Fic: Jenna's War I: Screw Up (5/6)
Squinting against the two rising suns, I struggle against the overwhelming urge to just close my eyes and give in to the need to sleep. Some hours ago I took my turn to watch, and since then I’ve been lying in a depression not far away from the downed box, my rifle pointing towards the endless empty desert. I hope that by now Tarkker assumed his place on the other side, like I told him.
And I hope to the Gods that Xanas is alright. And that someone will notice that we are overdue to return from our little desert op. When I’d finished tending to my wrist yesterday, I had searched the cockpit and the debris for anything useful. It was then that my hopes suffered a near fatal blow when I discovered that the box's entire communications array had become one with the pilot and copilot. Unlike the Larry's, regular infantrymen don't get those nifty long-range comlinks; just one radio, carried by the RO, or Radio Operator, who happened to be Winters. It means we are truly stranded.
I close my eyes against the rapidly rising suns. Beads of sweat created by already soaring temperatures have replaced the shivers of the night. By now, sand has seeped through my jumpsuit and into every nook and cranny, settled in my unruly hair and is grinding between my teeth. I doubt that I’ll ever be clean again.
Sweat is running out of my pores in streams, mixing with the sand on my body, creating a gritty, abrasive mess that makes it difficult to move without taking off skin. Of course, sitting still causes it to itch like crazy. Plus there's the wrist that even the splint couldn’t fully stabilize. It feels as though I have no strength left in my hands, and my grip on my rifle is practically non-existent.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the stinging drops of sweat that are beginning to run into my eyes, trying to avoid the sting. With a start, I jerk up, my rifle slipping from my sweaty hands. Grumbling, I reach into my right thigh pocket and pull out my gloves, hoping that they'll help me retain my grip on my weapon. We’ve been told so often to put on those things in the desert but I always manage to forget that. Stupid of me, really.
When I open my eyes again - still squinting against the sun and the sweat in my eyes - I register movement between two of the dunes before me. Blinking a few times to clear the sweat and sand from my eyes, I try to see if it was really something moving, or merely the morning heat creating mirages on the sands. But wait! There it is again. Something in the distance, ghosting smoothly over the sands, barely visible against the uniformly brown background. There are no animals that move like that on this planet; but Tusken do. Slowly I reach for my short-range comlink and send a series of clicks to Xanas and Tarkker. Trying to move as slowly as possible, I shift a little to readjust my position in the sand and train my rifle in the direction where I saw the movement.
I stare at the dunes, gripping my rifle hard, trying to catch another glimpse of the mysterious figure. Gods, let it be false alarm. An illusion induced by heat and nervousness. Nothing but… sand from a dune a little nearer is suddenly rippling down. Followed by a strange sound. Like a grunt. Oh Gods. Oh please no. Taking a deep breath I readjust my position, assured that my rifle’s power cell is loaded fully and the rifle is live and set to kill.
Hearing return clicks over my comm startles me enough that I almost jump, but I manage to keep still. When the clicks have ended, my heart makes a lurch forward. Obviously Tarkker’s seen someone approaching as well, but he indicated that it's friendly. They've found us! Oh Gods, let them be fast enough that I don’t have to pull the trigger and none of us gets hurt any worse.
But it’s too late for that. Suddenly I can hear the punchy, whining reports of blasters firing behind me. I know one of them. It’s the one that belonged to my mother; the one that I gave to Xanas, so that he had something besides his rifle to defend himself. Startled I get up and run back to the downed box, to be welcomed by a hail of slugthrower fire from a Tusken warband. I dive into the sand, going completely prone under the sudden storm of hot lead. Feeling hot shame wash over me, I realize I let myself be fooled. The movement up on the dune obviously had been a simple decoy maneuver meant to catch my attention and hold it. They had already known I’d been lying there in my hole.
As I lie here on the sand, under fire, all the instincts that were drummed into my subconscious mind in basic suddenly kick in. I can feel the bullets kicking up sand all around me, and I realize that if I don't start fighting back, I'm going to die here. Bile begins to creep up my throat, and I start to feel lightheaded, as I raise my head a little and point my rifle. With shaking hands, I train the sights on the lead sandperson, who is moving towards Xanas. I take a deep breath, and let it half-way out, just like the DI told us back at basic. I caress the trigger instead of squeezing it, just like the DI said, caress it like it was my lover. The weapon bucks as it discharges it's deadly payload, and I caress my lover again. The two bolts strike home, the first in the sandperson's flank, the other in it's head.
Instead of remorse, I feel only a sense of hyper-awareness. Colors are clearer, sharper, and time seems to slow down almost. I can hear the bullets whizzing past me, and I fire several more shots off at the approaching sandpeople. I drop two more, and the rest drop to the minimal cover of the sand to continue shooting at me. I use the momentary reprieve to leap to my feet and dash the remaining eight or so meters to the box. There must close to twenty of the Tusken's now, and they've resumed their mad, honking charge towards the box. Once again, the air is rent with sound of cracking slugthrowers, the high-pitched buzzing of slugs whizzing by our ears and pinging off the box, thudding into the sand.
By now I’ve reached Xanas and the sand people are only a few meters away. I dive into the depression he's sitting it, and peek over the edge. For a moment, I feel paralyzed. The last time I was in a serious fight with the enemy up close and personal had been when Tusken's had attacked the camp in the middle of the night, and I hadn't actually done any fighting. Magic made sure that no one in Company K did. Wide-eyed, I stare at them now, as images of that frightening night come rushing back to me at an almost incomprehensible speed.
A blaster bolt sizzles past my ear, and I straighten up again. At least one of them has an Imp or Rebel weapon. They're not too spread out, and I do what comes naturally. My hand reaches to my combat harness and pulls a grenade, priming it as it cocks back to throw. The small explosive hurtles into their midst, and I'm elated to see that my aim was perfect. The grenade explodes, sending white-hot shrapnel tearing through the small warband. Sandpeople are thrown left and right, their bodies torn and battered. But it's not enough, as there are still eleven of them charging at us. Where the hell is Tarkker? And where is that box he told me he’d seen?
“Mel!” Xanas suddenly shouts, but I don’t turn around. I switch my firing mode to fully automatic and squeeze the trigger while sweeping my rifle back and forth. It's inaccurate, and I only kill two, but the rest suddenly turn and break for the cover of a large boulder some fifteen meters away from the box, firing as they go. Pain blossoms in my left arm, as a slug rips open the skin, and tears through a small piece of the muscle, and I can't hold back a small cry of pain. Gritting my teeth, I expend the remaining shots in my blaster pack towards the boulder the Tusken's are taking cover behind.
Without bothering to reload, I sling my rifle on my back and crawl to Xanas, who is still firing sloppily aimed shots at the boulder. I get behind him and grab him under the arms. He stops firing, and glances back at me, but says nothing. I pull him into the open door of the wrecked box, hurriedly pulling him behind the cover of the metal wall.
“Mel!” Xanas shouts again, and now I take the time to turn to him.
“What?” I shout back, and he leans out from behind his place of cover and points into the sky. I barely have time to register that there is indeed an object in the air that’s rapidly getting bigger, before the sandpeople open up on us again. I can only hope it's one of ours.
“When the box arrives, you run out and don’t look back.” Another bullet sizzles past me, grazing a part of my back that’s been exposed. But I register the pain only marginally. Xanas just suggested something unthinkable.
“No! No way I’m leaving you behind.” I turn around so that I'm mostly behind the cover of the wall as well, and peek out, my rifle leading the way. I'm just in time to catch the sandpeople making a dash to a boulder that's even closer. I fire off several controlled bursts, dropping three more, but the rest make it to cover.
“You will. The box will land in few seconds, and you’ll be running towards it and leaving me behind. You got that?” A blaster bolt catches me at my thigh, leaving behind a smoldering hole. My eyes are watering from the pain, and my teeth feel like they're about to shatter, they're clenched so tightly. I thought I'd killed the one with the blaster.. .apparently not. By now, the adrenaline rushing through my body is barely enough to keep all the pain and blood loss from the slug wounds at bay anymore. Gritting my teeth, I turn around to see that the box has finally touched down on the opposite side of the wrecked box from the sandpeople. Okay. Now or never.
I raise my wrist to my mouth and shout, “Tarkker, you lazy ass, wake the fuck up! I’m moving Farrayn out, so I need covering fire! If I don’t get it, the business end of my blaster rifle will be the last thing you ever see, you got me?” Not waiting for his answer, I sling my rifle over my shoulder and move to grab Xanas again, ignoring his feeble attempts to fend me off.
“Mel, leave me!” I slide my arms under his and start to drag him out of the wreck towards the waiting box, ducking my head as the Tuskens break from cover and begin firing through the open doors of the wreck we just vacated.
“No, I’m getting you out of here and if it’s the last thing I do. Now shut up and cooperate.” The pain from my wrist makes me feel like I’ll lose my grip on Xanas at any second, and the slug wounds on my back and arm are bleeding freely. My left arm is drenched down to the finger tips in blood. My leg is on fire, and each step is agony. But now blaster bolts are coming from behind me and around me as well, and that gives me enough strength to finish the seemingly endless hike to the relative safety of the vehicle behind me. Suddenly, I hit something solid behind me, and when someone jumps past me and catches Xanas’ feet, I realize I've finally arrived at the box. We hoist the now unconscious Xanas into the box, and someone helps me climb into it as well. When I turn around it, I see a very familiar face.
“Got yourself in trouble again, huh?” a smirking Danna says. "You know, that's two favors you owe to Magic Inc."
“Can’t expect much more from a screw-up like me,” is all I answer, and then there’s only grateful oblivion surrounding me.
When I wake up again, everything is fuzzy at first, and sound is murky and undefined, like I'm underwater. It’s pitch dark, and I panic for a moment until I realize that my eyes are still closed. I squeeze them tightly shut for a moment more, and then slowly open them. The sudden presence of light, however dim, is a shock to my weary pupils, and they shrink to the size of pins. I wince at the sudden pain it produces, but keep my eyes open until they've adjusted comfortably.
“How nice of you to finally join us in the land of the living, Private,” a low growling voice to my right says. It takes me a moment to marshal my strength, but I finally manage to turn my head and look at the owner of the rather familiar voice. It's the Shistavanen MedCorps Captain, the one who chased of Dankin during my last stay in the field hospital.
“Sorry for being late, Captain. Had a hard time getting here, sir,” I say. Or at least I want to say it. What comes out instead is a pitiful sound, somewhere between a hoarse whisper and a bullfrog's croak. His canine jowls pull, revealing his sharp white teeth. Is that a smile, or is he contemplating devouring me for my insolence?
“Easy, Private. Try that.” He makes a signal with his hand, and my head is turned to the other side by a long-fingered gentle hand. Two big Mrlssi eyes are smiling at me, and the hand moves to support my head while the other brings a canteen to my mouth. Water hits my lips, and I try to swallow it. After a few embarrassingly unsuccessful tries, I finally get something down.
“So, how are you feeling?” the Shistavanen asks again, and I turn back from the nurse to face the doctor again.
“Like I’ve been run over by a herd of banthas, sir.” Gods, when will I learn to keep my mouth closed around inappropriate comments? One of these days, that mouth of mine will get me killed.
The jowls are pulling back again. “I expected as much Private. Try to sit up, please.”
Slowly moving my arms, I expect them to hurt like they did when I was last conscious, but surprisingly nothing comes. So either I’m still high on pain killers or I’ve been out longer than I expected. Moving my arms underneath me to support my body weight, I finally manage to sit up-right. And I notice that maybe not everything is already healed as my wrist protests again, although a little more feebly than before. The Shistavanen Captain only nods his head as if in approval and marks something on his chart.
“Very well, Melara. Seems like the bullet wound in your arm has fully healed. Please lean forward.” I to as told and feel the back of my hospital gown lifted. A gentle hand pries lose the patch of bandage that’s been there and probes the flesh underneath it.
Then the Mrlssi nurse says, “It’s fully healed as well, Sir.” The Captain marks something off on his chart again.
The thing that comes next is the blaster wound in my thigh. When the nurse pries loose the bacta patch that’s been there for Gods know how long, a partially healed wound is revealed. The doctor grunts and marks something on his chart. Then he says, “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which of them do you want to hear first, Private?”
Taken aback, I hesitate and then say, “The bad, sir?”
His jowls are pulled back in that freaky smile again. What’s so damn funny about me, huh? “Very well. First the bad: You’re going to have to leave this nice little vacation spot here and report to your company CO when I’m done here. And now the good news: You’re almost as good as new. Your sunburn and light case of sunstroke are gone. The slug wounds you took on your back and in your arm have healed fully. You will have to wear a splint for a little while more, and the wound on the thigh will continue to bother you for a few more days, but other than that you’re fine. I want you to check back in three days, though.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
With that he again marks something on his chart, gives it to the nurse and then leaves the main tent. The nurse hands me a fresh set of clothing and boots and offers her assistance at gearing up, but I decline. Instead I ask, “Could you tell me… how long exactly I’ve been out of it?”
The feathers on her head raise and then lie back again, but she still answers, “Three days, Private.” I pause. That caught me off-guard. Three days for those minor injuries?
“If I may ask… what happened to the others of my unit that came with me, Ma’am?”
For a moment, she lowers her head and sighs, and even that small gestures makes my stomach lurch. Xanas! No, please not now. Not after everything… “The annoying one did only have a mild sunburn and a few bruises and lacerations that needed to be taken care off.” Yeah, I would be like that, if I’d sat back to watch the show myself if I’d been Tarkker. You asshole. Just you wait. “The other one… it was touch and go for the last two and a half days, but we got a new shipment of bacta and could at least stabilize him. He's conscious, but he needs to stay here for at least another week.” Oh Gods, what did I do to deserve this unending mercy? What will you take from me for getting off so light this time?
I just finished tying my laces, and am now trying to avoid looking directly at the nurse. She really doesn’t need to see the tears of relief that are pricking at the corner of my eyes. “Thanks, Ma’am. Could I maybe… see him? Private Farrayn, I mean.” The feathers on her head are whipping with her head as she nods.
“Of course. Just follow me.” With that she draws back the curtains and I stand on shaky legs for a moment. Then I follow her over to the bed where a very pale Xanas is lying, staring at the nurse and me. I brace myself for the lecture I'm sure is to come, and step to his bedside.
~*~
TBC in Chapter 6.
And I hope to the Gods that Xanas is alright. And that someone will notice that we are overdue to return from our little desert op. When I’d finished tending to my wrist yesterday, I had searched the cockpit and the debris for anything useful. It was then that my hopes suffered a near fatal blow when I discovered that the box's entire communications array had become one with the pilot and copilot. Unlike the Larry's, regular infantrymen don't get those nifty long-range comlinks; just one radio, carried by the RO, or Radio Operator, who happened to be Winters. It means we are truly stranded.
I close my eyes against the rapidly rising suns. Beads of sweat created by already soaring temperatures have replaced the shivers of the night. By now, sand has seeped through my jumpsuit and into every nook and cranny, settled in my unruly hair and is grinding between my teeth. I doubt that I’ll ever be clean again.
Sweat is running out of my pores in streams, mixing with the sand on my body, creating a gritty, abrasive mess that makes it difficult to move without taking off skin. Of course, sitting still causes it to itch like crazy. Plus there's the wrist that even the splint couldn’t fully stabilize. It feels as though I have no strength left in my hands, and my grip on my rifle is practically non-existent.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the stinging drops of sweat that are beginning to run into my eyes, trying to avoid the sting. With a start, I jerk up, my rifle slipping from my sweaty hands. Grumbling, I reach into my right thigh pocket and pull out my gloves, hoping that they'll help me retain my grip on my weapon. We’ve been told so often to put on those things in the desert but I always manage to forget that. Stupid of me, really.
When I open my eyes again - still squinting against the sun and the sweat in my eyes - I register movement between two of the dunes before me. Blinking a few times to clear the sweat and sand from my eyes, I try to see if it was really something moving, or merely the morning heat creating mirages on the sands. But wait! There it is again. Something in the distance, ghosting smoothly over the sands, barely visible against the uniformly brown background. There are no animals that move like that on this planet; but Tusken do. Slowly I reach for my short-range comlink and send a series of clicks to Xanas and Tarkker. Trying to move as slowly as possible, I shift a little to readjust my position in the sand and train my rifle in the direction where I saw the movement.
I stare at the dunes, gripping my rifle hard, trying to catch another glimpse of the mysterious figure. Gods, let it be false alarm. An illusion induced by heat and nervousness. Nothing but… sand from a dune a little nearer is suddenly rippling down. Followed by a strange sound. Like a grunt. Oh Gods. Oh please no. Taking a deep breath I readjust my position, assured that my rifle’s power cell is loaded fully and the rifle is live and set to kill.
Hearing return clicks over my comm startles me enough that I almost jump, but I manage to keep still. When the clicks have ended, my heart makes a lurch forward. Obviously Tarkker’s seen someone approaching as well, but he indicated that it's friendly. They've found us! Oh Gods, let them be fast enough that I don’t have to pull the trigger and none of us gets hurt any worse.
But it’s too late for that. Suddenly I can hear the punchy, whining reports of blasters firing behind me. I know one of them. It’s the one that belonged to my mother; the one that I gave to Xanas, so that he had something besides his rifle to defend himself. Startled I get up and run back to the downed box, to be welcomed by a hail of slugthrower fire from a Tusken warband. I dive into the sand, going completely prone under the sudden storm of hot lead. Feeling hot shame wash over me, I realize I let myself be fooled. The movement up on the dune obviously had been a simple decoy maneuver meant to catch my attention and hold it. They had already known I’d been lying there in my hole.
As I lie here on the sand, under fire, all the instincts that were drummed into my subconscious mind in basic suddenly kick in. I can feel the bullets kicking up sand all around me, and I realize that if I don't start fighting back, I'm going to die here. Bile begins to creep up my throat, and I start to feel lightheaded, as I raise my head a little and point my rifle. With shaking hands, I train the sights on the lead sandperson, who is moving towards Xanas. I take a deep breath, and let it half-way out, just like the DI told us back at basic. I caress the trigger instead of squeezing it, just like the DI said, caress it like it was my lover. The weapon bucks as it discharges it's deadly payload, and I caress my lover again. The two bolts strike home, the first in the sandperson's flank, the other in it's head.
Instead of remorse, I feel only a sense of hyper-awareness. Colors are clearer, sharper, and time seems to slow down almost. I can hear the bullets whizzing past me, and I fire several more shots off at the approaching sandpeople. I drop two more, and the rest drop to the minimal cover of the sand to continue shooting at me. I use the momentary reprieve to leap to my feet and dash the remaining eight or so meters to the box. There must close to twenty of the Tusken's now, and they've resumed their mad, honking charge towards the box. Once again, the air is rent with sound of cracking slugthrowers, the high-pitched buzzing of slugs whizzing by our ears and pinging off the box, thudding into the sand.
By now I’ve reached Xanas and the sand people are only a few meters away. I dive into the depression he's sitting it, and peek over the edge. For a moment, I feel paralyzed. The last time I was in a serious fight with the enemy up close and personal had been when Tusken's had attacked the camp in the middle of the night, and I hadn't actually done any fighting. Magic made sure that no one in Company K did. Wide-eyed, I stare at them now, as images of that frightening night come rushing back to me at an almost incomprehensible speed.
A blaster bolt sizzles past my ear, and I straighten up again. At least one of them has an Imp or Rebel weapon. They're not too spread out, and I do what comes naturally. My hand reaches to my combat harness and pulls a grenade, priming it as it cocks back to throw. The small explosive hurtles into their midst, and I'm elated to see that my aim was perfect. The grenade explodes, sending white-hot shrapnel tearing through the small warband. Sandpeople are thrown left and right, their bodies torn and battered. But it's not enough, as there are still eleven of them charging at us. Where the hell is Tarkker? And where is that box he told me he’d seen?
“Mel!” Xanas suddenly shouts, but I don’t turn around. I switch my firing mode to fully automatic and squeeze the trigger while sweeping my rifle back and forth. It's inaccurate, and I only kill two, but the rest suddenly turn and break for the cover of a large boulder some fifteen meters away from the box, firing as they go. Pain blossoms in my left arm, as a slug rips open the skin, and tears through a small piece of the muscle, and I can't hold back a small cry of pain. Gritting my teeth, I expend the remaining shots in my blaster pack towards the boulder the Tusken's are taking cover behind.
Without bothering to reload, I sling my rifle on my back and crawl to Xanas, who is still firing sloppily aimed shots at the boulder. I get behind him and grab him under the arms. He stops firing, and glances back at me, but says nothing. I pull him into the open door of the wrecked box, hurriedly pulling him behind the cover of the metal wall.
“Mel!” Xanas shouts again, and now I take the time to turn to him.
“What?” I shout back, and he leans out from behind his place of cover and points into the sky. I barely have time to register that there is indeed an object in the air that’s rapidly getting bigger, before the sandpeople open up on us again. I can only hope it's one of ours.
“When the box arrives, you run out and don’t look back.” Another bullet sizzles past me, grazing a part of my back that’s been exposed. But I register the pain only marginally. Xanas just suggested something unthinkable.
“No! No way I’m leaving you behind.” I turn around so that I'm mostly behind the cover of the wall as well, and peek out, my rifle leading the way. I'm just in time to catch the sandpeople making a dash to a boulder that's even closer. I fire off several controlled bursts, dropping three more, but the rest make it to cover.
“You will. The box will land in few seconds, and you’ll be running towards it and leaving me behind. You got that?” A blaster bolt catches me at my thigh, leaving behind a smoldering hole. My eyes are watering from the pain, and my teeth feel like they're about to shatter, they're clenched so tightly. I thought I'd killed the one with the blaster.. .apparently not. By now, the adrenaline rushing through my body is barely enough to keep all the pain and blood loss from the slug wounds at bay anymore. Gritting my teeth, I turn around to see that the box has finally touched down on the opposite side of the wrecked box from the sandpeople. Okay. Now or never.
I raise my wrist to my mouth and shout, “Tarkker, you lazy ass, wake the fuck up! I’m moving Farrayn out, so I need covering fire! If I don’t get it, the business end of my blaster rifle will be the last thing you ever see, you got me?” Not waiting for his answer, I sling my rifle over my shoulder and move to grab Xanas again, ignoring his feeble attempts to fend me off.
“Mel, leave me!” I slide my arms under his and start to drag him out of the wreck towards the waiting box, ducking my head as the Tuskens break from cover and begin firing through the open doors of the wreck we just vacated.
“No, I’m getting you out of here and if it’s the last thing I do. Now shut up and cooperate.” The pain from my wrist makes me feel like I’ll lose my grip on Xanas at any second, and the slug wounds on my back and arm are bleeding freely. My left arm is drenched down to the finger tips in blood. My leg is on fire, and each step is agony. But now blaster bolts are coming from behind me and around me as well, and that gives me enough strength to finish the seemingly endless hike to the relative safety of the vehicle behind me. Suddenly, I hit something solid behind me, and when someone jumps past me and catches Xanas’ feet, I realize I've finally arrived at the box. We hoist the now unconscious Xanas into the box, and someone helps me climb into it as well. When I turn around it, I see a very familiar face.
“Got yourself in trouble again, huh?” a smirking Danna says. "You know, that's two favors you owe to Magic Inc."
“Can’t expect much more from a screw-up like me,” is all I answer, and then there’s only grateful oblivion surrounding me.
When I wake up again, everything is fuzzy at first, and sound is murky and undefined, like I'm underwater. It’s pitch dark, and I panic for a moment until I realize that my eyes are still closed. I squeeze them tightly shut for a moment more, and then slowly open them. The sudden presence of light, however dim, is a shock to my weary pupils, and they shrink to the size of pins. I wince at the sudden pain it produces, but keep my eyes open until they've adjusted comfortably.
“How nice of you to finally join us in the land of the living, Private,” a low growling voice to my right says. It takes me a moment to marshal my strength, but I finally manage to turn my head and look at the owner of the rather familiar voice. It's the Shistavanen MedCorps Captain, the one who chased of Dankin during my last stay in the field hospital.
“Sorry for being late, Captain. Had a hard time getting here, sir,” I say. Or at least I want to say it. What comes out instead is a pitiful sound, somewhere between a hoarse whisper and a bullfrog's croak. His canine jowls pull, revealing his sharp white teeth. Is that a smile, or is he contemplating devouring me for my insolence?
“Easy, Private. Try that.” He makes a signal with his hand, and my head is turned to the other side by a long-fingered gentle hand. Two big Mrlssi eyes are smiling at me, and the hand moves to support my head while the other brings a canteen to my mouth. Water hits my lips, and I try to swallow it. After a few embarrassingly unsuccessful tries, I finally get something down.
“So, how are you feeling?” the Shistavanen asks again, and I turn back from the nurse to face the doctor again.
“Like I’ve been run over by a herd of banthas, sir.” Gods, when will I learn to keep my mouth closed around inappropriate comments? One of these days, that mouth of mine will get me killed.
The jowls are pulling back again. “I expected as much Private. Try to sit up, please.”
Slowly moving my arms, I expect them to hurt like they did when I was last conscious, but surprisingly nothing comes. So either I’m still high on pain killers or I’ve been out longer than I expected. Moving my arms underneath me to support my body weight, I finally manage to sit up-right. And I notice that maybe not everything is already healed as my wrist protests again, although a little more feebly than before. The Shistavanen Captain only nods his head as if in approval and marks something on his chart.
“Very well, Melara. Seems like the bullet wound in your arm has fully healed. Please lean forward.” I to as told and feel the back of my hospital gown lifted. A gentle hand pries lose the patch of bandage that’s been there and probes the flesh underneath it.
Then the Mrlssi nurse says, “It’s fully healed as well, Sir.” The Captain marks something off on his chart again.
The thing that comes next is the blaster wound in my thigh. When the nurse pries loose the bacta patch that’s been there for Gods know how long, a partially healed wound is revealed. The doctor grunts and marks something on his chart. Then he says, “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which of them do you want to hear first, Private?”
Taken aback, I hesitate and then say, “The bad, sir?”
His jowls are pulled back in that freaky smile again. What’s so damn funny about me, huh? “Very well. First the bad: You’re going to have to leave this nice little vacation spot here and report to your company CO when I’m done here. And now the good news: You’re almost as good as new. Your sunburn and light case of sunstroke are gone. The slug wounds you took on your back and in your arm have healed fully. You will have to wear a splint for a little while more, and the wound on the thigh will continue to bother you for a few more days, but other than that you’re fine. I want you to check back in three days, though.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
With that he again marks something on his chart, gives it to the nurse and then leaves the main tent. The nurse hands me a fresh set of clothing and boots and offers her assistance at gearing up, but I decline. Instead I ask, “Could you tell me… how long exactly I’ve been out of it?”
The feathers on her head raise and then lie back again, but she still answers, “Three days, Private.” I pause. That caught me off-guard. Three days for those minor injuries?
“If I may ask… what happened to the others of my unit that came with me, Ma’am?”
For a moment, she lowers her head and sighs, and even that small gestures makes my stomach lurch. Xanas! No, please not now. Not after everything… “The annoying one did only have a mild sunburn and a few bruises and lacerations that needed to be taken care off.” Yeah, I would be like that, if I’d sat back to watch the show myself if I’d been Tarkker. You asshole. Just you wait. “The other one… it was touch and go for the last two and a half days, but we got a new shipment of bacta and could at least stabilize him. He's conscious, but he needs to stay here for at least another week.” Oh Gods, what did I do to deserve this unending mercy? What will you take from me for getting off so light this time?
I just finished tying my laces, and am now trying to avoid looking directly at the nurse. She really doesn’t need to see the tears of relief that are pricking at the corner of my eyes. “Thanks, Ma’am. Could I maybe… see him? Private Farrayn, I mean.” The feathers on her head are whipping with her head as she nods.
“Of course. Just follow me.” With that she draws back the curtains and I stand on shaky legs for a moment. Then I follow her over to the bed where a very pale Xanas is lying, staring at the nurse and me. I brace myself for the lecture I'm sure is to come, and step to his bedside.
~*~
TBC in Chapter 6.