Read Online Citation Series 1: Naero's War: The Annexation War by Mason Elliott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mason Elliott
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went among the decks of the hospital ship cautiously at first, doing her best to stay out of the way. She offered encouragement where she could. The vast numbers of wounded from the fleet made her feel small and helpless. And this was just one hospital ship, with one fleet, from one battle.
Zhen had been her teacher about all things medical. Recovery was key to saving people. But being wounded or lying in a medbed for days, weeks, or months was incredibly boring, as well as depressing and intensely lonely.
Wounded often hungered for someone to talk to, to listen to them, or simply be with them. Someone holding their hand or staying nearby, just in case.
Naero had the fleet casualty report numbers in her head from her wristcomp. And this times the numbers were in fact very low.
Just six hundred and eighty-four KIA. Most of those from the loss of The Wombat . Twelve hundred and five wounded.
She witnessed the aftermath of every kind of injury imaginable, flowing around her in a steady, streaming sea of medbeds, like rafts on and open sea.
Part of her wished she hadn’t seen so much all at once. It was quite overwhelming.
Burn injuries. Missing limbs .
Blast injuries. Shredding and penetration wounds. Bodies twisted and mangled in every way possible. Partial bodies. Partial faces. Partial torso’s.
Bodies crushed and shattered, barely clinging the spark of life.
Naero volunteered to sit with a badly wounded fighter pilot from The Cockatrice .
The pilot was missing the lower half of her face, various tubes allowing her to breathe, hydrate, and feed when needed.
Naero did not know this Spacer fighter pilot personally, but she could tell that the wounded woman was smart.
The pilot had one sparkling green eye left, and half her nose. Nothing else down to her raw, exposed throat.
Everything. Gone .
She blinked at Naero with her remaining eye, until Naero figured out that she was using a basic spacer battle code, made with short and long blinks.
It took a short while for Naero to figure it out.
By the time this pilot would fully regenerate and learn to re-use her re-constructed face and body, hopefully the Annexation War would be long over.
1 st Leftenant Mariisha Elkins, of the 94 th Alliance Starfighter Wave, 3 rd Squadron, 10 th Fighter Wing— The Headhunters .
That was her name and rank and unit from her holochart.
Only t wenty-three years old.
Her 3 D scan of her face and head, being used for reconstruction purposes, was heartbreaking.
Mariisha spoke in code with her one green eye until her pain meds wore off. Then her sole eye began to weep, and bulge in panic and terror.
Tell parents…family…I live…Please…do not…them see me…this way .
Naero touched her hair gently .
“Don’t worry. I will inform them of your wishes, Mariisha. Personally. All you need to do, is focus on your re-construction treatments. Our people are the best in the galaxy. They’ll get you back.”
M ed teks came by seconds later, at Naero’s direct call, and doped the suffering pilot up again.
Spacers were immune or resistant to many poisons–as well as drugs–including most standard pain meds.
One drawback to their advanced, genetically engineered metabolism.
It took heavy doses of meds that were specifically attuned to their unique biology to put them under or relieve their pain.
Meds at levels that would kill normal humans .
Mariisha finally dozed off, her one green eye still half open.
Naero patted her hand and closed the young woman’s eye gently, the rest of the way with her own small fingertips.
Naero softly kissed the top of Mariisha’s head .
Her brave people, like this beautiful young fighter pilot. What a price they paid. Damn Triax, damn the war, and damn…herself.
Naero moved on from medbed to medbed in that section.
Sometimes the wounded could interact. Some could not , or were still in shock or even anger, and didn’t want to. A few just stared.
Some cried out repeatedly for their
Zhen had been her teacher about all things medical. Recovery was key to saving people. But being wounded or lying in a medbed for days, weeks, or months was incredibly boring, as well as depressing and intensely lonely.
Wounded often hungered for someone to talk to, to listen to them, or simply be with them. Someone holding their hand or staying nearby, just in case.
Naero had the fleet casualty report numbers in her head from her wristcomp. And this times the numbers were in fact very low.
Just six hundred and eighty-four KIA. Most of those from the loss of The Wombat . Twelve hundred and five wounded.
She witnessed the aftermath of every kind of injury imaginable, flowing around her in a steady, streaming sea of medbeds, like rafts on and open sea.
Part of her wished she hadn’t seen so much all at once. It was quite overwhelming.
Burn injuries. Missing limbs .
Blast injuries. Shredding and penetration wounds. Bodies twisted and mangled in every way possible. Partial bodies. Partial faces. Partial torso’s.
Bodies crushed and shattered, barely clinging the spark of life.
Naero volunteered to sit with a badly wounded fighter pilot from The Cockatrice .
The pilot was missing the lower half of her face, various tubes allowing her to breathe, hydrate, and feed when needed.
Naero did not know this Spacer fighter pilot personally, but she could tell that the wounded woman was smart.
The pilot had one sparkling green eye left, and half her nose. Nothing else down to her raw, exposed throat.
Everything. Gone .
She blinked at Naero with her remaining eye, until Naero figured out that she was using a basic spacer battle code, made with short and long blinks.
It took a short while for Naero to figure it out.
By the time this pilot would fully regenerate and learn to re-use her re-constructed face and body, hopefully the Annexation War would be long over.
1 st Leftenant Mariisha Elkins, of the 94 th Alliance Starfighter Wave, 3 rd Squadron, 10 th Fighter Wing— The Headhunters .
That was her name and rank and unit from her holochart.
Only t wenty-three years old.
Her 3 D scan of her face and head, being used for reconstruction purposes, was heartbreaking.
Mariisha spoke in code with her one green eye until her pain meds wore off. Then her sole eye began to weep, and bulge in panic and terror.
Tell parents…family…I live…Please…do not…them see me…this way .
Naero touched her hair gently .
“Don’t worry. I will inform them of your wishes, Mariisha. Personally. All you need to do, is focus on your re-construction treatments. Our people are the best in the galaxy. They’ll get you back.”
M ed teks came by seconds later, at Naero’s direct call, and doped the suffering pilot up again.
Spacers were immune or resistant to many poisons–as well as drugs–including most standard pain meds.
One drawback to their advanced, genetically engineered metabolism.
It took heavy doses of meds that were specifically attuned to their unique biology to put them under or relieve their pain.
Meds at levels that would kill normal humans .
Mariisha finally dozed off, her one green eye still half open.
Naero patted her hand and closed the young woman’s eye gently, the rest of the way with her own small fingertips.
Naero softly kissed the top of Mariisha’s head .
Her brave people, like this beautiful young fighter pilot. What a price they paid. Damn Triax, damn the war, and damn…herself.
Naero moved on from medbed to medbed in that section.
Sometimes the wounded could interact. Some could not , or were still in shock or even anger, and didn’t want to. A few just stared.
Some cried out repeatedly for their
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