married and I was so happy. I would have sworn I was the happiest man on the
planet except the tears were just coursing down Geordie's face..."

The room was full of such conversations, each group concentrating on what was
occupying their mind at the moment.

When the dinner hour was over they prepared to pull away and head for their
landing zone on Ariza. As the mooring was cast off and the airship began to
climb into the darkening Martian sky the nurses gathered in the two
observation stations and watched the airfield and then the harbour of Port
Plenty. As they rose higher the VR fighter escort joined them, flying down
from Harper in the north across the grey waters of the Eos Chasma. The eagle
eyed on the port side of the gondola could also see a
thin stream of wet-navy supply ships hugging the northern coast of the
Chasma taking stores and replacement parts to the invading forces via the
Golfe de Capri. Meanwhile on the starboard side lights from convoys moving
between Utopia and Connacht could be picked out against the increasingly dark
Martian landscape.

Adverse winds blew the ship closer to the coastline than anticipated just as
they passed through the Binzert Channel, the conflict below obvious as a
series of bright flashes, blue and green laser fire, crimson flames and the
odd flare accompanying the barrel flash of one of the larger mass driver
tanks. The fire of the Killjoys was particularly apparent. This continued all
along the coast as the airship continued as rapidly as possible towards Ariza.

The winds deteriorated through the night, as did the visibility, which put an
end to the fireworks display. This didn't stop nurses drifting back to the
observation ports though whenever the conversation or coffee pot dimmed.
Consequently there was always someone staring out into the black of the night,
straining their eyes for the hint of any movement below.

Just after 4am there was a scream, one of those high-pitched penetrating
ones that jars you to the core. Heads snapped round and people came running.

"Cass what is it?" begged the first nurse through the door, putting her arm
protectively around the stunned girl. It was as if Cass was in a trance, she
was pale and wide eyed looking out the window. "Cass?"

"Get down! They're out there!"

"Who's out there?"

"Fighters! Get down! Take cover!" Cass screamed again, trying desperately to
push the crowd that was forming back out the door. A squadron of high flying
Kra'Vak grav fighters had broken though the escort and were buzzing the
airship, spraying it with machine gun fire. They were not able to target the
ship for long, the escort and a second flight redirected from a mission closer
to ground coming up to defend the large body of the dirigible.

Then the comm crackled into life and the apparently un-phased voice of
the chief flight officer reported "We're threat free, all bogies despatched.
Damage is minimal, barely a scratch even. The ruckus has caused a slight delay
however. New ETA is 55 minutes, so you had better get ready people."

This energised the nervous crew. They had solid tasks to focus on now and it
was all action. Not one witnessed the airship cross from day to night, the
weak sun struggling through the dusty smoke laden clouds around them. As the
minutes wore on though, not a few people remarked that this seemed like the
longest hour of their lives.

Then they felt the decent begin, though by the time they were below the clouds
they were almost on top of their landing mast. The coast of Ariza already off
to their northwest. Anyone with the time or inclination to look from the
observation ports now would have noticed other hospital airships to left and
right. The dust and smoke sullying the carefully created camouflage to leave
the body of the dirigible's float a rusty grey. Ironically this actually made
them blend more effectively with the
sky behind them - a rusty grey airship against rusty grey clouds and
dusty grey-red sand.

Hal was at the view port, a high powered pair of binoculars to his eyes,
scanning the ship off to their side. His view was full of wounded troops
lining the ports on the gondola opposite. Some sitting, some standing, all
packed solidly together. All in modern background matching cam that had been
made largely ineffectual by a coat of Martian dust. A body of peach, apricot,
orange and red men and women, the odd one here and there with an obvious
bandage wrapped around a limb, head or chest. The more critically wounded
would be in the beds within the central line of the gondola. Only the
moderately injured would be out along these side decks. These people were bad
enough they were to be evacuated from the battlefield but not so bad triage
had credited them a bed. They still didn't make a pretty sight. Many were
listless, silent and unmoving. While there were pockets of conversation others
seemed to just sit silently, though it is hard to tell at a distance. For sure
no one waved or called to the new arrival.

Penny watched Hal carefully, concern across her face. She seemed on the verge
of saying something, but was holding back as if she didn't dare. Then a sigh
of relief from Hal released the tension.

"It's not Geordie's unit."

Just then the Sister stuck her head round the door and roused them back to
their posts. "Come on, we'll have wounded to be loaded in five." Hal and Penny
turned from the waist to look at her in acknowledgement, Hal lowering the
binoculars. Then with a nod they moved away from the observation port back
into the main ward to prepare, Hal depositing the binoculars in their storage
slot as he left.

Looking out beyond the nose of the airship into the edge of one of the
suburban domes of Ariza the pilots could see tents and a vacant lot that had
been turned into an impromptu football field. Further over a small cluster of
men were playing Bolle in a walled lane. There was also a washing line strung
between two disabled APC hulls.

Then came the careful process of positioning in the hook-up cradle so
the autonomous mooring lines could snake out and secure the airship.
When this was complete the engines began to power down and the co-pilot
hit the switch to begin lowering the loading ramp. At the rear end of the
gondola the load master now moved into action. Signalling commands with his
hands he readied stretcher bearers both within the airship and down on the
ground. The faster they loaded the faster they could get the wounded to the
first rate hospitals back on the rear bases.

As the ramp came down the people in the loading bay where hit by a blast of
cold air and a wall of noise. The frigid wind stung the bare cheeks of the
medicos, until they couldn't tell whether the prickly tingling was from cold
or the sand whipped up the airships' manoeuvres. It made all exposed in this
way grateful that the current state of the Martian atmosphere meant they had
to wear visored goggles and snoutish rebreathers, at least that meant half the
face was protected from the drilling cold.

The auditory assault was equally as overwhelming. The noise was truly
deafening. The whine of engines powering down on this airship steadily being
out done by the engines on the other two airships powering up. There was also
the roar of jets passing overhead; out on the landing field there was no dome
to buffer the decibels. As background to all this were men shouting. Sergeants
and quarter masters directing their troops, who were unloading from the
bellies of the big airships using either hauler mechs and grappling walkers or
dragging boxes out using
grav-enablers. Once on the ground other human chains passed the cargo
onto heavy grav-barges or lighter GEV craft, there was even the odd
wheeled or tracked truck. When full this mass of trucks and hover sleds
trundled or clanked off up the access routes. Adding to the cacophony were
ambulances, both VTOL and land craft that were bringing in the wounded. There
were also deep thuds of distant explosions and quite incongruously dance music
was floating in from a radio somewhere.

Off to the edges of the field hovered surveillance drones, their red
slit-like sensor panels scanning the horizons and everything in between
for alien threats. The drones were of various nationalities and heritages.
There were at least three of the newer cylindrical Confederation drones that
seem to bounce slowly up and down on the spot, their stealth fields making
them hard to follow with the naked eye.
There were four old Eurasian drones, with their domed heads, rabbit-ear
like antennae and underslung laser rifles. There were even two old drones
contributed by one of the local Martian provincial defence forces. This last
type dependent on metallic balloons for lift, which leant them a strong
resemblance to comical toy elephants that had been caught in the winds above
the main body of the massed airships. Curled around this tableau was a shroud
of dust and smoke that kept the sound bound in, the odd tendril of wind
opening a break in the clouds that let the noise seep quickly away in the thin
atmosphere. Rather than a
release this added an irritating see-sawing to the volume assaulting the
ear.

All attention switched back to the task in hand once the first of the
critically wounded started to be lifted up the ramp on hoverbeds. AI's inside
the body of the beds directed these up the ramp and past the load master, all
the while beeping and whining as they monitored the soldier close to death on
their back. Behind these came those who were bad, but not so bad they had been
triaged onto one of the limited number of
auto-beds. These hoverbeds were also grav assisted, and lined with
monitoring sensors but they were man directed. This was the full time employ
of a unit of young men in full armour and rebreathers bouncing up the ramp one
on each corner, or at a push one fore and aft. Penny was on ramp duty, tasked
with doing a brief second order triage, tagging and then directing the injured
to the right bed. As she looked down at the
body on the first auto-bed it felt like her heart had fallen through to
her thighs. Her gut tightened and she felt ill. She had done this job before;
it had been years since her first training and deployment, but nothing ever
prepared her for that first body of the load, for the almost inevitable eyeful
of someone who was closer to child than man,
usually dead-white, swathed in bandages, soaked with blood or with a
yawning wound or missing limb; and they were always on the very edge of dying,
dangling on the edge of the precipice of death. Swallowing hard Penny punched
a coded 5 digit entry into a touchpad on the side of the stretcher. That first
gut wrenching sight over with she was all business
now directing auto-beds and man handled stretchers this way and that
with a flurry of arms and clipped commands.

Like a building crescendo everything seemed to begin to happen more quickly
then. Six ambulances rolling in full of wounded. Each vehicle carried six
litter cases, plus as many walking wounded as could be crowded into them. On
the fifth stretcher in Penny noticed the bearer grimacing. After despatching
his injured cargo to the correct bed she stopped his retreat with a hand on
his forearm. When he looked at her questioningly she gestured to his hands
asking him to remove his gloves. His hands were a mess, they were raw, with
busted capillaries on the flat of the back of his hand, the palm padded with
blisters and the suggestion of frost bite at the tips of two fingers. "How did
you get like this?" Penny demanded of the lad. "You are practically a hospital
case yourself"

"Lost my gloves trip before last, they got snagged on some debris in the mud
and shredded before I could get free. I couldn't just abandon the guys to load
up with out me, but it took until we got back for us to hunt up a new pair of
gloves."

"Well you won't be carrying this lot around for the rest of the day, not
without running the risk of losing a good part of your hand permanently. Take
this tag to station seven, deck 4. They'll fix you up. Take a skin sample,
grow you a new batch while they fill you with coffee, you look had it. That
and some antibiotic and pain killing shots and you'll be back on your feet in
two days."

"Two days" the boy look dismayed.

"Two days" Penny insisted firmly. "The nurses will fix you a chit for that as
well. Make the most of it, read a book, write your family, get some sleep! Now
off you go." She flicked her head in the direction of the lift door, batting
his hesitant back side lightly with her palm scanner.

Looking at the backlog of bodies mounting outside, laid out in neat rows by
the ramp's end, Penny touched her throat mike and put out a bearer call. At
times like these the ship's flight crew instantly became
volunteer stretcher-bearers.

It didn't take long for the two pilots, navigator and three engineers to
arrive. Pairing up they started to help carry bodies up the ramp. Sunhee also
coming down to help Penny sort the wounded.

Dale Jupp jogged down the ramp to where one of the ground staff directed him
to a litter where a man enveloped in inflated supports was panting and
shivering. Grabbing one end he looked up for a partner. No one wanted to waste
time here. There was a real sense of fierce and driven activity. One of the
engineers, Janet Underwood, stepped up and offered to pair up with him. Dale
gave a quick, but not unfriendly, nod of approval.

"I'll take lead she volunteered" leaving the heavier steering to Dale.

"Ok let's go" Dale replied, flicking on the grav-assist panel and
hefting the stretcher up. When the panel flashed green and the
grav-enabled marker pinged to indicate it was ready they headed back up
the ramp. Penny spent under 20 seconds classifying the case and directing them
to guide him up to the main ward.

In the centre of the gondola, for three decks, was a single vast ward. It had
double tiered bunks in rows across the grating floors separating the decks. It
made for a noisy busy space, but had been the fastest way of building in so
much bed space quickly. Dale and Janet headed for the second tier, bed 459;
the pink coating of the rails marking it as the burns section. The orderly who
intercepted them, ready to help them lift the poor soul onto his new bed
whistled through his teeth.

"Shit he must have got caught full on by a plasma hit. I hate these ones. Too
bad to be given VIP service but not so bad they're put to the side. Makes your
stomach turn. It's gonna be weeks before he's even allowed to be conscious.
Poor kid" a scowl cutting his features he nodded off the count and they all
lifted together to get the injured soldier into his bunk as swiftly but gently
as possible. Karen bustled up then, attaching medical lines and taking a
pinprick sample for the skin growth vat. The she was off, a woman with a
mission.

Dale knelt by the stretcher for a moment, unclamping the grav-assist
pads. Janet folded the stretcher and headed for the stairs back to the loading
ramp, leaving the lift for the incoming wounded. Dale was only a moment
behind, stopping to make sure the grav pads were in hibernation mode. As he
headed back for the stairs, threading his way back through the ward, he
marvelled at how well the routine of the airship actually ran. Though he
conceded that it was only possible because the seven doctors and all the
nurses and orderlies were pretty much superhuman, at least in his estimation.
A few of them were in fact, nine of the orderlies and four of the doctors
being CE (cybernetically enhanced), and another orderly and two nurses being
GM. Even with these optional extras you had to be a special kind of person to
want to be around people this badly hurt. What's more from two o'clock this
afternoon, when they were due to be loaded and departing, through until the
ship docked in Petauke the medical personnel wouldn't get more than a few
seconds break.

In the main and side wards it was common to see plasma and blood replacements
underway, the flexible tubing running up from the side of
the bunk. Spindly medical bots re-dressing wounds, examining injuries
(calling on live medical personnel for consults as required), administering
sedatives or opiates, adjusting oxygen flows, clamping amputated limbs,
spreading regen creams. This freed up the human medical personnel for more
critical cases and for the many operations that would stretch on through the
night flight back to base. Even if he had done nothing deserving of credit,
Dale was still proud of the ships' record of having only ever had five
soldiers die on board and all of those had come aboard classed as hopeless
cases.

When he thought back later Dale found it hard to remember much about the
wounded, well in detail anyway, even when pressed. There were simply so many
of them. Between his stretch bearer duties and doing what had to be done to
fly the ship there was no time to talk.

A deck further down medical orderly Mat Limbourn felt the same way. He
was eternally grateful for the med-bots. There was always so much to do;
it eluded him as to how people coped unaided in the past. The injured had to
be fed, as in some cases they had not eaten for a couple of days and even if
they had eaten recently they were perpetually thirsty. It seemed to take ages
to pour water or coffee from the spout of a teapot into a barely visible mouth
hidden amongst bandages, regen patches or skin grafts. Then there was their
accoutrements, damaged suit armour and boots had to be cut off. Once settled
there was the status monitoring; medication levels and fluid flows to be
watched; if indicators suddenly plummeted (showing that the soldier in
question desperately needed attention), doctors, nurses and orderlies, working
like demons throughout the airship, had to be found and called quickly to the
bunk. Those in not so fraught conditions needed to be entertained to some
degree, even if it was as simple as unwrapping chew-bars for those who
could not use their hands.

Despite this technological attention the wounded also talked among themselves,
keeping an eye on their buddies. They all looked out for one another, saying
things like, "Could you please give my mate over there a drink of water," or
"Miss, see that marine over there, yes the one on the lower bunk on the end,
he's in real bad shape. Could you please go to him first?" And all through the
ship, people were asking after others by name, anxiously searching for wounded
pals; wondering if they were on board, or another airship, and how they were
getting along. In most cases answers weren't there to give, but occasionally
it was possible to pass along news, good and bad.

With such a press of bodies pushing through the medical system it was not
possible to give the individual attention typical of the modern wards before
these large scale clashes began. Even the best nurses, the ones who in normal
wards had mastered the skill of memorising a name as they read it, tended to
fall back here on knowing the wounded by their faces and their injuries, not
their names. The lists were long, the duplicates often numerous. It was easier
and usually more personal to know them for what they were experiencing.

Looking around Mat thought again how superbly enduring this bunch were. He was
continually amazed by the fact these people smiled when they must be in such
degrees of agony that they just wanted to curl up and sob. Yet they took the
time to make jokes when it seemed they needed every iota of their strength
just to survive the next few hours.

Finishing up with his current charge Mat checked his wristband for the bunk
number of his next job. It was on the top deck, so he headed for the stairs
and climbed up. Striding between the bunks he quickly reached the young
lieutenant who needed his attention. Mat didn't need to look at the monitor or
call up his file to see the man had a bad chest wound. His pasty face was
white and he lay so very still, too still. Mat reached up and brushed his
fingertips over the readout panel, pulling up a set of statistics and vibrant
dynamic charts that summarised the man's, Lieutenant Thalberg's, condition.
Suddenly a hand clamed down on Mat's arm, the Lieutenant raised himself up on
one elbow and looked Mat straight in the eye. Mat returned his steady gaze,
silently asking him what was wrong, trying to reassure him without startling
him. Mat could see the horror and pain writ large across the gentle oval face
and wide blue eyes of the young man on the bed. He was not speaking, but you
could hardly blame him. He had been wounded four days ago, while leading a
patrol. He had lain where he had fallen, amongst the remains of the squad he
was leading for two days. On the third day he'd drawn on reserves he probably
didn't even know he had and had crawled back to the human lines, somehow
dodging the sniping of Krak sharp shooters sitting up in the dome pylons
overlooking the ditch system he was in. It took him a little while to realise
he was safe now.

"Es ist sicher. Du ist sicher vor die unsichtbar Schrecken" called the man
from the bunk one over. Looking around the Lieutenant finally located the
voice and visibly concentrated on focusing on the man calling to him.

"Klaus?"

"Ya. Ya. Ich bin's." replied the German, who was badly wounded in the chest,
shoulder and legs.

The gentle-faced Lieutenant relaxed, falling back to the bed, resting
his hand on, but no longer gripping, Mat's arm. The corners of his lips turned
up in a little smile. Speaking softly, he was obviously finding it
increasingly difficult to speak, "Er ist in Todesgefahr wenn er stirbt" Then
he closed his eyes and fell silent. Mat taking this opportunity to pull on an
oxygen mask and bump his name further up the surgery priority listing. With
breathing that laboured his lungs were obviously deteriorating faster than
anticipated. A not uncommon outcome on Mars Mat reflected. Mat looked
questioningly at the man Thalberg had identified as Klaus. "I told him he was
safe now. And he told you I was in trouble if I died" smile Klaus, wincing as
he also settled back into his bunk.

Before Mat could pursue the conversation a bought of harsh coughing from the
bunk above drew his attention. The man on the platform was a
19-year-old Austrian. He had been in the thick of the battle in the
south for the last year, having had only six days furlough in that entire
time. He had been transferred to the north with his unit, who were expert in
infiltrating the Kra'Vak lines and setting explosive charges to bring down
infrastructure. Looking up at him Mat thought he wouldn't last out the trip.
He startled Mat by suddenly asking if he were going to die. "Not now" Mat
reassured him. Mat was not trying to be kind; the boy's chances really were
much higher now he'd spoken. Besides it did not hurt to be decent. The
Austrian opened his eyes so they were slits and looked down diagonally at Mat.
"Thankyou." Then he added, "So many wounded men. All we want is to get home
and the way is blocked. It is tragic." A tear trickled from his half closed
yes and rolled down his cheek. Mat softly patted the boy's arm and then
regretfully made his apologies and headed for his next case.

This one was a soldier from Oregon. Her head wound so horrible that they had
only dared move her as far as the intensive care beds on the lowest deck,
closest to the ramp. Penny and four doctors had all diagnosed her as the sixth
person to die on board. It really looked as if nothing could be done for her,
anything, no matter how minor, sure to make her worse. Her vitals were jumping
now, showing a strong recovery. Mat adjusted the feed from a few lines and her
eyes slowly opened. She made a gesture that she was thirsty and Mat poured her
a small shot of water in a paper cup. Holding it to her lips he dribbled
enough in to wet her lips and then a little more until she nodded she'd had
enough. Her grey eyes were rimmed with black smudges and they looked distant
and unfocused. It was as if she was staring off into the far distance and was
finding it hard to come back in close. Her face was lined with weariness and
pain. That sad washed out look of someone who is at a point where they can
hurt no more. Mat asked how she felt and she
shrugged, making a so-so gesture with her hand. After checking if she
needed anything else Mat moved on again. He checked back on her a few times
during the course of the voyage. She never uttered a single word. She asked
for nothing, nor did she complain.

The next patient was a local Martian boy, probably of French descent based on
his accent. He was only 17. He was lying on his stomach, as he had been
wounded in the back by a shell fragment. A large area of his lower back was
bandaged and there were patched cuts as far up as his neck line. He said he
used to live just outside of Orduna, working his father's farmland and helping
his brothers in their small mine. His voice was choked, the emotion of being
so close to his home again apparent to all. The two Anglian soldiers, both far
from their homes on Albion, in the bunks either side were worried about him.
They were afraid for him, a kid in pain in this hell hole. No friends to
accompany him through recuperation. But the boy was already very much a man.
He
was also very tight-lipped it turned out. After their initial
conversation Mat could hardly get anything out of him. He seemed determined to
keep his anxiety to himself, though to Mat's practiced eye it was all too
evident. As Mat quietly worked on his body he tried also to sooth the
teenager's nerves and worries. This had less than the desired outcome though
when the boy burst out "How can it be alright?! My family was still in there
when they came!" His eyes flooding with tears, his chest began to heave as he
said he did not know what had happened to them, whether they were alive or
dead, though everyone knew what the awful truth probably was. He just wanted
them back and if he couldn't then he wanted to make them proud by being the
best soldier there was. The soldier to his left said quite earnestly that he
was "... a better soldier than plenty of men with years more experience and
training." To which the other man added "I'm sure you're parent's are proud.
No need to worry there!" Mat was worried this would set the boy off again, but
it didn't. The boy seemed comforted by the solders' words, obviously as they
had intended. His pain was still palpable, but the worst had passed.
Nevertheless Mat stayed with him as long as he could, until his personal slave
driver chimed to tell him to keep moving.

Mat was actually scheduled for a break now, though he knew he couldn't really
take it. He stopped by the kitchen area just long enough to grab one of the
sandwich packs sitting ready in the refrigerator. His room mate Kenny Rhodes
leaving just as he arrived.

Kenny, whom was a psychologist by training and trauma counsellor by profession
before the war came to his home on Mars, spent most of his time in the side
lounges with the less badly wounded. Here he found a collection of odd, but
wonderful men and women. They screamed less and talked more. They chatted away
even when they could not see, because they'd been blinded or had bandages
wrapped securely around their cranium. It tended to be less sentimental talk
too. Less concern for getting to see family again and more professional talk:
what unit they were from, what action they had seen, where in the order they
had landed and how, where they had been located after that, what opposition
they had met, and how and when they had been wounded.

They spoke almost endlessly of snipers, and given every opportunity they would
break into speculation about the role of the inky purple black Kra'Vak. There
was general agreement that they did not seem to become enraged and mindless
like the others in battle. In fact they seemed to be able to influence the
others somehow. Some claimed it was via technology, using hypnotic frequencies
only they could hear. Others thought they were telepathic, though this usually
brought on derisive laughter. Nervous derisive laughter and not a few nods.
Then as that topic seemed finally exhausted or simply because they wanted to
break the tension by moving on someone would wonder how they would ever find
their old units again once they were mended and then how soon they would get
mail. The needs of a soldier are often quite simple.

The one universal need being to find someone from a place they know, hopefully
their home town, but someplace they've holidayed will do fine too. "Where're
you from?" is the most often heard opener on the airship; everyone's favourite
way of breaking the ice. Apparently everyone has time to look for someone who
knows places they know well. These conversations didn't usually amount to much
beyond discussing local land marks, like favourite pubs and parks, and then
comparing it to the current stretch of Martian sand and how there was no real
contest. The chopped up coast of Tokalau beat in every way imaginable by all
the swell places they'd rather be. Then some joker would make some wise
crack about them knowing a cozy little time share fox-hole not far from
the landing beaches. Nice view of the remains of Ariza, with hot and cold
running Kra'Vak, and all were welcome so long as they didn't mind
the odd mouth-, boot- and crutch full of red sandy mud.

Kenny was up to the challenge. He had always been the one with the wise
rejoinder back at high school and he had yet to be toppled from that perch. He
thanked them for their kind invitation and said that unfortunately he had to
decline as he had a few drop in guests on his airship and that he would be
forced to stay in and entertain this evening. This gave everyone a good laugh.
It was for this reason that Kenny was well liked by everyone, he made the time
pass more quickly and helped people keep their minds off their troubles. He
knew all too well that in circumstances such as these it is all too easy to
find yourself past the point where you became overwhelmed and felt as if you
were so small and helpless that you could do nothing but drown under the
weight of this enormous, insane nightmare world. If such melancholy gripes the
injured, or even the healthy, they cease to care about anything and give up
hope. This is completely destructive of all their chances of survival and
Kenny fought it tooth and claw when ever he saw even the merest hint of it.
Encouraging laughter every way he knew how, resorting to magic tricks and
ribald jokes by turn, as the audience required. All who met him thought him
terrific company, a brave and competent man they would look up after the war
and buy a beverage of his choice.

Kenny was not a god however and even he could do nothing to stop Kra'Vak
fighters spoiling the merry atmosphere he had created. When the red alert
sounded and the airship started firing chaff out into the night all went
quiet. Every pair of eyes turned nervously to the iridescent
display out the viewports. The laser and tracer fire was eye-catching,
the twinkling as it burst in the sky almost beautiful, though no one took any
pleasure from the scene. "We've had it now," whispered one trooper. "Now, now
give those marines a chance to earn their pay" responded the man beside him.
The sides of the airship in this section were well armoured so there was
nothing more to do but watch. So they all stood, or sat, or leaned, each as
his injuries allowed and watched. There was altogether more fire from the
Kra'Vak fighters than anyone felt comfortable with. All those whose ears were
undamaged could hear the alien planes circling; and the explosions from the
fire of the friendly VRfighters coming into joust with the Kra'Vak aircraft.
Then the airship's own defensive guns began to fire, their barrels pumping in
and out with each shot. The noise inside the gondola was deafening, as
if some mad torturer were driving ringing electro-rivets into the
eardrums.

Just then Kenny was called to help a deafened man in the mezzanine floor
above, who had become disoriented in the confusion of the attack. There was no
room to push through to the main stairwell so he slipped up the emergency
ladder instead, clambering up like an inept monkey. Fixated on his task he
missed all but the reflected backwash of the blaze of the two Kra'Vak planes
dropping like fiery stones from the heavens. One plunged into the icy waters
of the Channel, while the other slammed into the beach sliding below the
airship's path. Both consumed by ravenous fireballs. The one onshore leaving a
huge bonfire that lit up the shore around it, while the floating debris of the
other broke up quickly into a maze of small flaming pieces.

It was easy for Kenny to locate the man in distress. He was the only one
making a sound. Shouting out enquiries about what was going on, thrashing
around trying to see for himself when he failed to get any semblance of an
answer. Kenny could see why the man had been frightened. The wounded men
around him were still and silent with wide frightened eyes. Kenny tried to
explain, but the man was profoundly deaf, his auditory nerves damaged by a
blast that clipped his head. Eventually Kenny calmed him down, writing out an
explanation on a roll of
flexi-sheet he had wadded up in his pocket from a game of squares
earlier in the day.

Back in the main ward, where their were no windows to let in views of the
outside world, the medical personnel tranquilly continued at their work;
ignoring the external pandemonium and handing out confidence with their bed
side ministrations. And through all this streamed the cleaning bots, which
really were completely indifferent to the Kra'Vak attack. They tidied away and
disposed of piles of bloody clothing that had been cut off and discarded in
the nearest available corner. They cleared up spare coffee cups and chew bar
wrappers that littered the decks.

As relative calm returned to the main ward, the noise level burbled back to
what passed for normal. Wounded groaned in their sleep; the disturbed called
out; and between those who couldn't sleep there was a steady hum of
conversation. Behind this was an auditory mural painted by the many pieces of
medical equipment along the walls and built into the beds, as well as the
different kinds of bots gliding about.

As the night wore on the wounded looked better and better. Modern medicine
being capable of patching up the human body quite rapidly; at least to a
serviceable degree. It would still take weeks to months for some to fully
recover, if they ever did. Those that didn't had the option of CE implants and
retraining. The human machine may be delicate, but it is built well (if
somewhat illogically in parts) and if given half a chance it will survive
extraordinary levels of damage.

The ship had crossed the Channel by dawn and had almost reached the western
shore of the Golfe de Capri. There was a little cheer that wound its way
through the airship as the coast came into sight. The
yellowy-green tinge of the xerophylic alpine grasses, and other
groundcover, that still covered the Tenasserim Peninsular strikingly different
to the harsh reds of the main battle zone. Everyone's mood lightened. This new
mood could be heard in the voices of the wounded, their tones had brightened
and sharpened. Even more encouragingly they had begun making dates with one
another for when they would be on convalescent leave in Petauke.

Ambulance companies were waiting at the airfield as the airship came into its
mooring. Before the wounded began to be unloaded the Captain and chief medical
officer came down and spoke to the officers in charge. Ground staff and
airship crew shared gossip while they waited for the order to unload. The head
nurse came out and wearily collapsed onto the bottom of the loading ramp,
using it as an impromptu seat. Elbows on knees and with upper body sagging she
smiled an exhausted smile and stated, "We'll do it better next time." She
wasn't challenging the efforts of her staff, she wasn't criticising them in
anyway. Her tone made it infinitely clear that she was making a commitment to
the wounded.

At last the crew had clearance to begin off loading. Watching the first
wounded floating off the ramp in their auto-beds the chief medical
officer announced, with a heavy note of relief, "Made it." After standing and
watching a few more beds slide down to the ambulances he turned and headed
back into the body of the airship. There was work to be done. They had to
restock their supplies; cycle the bots; clean the ship; make the beds with
fresh linen; grab what sleep they could; and message their loved ones, if time
permitted. Then they would go back to Ariza again. It was likely they would
not go via Port Plenty for a while, so it would be straight back into the
thick of it. Though scuttlebutt already had it they would actually head for
Rosado not Ariza this time. All that remained to be seen, this trip was done.
They had done their job again. Over a 1000 more wounded were back where they
could be cared for safely. They had made it.