First Battle Part 2

	"Can you feel that?" Karen asked, bending over the outstretched leg
and prodding along the edges of a particularly ugly laceration. Captain Tom
Jose grunted noncommittally and watched with a critical eye. Karen sighed.
Jumptroops. "You know, I can't tell if the block is working if you insist on
being macho." Another noncommittal grunt. Is that why they're called grunts?
she wondered.

	She bent her head and approximated the edges of the lac while using
her glove to adhere the borders together at a cellular level. Over time the
wound would be reinforced with collagen and eventually scar, but the cellular
adhesion process was proving to be stronger than conventional suturing in the
short term. She worked quickly, not knowing when the next wave of patients
was going to role in, and wanting to clear some of the minor injuries out of
sick bay before they did.

	"So how'd this happen?" she asked. His face flushed a dull red.

	"We were trying to help clear space in one of the cargo bays so the
e-frames could land after the launch bay blew," he told her. His
shoulder-length brown hair was matted with sweat and soot smudged his face.
"One of the damaged 'frames hit some stacked food crates and they burst." His
jaw clenched and he clammed up.

	"Shrapnel?" she guessed.

	"Dehydrated K-ration," he bit out.

	Karen choked back a snicker and ducked her head to hide her grin. She
was fairly certain he saw it anyway. She cleared her throat as he scowled at
her.

	"Help me, please," a voice came from the doorway. Karen glanced up
and did a double take.

	A young e-frame pilot limped into sick bay, carrying a badly burned
body. Shock filled his hazel eyes and he didn't appear to notice that he was
dripping blood all over the deck.

	"Clear a bed," she called, "We got an incoming." She shot the
dark-haired jumptroop captain an apologetic look then hustled to help move a
crewman with a fractured wrist from one of her precious beds. "Just put him
down here." The pilot carefully laid his injured comrade on the bed.

	Karen was running her glove over the man's body even as they finished
settling his legs. His face was unrecognizable, the bones crushed and the
skin peeling back. "What happened?" she asked. She frowned over the readings
from her scan. "James, let's get two bags running wide open right now with
some heme-equate. And somebody get me a trach kit."

	She looked up at the pilot, who remained standing by the bed cradling
his bleeding arm. "What happened?" she repeated. His gaze met hers and she
had to steel herself from feeling sympathy. Sympathy could come later.

	"His e-frame was hit, but he made it back to the cargo bay. There was
a fire inside. He was screaming and we pulled him out." His eyes were
haunted. Karen figured he'd be hearing those screams every night for a long,
long time.

	"Fluids are coming and here's the kit," James told her. She quickly
cut a small hole in the man's cricothyroid cartilage, cauterizing as she went
to control the bleeding. She cursed softly as the edges of the hole she
created crumpled when she dissected through to his trachea. Blood and air
frothed up as she cut the tracheal wall. Finally her finger was through, the
micro-laser retracting in response to her mental command to cease. She
intubated the tracheostomy as James set up the small portable ventilator. The
trooper didn't flinch at all, and Karen felt her heart sink. He had suffered
third degree burns to most of his body and at least two compound fractures.
The glove was telling her that he was bleeding internally as well.

	"Please help him," the pilot asked. Karen didn't reply, not wanting
to make a promise she couldn't keep. "James, please get a compression bandage
for this young man," she asked as they rolled the trooper to the back. "And
I'll get back to you just as soon as I can, Captain."

	She paused in the doorway.

	"What's his name?" she asked.

	"David Wells," came the raspy reply. "Please help him."

	"And what's yours?" she asked. He swayed a moment. Blood ran down his
left arm and dripped from his fingertips. Karen could see the burns on his
hands and face. He stood unevenly, favoring his right leg. A shock of light
brown hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head to clear it. His face was
pale.

	"Elan. Lt. Elan Morin Tedronai..." His eyes rolled back as he sank
quietly and gracefully to the floor.



	"Elan," Karen called softly. "Elan, wake up." She touched his
shoulder lightly.

	His eyes snapped open and she felt his sudden, still alertness in the
muscles beneath her fingers. She gave him a moment to realize where he was,
not wanting to test his battle-heightened reflexes.

	"It's okay, Elan. You're in sick bay," she said. "I'm Lt. Karen
Rhodes. You had me worried a moment or two there, but we got some heme-equate
into you."

	"Where's David?" he asked, struggling to sit up.

	"I'm sorry. He didn't make it," Karen pushed gently on his shoulder,
easing him back to the bed. "His wounds were too serious." Elan closed his
eyes a moment and his fists clenched unconsciously. She could feel pain
emanating from him in waves. Pain that had nothing to do with his bandaged
arm or broken leg.

	Pushing Karen's hand away, he sat up and swung his legs over the side
of the bed. He sucked in his breath at the stab of pain from his right thigh.
Karen placed her hand against his upper arm and injected him with an
analgesic.

	"Careful there," she warned. "I've done what I can to stabilize the
break in your femur, but it's still not going to be strong enough to jump
around on." He didn't seem to hear her.

	"Damn them anyway," Elan growled, his hazel eyes narrowing in anger.
His left hand unconsciously stroked the hilt of the wicked-looking dagger at
his side. "Taking us into the middle of that asteroid field. Any child could
see it was a trap."

	He fell silent then, staring silently at the floor. Karen glanced up
at his pensive face, and knew he was thinking of the burnt and broken body he
had carried into sick bay. Too many dead today, too many useless words of
sympathy for those who remained behind. Too many mistakes. She aimed the
thought at herself like a blade.

	She had heard the litany a dozen times from as many injured men and
women since returning to sickbay from the bridge. Each time she flushed,
cognizant of her own role and wondering how long it would be before
scuttlebutt informed the rest of the crew. She was unable to look him in the
eye.

	Karen busied herself checking his bandages for any sign of bleeding,
waiting for the moment to pass. Finally he eased out a sigh and relaxed back
in bed. Karen stood and pulled a light sheet over him.

	"I'd feel better if you stayed here a few hours, where I can keep an
eye on you," she said. It's the least I can do. He nodded silently, then
looked at her.

	"I'm sorry about Trooper Wells," she said. More sorry than you can
know.

	"Thank you," he said simply.

	She left him to his thoughts and went to check on her other patients.
The ensign from the bridge was lying quietly, sedated by the analgesics for
his burns. She swiftly scanned his head and saw no further increase in the
intracranial pressure.

	Movement from the other side of the room startled her. "Captain
Jose!"

	He smiled slightly. Karen glanced at her chronometer. It had been
hours since Elan had stumbled into sick bay, interrupting her. "I'm sorry,"
she said.

	"Don't sweat it," he grunted, then grinned. "But I think I'm done
being macho. Got anymore of that analgesic?"

	Karen smiled and gave him a hefty dose. He sighed and the lines of
tension bracketing his mouth eased. "Thanks, Doc."

	"Did you hear the news?" he asked as she propped his leg back up on
the bed. "Captain Marcus has declared it, and I quote, 'A glorious victory.'"
He snorted. "Yeah, right. We were lucky. Simbacca probably ran out of booze
and decided to go home where he could finish us off in comfort."

	Karen glanced up and saw him look at Elan, then glance down at his
own leg. His mouth tightened. "Maybe next time we'll get a piece of the
action, too." He noticed her gaze and grinned wryly. "Not much use for
jumptroops in the middle of a dogfight. And we don't do too well hanging
around with our thumbs up our butts while somebody else gets to kick ass."
Karen understood what he was really saying. The jumptroops weren't known for
hiding safely behind the skirts of others.

	"Well, next time I see you, it had better not be because of another
food fight," she told him, and got back to work.
________ End (for now) _________