Read Online Citation Series 1: Naero's War: The Annexation War by Mason Elliott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mason Elliott
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family, or perhaps for a lover or a cherished friend.
Their cries were the most heart-rending Naero ever witnessed or endured.
It would take a heart made of pure steel not to be moved by such cries .
Many raved, or rambled, or sobbed .
Naero understood as best she could. None of this was about her.
If these poor wounded needed to yell or cry–let them–they could do so freely.
She never took any offense, even if a few noticed her rank.
Esp ecially–when in their pain–some few of the wounded cursed or blamed her directly for what had happened to them.
Just one more price of wearing her gold halo and star.
S he moved on if things got too abusive. Hanging around just provoked further outbursts. Such incidents were rare, but still painful and awkward to endure.
Yet thankfully, the vast majority of the wounded didn’t give a damn either way what her rank was.
They simply wanted some human contact, comfort, or company.
They did not care who or where it came from.
Naero called to her ships and explained the overwhelming need for such comfort that the wounded had.
Once she fully explained that need, v olunteers flooded over, to comfort or sit with other wounded Spacers, many whom they didn’t even know.
Those who were off duty could give that much of themselves.
The next time, it could be them, or a family member or friend in such dire need.
As she moved on, Naero discovered firsthand that burn wards could also be grim, tricky places.
First of all, t he smell of the wards themselves was perhaps something Naero and many others would never forget.
Most Spacers, like Naero, had keen senses of smell.
Even with having been burned herself, the clinging, cloying smell of so many burned people, burned flesh, burned human hair, and the distinctive regenerative meds combined were quite overpowering. Especially when the victims were first tended to and brought in on the special medbeds designed for burn units.
The overall smell was an intense odor that would likely haunt Naero’s nightmares for the rest of her days.
Yet she could choose to get away from it, in part at least, if it all became too much.
She could walk away and leave it behind , and duck out to another part of the hospital ship. Or leave the ship entirely to try to escape from it.
Then Naero thought about that and steeled herself.
What was it like for the victims themselves? They were stuck with the entire situation. They could not run away from it.
They could not get away from any part of their ordeal, let alone the intense smell. Not until they regenerated–which could again take up to several months or more. Their long process was just starting.
T hese people were stranded with their condition each day until then. No escape. No way to walk away from anything.
The ones who could joke about it all called themselves ‘ fryers,’ as in ‘the deep-fried.’ She had heard about this before and just thought it to be more dark, gallows humor among warriors.
But on a burn ward, that still seemed incredibly poignant to her—that some of the victims could actually be that flip about it, so soon.
Some of the wounded even took to calling each other ‘drumstick,’ or boasted about being ‘extra-crispy.’
Of course , any who spent enough time around burn victims, realized very quickly that they were obviously still the same people trapped inside their outer shells, however damaged and horrific those outer forms became.
After several hours and repeated visits, Naero stopped seeing their burns, and interacted with them more or less normally.
But it did shake her to come across one of the bu rn victims from her own bridge, someone she knew personally. Knowing the person made the adjustment even more heartbreaking.
Kelment Walker, Launching Bay Station Control. Second and third degree burns over the front of his body, from his head down to his waist. He was missing his ears, nose, and three fingers.
He slept peacefully, as long as Naero kept her
Their cries were the most heart-rending Naero ever witnessed or endured.
It would take a heart made of pure steel not to be moved by such cries .
Many raved, or rambled, or sobbed .
Naero understood as best she could. None of this was about her.
If these poor wounded needed to yell or cry–let them–they could do so freely.
She never took any offense, even if a few noticed her rank.
Esp ecially–when in their pain–some few of the wounded cursed or blamed her directly for what had happened to them.
Just one more price of wearing her gold halo and star.
S he moved on if things got too abusive. Hanging around just provoked further outbursts. Such incidents were rare, but still painful and awkward to endure.
Yet thankfully, the vast majority of the wounded didn’t give a damn either way what her rank was.
They simply wanted some human contact, comfort, or company.
They did not care who or where it came from.
Naero called to her ships and explained the overwhelming need for such comfort that the wounded had.
Once she fully explained that need, v olunteers flooded over, to comfort or sit with other wounded Spacers, many whom they didn’t even know.
Those who were off duty could give that much of themselves.
The next time, it could be them, or a family member or friend in such dire need.
As she moved on, Naero discovered firsthand that burn wards could also be grim, tricky places.
First of all, t he smell of the wards themselves was perhaps something Naero and many others would never forget.
Most Spacers, like Naero, had keen senses of smell.
Even with having been burned herself, the clinging, cloying smell of so many burned people, burned flesh, burned human hair, and the distinctive regenerative meds combined were quite overpowering. Especially when the victims were first tended to and brought in on the special medbeds designed for burn units.
The overall smell was an intense odor that would likely haunt Naero’s nightmares for the rest of her days.
Yet she could choose to get away from it, in part at least, if it all became too much.
She could walk away and leave it behind , and duck out to another part of the hospital ship. Or leave the ship entirely to try to escape from it.
Then Naero thought about that and steeled herself.
What was it like for the victims themselves? They were stuck with the entire situation. They could not run away from it.
They could not get away from any part of their ordeal, let alone the intense smell. Not until they regenerated–which could again take up to several months or more. Their long process was just starting.
T hese people were stranded with their condition each day until then. No escape. No way to walk away from anything.
The ones who could joke about it all called themselves ‘ fryers,’ as in ‘the deep-fried.’ She had heard about this before and just thought it to be more dark, gallows humor among warriors.
But on a burn ward, that still seemed incredibly poignant to her—that some of the victims could actually be that flip about it, so soon.
Some of the wounded even took to calling each other ‘drumstick,’ or boasted about being ‘extra-crispy.’
Of course , any who spent enough time around burn victims, realized very quickly that they were obviously still the same people trapped inside their outer shells, however damaged and horrific those outer forms became.
After several hours and repeated visits, Naero stopped seeing their burns, and interacted with them more or less normally.
But it did shake her to come across one of the bu rn victims from her own bridge, someone she knew personally. Knowing the person made the adjustment even more heartbreaking.
Kelment Walker, Launching Bay Station Control. Second and third degree burns over the front of his body, from his head down to his waist. He was missing his ears, nose, and three fingers.
He slept peacefully, as long as Naero kept her
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