nanobots left no evidence of wounds or their repair work.
Joe hadn't walked ten steps before he started to question the wisdom of his decision. He was sweating profusely, and he felt light-headed. There was no pain left, though. The soaker had his shoulder so numb that he would scarcely have felt anything if the arm fell off.
He walked slowly, unwilling to give Al the slightest excuse for putting him on a stretcher. Now that he had made his choice, Joe was not about to reverse it. As long as he was conscious and able to stay on his feet, he would walk. After all, it wasn't all that far back to the APCs, less than a kilometer.
I could do a klick with both legs blown off at the knee, Joe told himself. He saw nothing ludicrous in the image, didn't recognize that it showed a dangerous loss of alertness. He did stop for a moment. He looked up into the sky. Moving with exaggerated care, he turned twice so that he could see all of the sky around him.
"Those Heggie fighters are gone," he said, still on the channel that Al Bergon was monitoring.
"Yes, Sarge, they're gone. You ready to ride for a bit?"
Baerclau turned to glare at Al again. "I'm getting better every second. I didn't need a ride before. I don't need it now."
It took twenty-five minutes to cover the kilometer. Joe did sit then, in the rear hatch of the APC.
"I'm going to have Doc Eddies look at that shoulder," Al said, lifting the edge of the soaker to look himself. "If the bone chips are too big, he'll have to go in."
Joe didn't reply. After the walk, he was having serious difficulty just staying conscious. Al seemed to swim around in front of him. For a time, Joe felt as if the entire world were spinning around him.
"Even if he doesn't, I'm going to be right next to you in there when we start up again." Al again looked into the sergeant's eyes with a tiny flashlight, then shook his head and threw the light down. "Damn it! I never should have let you walk. I'm going to have to start a drip to replace the fluid you left on the grass."
He didn't wait for the Bear to say anything but got the plastic pouch out and connected it. The bag containing the intravenous solution had separate compartments within it. The largest held a simple saline solution. The other held specialized medical nanobots and the other components they would need to turn the salt water into blood that would match Joe's own perfectly. Al taped the bag in place over Joe's arm. There was no need to put it higher; the nanobots would pump the solution in, even against twice the surface gravity of Jordan.
Joe Baerclau passed out when the needle went into his arm. Al used the opportunity to slap a four-hour sleep patch on his neck.
CHAPTER SIX
The 13th buried its dead, marking the location so that the bodies could be retrieved later, if that were possible. The wounded were patched up. Four of the Heyers were used as ambulances. A Heyer could hold only three men on stretchers or in portable trauma tubes. The healthy soldiers displaced from those APCs were crowded into other vehicles.
The rains that had reached the battlefield strengthened and followed the 13th once it started off to the northwest again. The treads on Heyers and Havocs chewed up wet ground and grass, leaving a clear trail for anyone to follow.
Once the 13th was moving, Colonel Stossen and his staff continued conferring over the radio. The communications net was as nearly secure as possible. The various channels were not assigned to specific frequencies. Instead, each channel was switched among as many as a dozen different frequencies according to computer programming. With frequencies being automatically changed as often as three times a second, there was little chance that an eavesdropper would hear enough of any conversation to make sense of it. Even a captured helmet would do little good. Any officer or noncom could disable its communications links by code. Keeping track of helmets was one of the routine duties of squad leaders
Joe hadn't walked ten steps before he started to question the wisdom of his decision. He was sweating profusely, and he felt light-headed. There was no pain left, though. The soaker had his shoulder so numb that he would scarcely have felt anything if the arm fell off.
He walked slowly, unwilling to give Al the slightest excuse for putting him on a stretcher. Now that he had made his choice, Joe was not about to reverse it. As long as he was conscious and able to stay on his feet, he would walk. After all, it wasn't all that far back to the APCs, less than a kilometer.
I could do a klick with both legs blown off at the knee, Joe told himself. He saw nothing ludicrous in the image, didn't recognize that it showed a dangerous loss of alertness. He did stop for a moment. He looked up into the sky. Moving with exaggerated care, he turned twice so that he could see all of the sky around him.
"Those Heggie fighters are gone," he said, still on the channel that Al Bergon was monitoring.
"Yes, Sarge, they're gone. You ready to ride for a bit?"
Baerclau turned to glare at Al again. "I'm getting better every second. I didn't need a ride before. I don't need it now."
It took twenty-five minutes to cover the kilometer. Joe did sit then, in the rear hatch of the APC.
"I'm going to have Doc Eddies look at that shoulder," Al said, lifting the edge of the soaker to look himself. "If the bone chips are too big, he'll have to go in."
Joe didn't reply. After the walk, he was having serious difficulty just staying conscious. Al seemed to swim around in front of him. For a time, Joe felt as if the entire world were spinning around him.
"Even if he doesn't, I'm going to be right next to you in there when we start up again." Al again looked into the sergeant's eyes with a tiny flashlight, then shook his head and threw the light down. "Damn it! I never should have let you walk. I'm going to have to start a drip to replace the fluid you left on the grass."
He didn't wait for the Bear to say anything but got the plastic pouch out and connected it. The bag containing the intravenous solution had separate compartments within it. The largest held a simple saline solution. The other held specialized medical nanobots and the other components they would need to turn the salt water into blood that would match Joe's own perfectly. Al taped the bag in place over Joe's arm. There was no need to put it higher; the nanobots would pump the solution in, even against twice the surface gravity of Jordan.
Joe Baerclau passed out when the needle went into his arm. Al used the opportunity to slap a four-hour sleep patch on his neck.
CHAPTER SIX
The 13th buried its dead, marking the location so that the bodies could be retrieved later, if that were possible. The wounded were patched up. Four of the Heyers were used as ambulances. A Heyer could hold only three men on stretchers or in portable trauma tubes. The healthy soldiers displaced from those APCs were crowded into other vehicles.
The rains that had reached the battlefield strengthened and followed the 13th once it started off to the northwest again. The treads on Heyers and Havocs chewed up wet ground and grass, leaving a clear trail for anyone to follow.
Once the 13th was moving, Colonel Stossen and his staff continued conferring over the radio. The communications net was as nearly secure as possible. The various channels were not assigned to specific frequencies. Instead, each channel was switched among as many as a dozen different frequencies according to computer programming. With frequencies being automatically changed as often as three times a second, there was little chance that an eavesdropper would hear enough of any conversation to make sense of it. Even a captured helmet would do little good. Any officer or noncom could disable its communications links by code. Keeping track of helmets was one of the routine duties of squad leaders
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