Chapter 14: Triage

“What the fuck is this?” Cooper asked, lifting his spoon and watching the soupy, lump mess slough back into the metal bowl. The aliens had brought him a meal in his cell, and it looked like chunky vomit, an off-putting beige in color. The guard outside his door turned to glare at him through the bars, her yellow eyes shining in the gloom.

“You do not cooperate, and so you get offcuts, interloper.”

“Define offcuts,” he grumbled, stirring the mess around. With only one arm, he couldn’t hold the bowl and eat from it at the same time, so he had set it on the cot beside him.

“If you cooperate, you may eat in the banquet hall with the Admiral,” she explained tersely. “If you are disobedient, you shall be fed what remains after the meat has been carved.”

“Oh, I get it,” he grumbled. “This is the fast-food chicken nugget quality meat. Claws, beaks, and whatever they can scrape out of the bottom of the grease trap.”

“It is not intended to be appetizing,” she snapped. “It is a punishment.”

“Well, I don’t want it,” he replied. “Send it back to the chef.”

“Are you joking?” she snarled, turning to face him. She lay her clawed hands on the iron bars, narrowing her eyes at him.

“No, I just wanted you to turn around,” he replied. He lifted the plate, hocking it at the door, the vile concoction sailing through the air. The metal bowl clattered against the bars, ejecting its contents across the hallway outside, splattering the floor and the far wall. The alien had faster reflexes than any human, leaping clear as she loosed an angry hiss.

“You little wretch!” she snarled, flexing her fingers as though she was imagining sinking those claws into his flesh. She pulled the key from the hook on the wall outside, unlocking the door with a mechanical clunk. “When I get in there, I’m going to make you wish that your father never sired you!”

Something distracted her, and she suddenly stood up straight, facing down the corridor.

“What is the meaning of this?” someone asked, Cooper recognizing the voice as Korbaz’s.

“My apologies, Admiral,” his guard said with a low bow. “The prisoner is being ... difficult.”

“I can sympathize,” she grumbled. “Fetch someone to clean this mess up, I will have words with our guest.”

The guard darted out of sight, Korbaz’s insincere smile coming into view as she stepped gingerly around the spilled food.

“G’day Korbaz,” Cooper said, planting his hand on his hip. “So, what’s your angle this time? You gonna threaten to peel my skin off and salt the wounds? Gonna offer me an all-expenses-paid cruise to Saturn?”

“Perhaps we should start by getting you some food that’s more to your taste,” she grumbled, glancing over at the far wall. She opened the cell door, swinging it ajar on its creaking hinges as she beckoned to him. As reluctant as Cooper was to cooperate, even in minor ways, he knew from experience that she would at least feed him without incident.

He stepped around the mess, walking alongside the Admiral as she made her way back up the hallway. Cooper didn’t like how ... routine this was becoming. They were growing used to each other, used to this relationship, and that was something that he didn’t want to let happen.

They followed their usual route to the banquet hall, climbing the ladder that led up to the prefabs. As they made their way through one of the lavishly furnished rooms, its occupants watching him curiously as they lounged on their cushions and sipped at their drinks, someone came rushing from the far door. It was the Crewmaster with his purple sash and his leather getup, an expression that could only be described as dread etched onto his scarred face. He was out of breath, it looked like he had brought bad news.

He began to speak to the Admiral in their native language of hisses and growls, Cooper glancing between the two aliens, wondering what they were up to.

Crewmaster Lortz came running into the room, Korbaz noting from his expression that he was about to sour her mood.

“My Admiral,” he began, out of breath. “There has been a...” He glanced at the human, hesitating, perhaps afraid to reveal whatever had him so flustered in the alien’s presence.

“Ignore the prisoner, he is of no consequence,” Korbaz snapped with a wave of her hand. “He does not speak the mother tongue.”

“Some hours ago, we lost contact with the Tornado,” he said, glancing at the alien again. “The carrier did not report in at the scheduled time.”

“Why was I not informed?” Korbaz interrupted, narrowing her eyes at him. He stood up straighter, averting his gaze to the far wall.

“We assumed that either their comms equipment was malfunctioning, or their signal was being blocked by the storm. We have had some communications issues ourselves, so I thought little of it. A raiding party would soon be returning to the carrier from an operation against the column, so I waited for them to confirm its status. They arrived at the rendezvous point to find that the carrier was missing, there was no sign of it.”

“Delayed by mechanical failure?” Korbaz suggested, the Crewmaster swallowing conspicuously.

“No, my Admiral. The returning raiding party decided to make their way back to the last known location of the carrier, only to stumble upon its wreckage along the way.”

“Its ... wreckage?” she repeated. She tried not to react too strongly, the human was watching them closely, trying to get an idea of what they might be discussing.

“They determined that the crawler had been destroyed by an artillery strike. The vessel was unsalvageable, and all hands were lost.”

“How could this have happened?” Korbaz hissed, restraining her temper as she glanced down at the human again. “The Coalition has no way of tracking the crawlers with the storm raging, and they should have been more than twenty leagues away from the Tornado. We keep radio chatter to a minimum, and the crawlers never linger in one spot for long.”

“I can only posit that a scout moving far ahead of the main formation must have stumbled upon it by chance,” the Crewmaster replied. “Once the enemy artillery was in range of its position, they fired.”

“That’s not good enough,” Korbaz growled. “The humans are wily creatures, if they have discovered some way to track our crawlers, then we need to know about it.”

“I will have Vitza investigate,” he replied. “There is more,” he added hesitantly.

“Go on,” Korbaz muttered, crossing her arms.

“The latest raid did not go well. The interlopers are adapting to our tactics, spreading out their formation more and more to counter our artillery barrages. Small detachments continue to harass the enemy columns as you commanded, but without being able to damage their tanks, our losses are mounting. We need the information that the human carries,” he snarled, staring down at the alien.

“I’m working on it,” Korbaz grumbled. “There is still time before reinforcements from the territory arrive, I will break him before we are ready to launch the second major offensive.”

“Because their carrier was destroyed, the raiding party has diverted to the command crawler,” he continued. “The Hurricane has the most room due to the losses that they suffered during the first offensive, but we’re closer, and they have many injured who require medical attention.”

“Damn it,” Korbaz hissed. “Very well, treat the wounded here, and have the rest reassigned to the Hurricane. Let Crewmaster Torga decide where to put them.”

“As you wish, Admiral,” he replied with a bow of his head. “The injured will be arriving soon.”

“I will meet the wounded in the infirmary,” she replied, the human watching her in confusion as she turned about. “Have the prisoner returned to his cell.”

The Crewmaster called over one the guards who took the human by the upper arm, marching him away.

“What the fuck’s going on?” the human asked, looking over his shoulder at Korbaz as he struggled. “I thought we were going to get some grub?”

“Something has come up,” she replied, reverting back to English.

The guard tossed Cooper into his cell, slamming the door behind him. He brushed himself off, then flipped the alien the bird as he stalked out of sight. It seemed that the mess he had made earlier had already been cleaned up. The janitors sure worked fast under the threat of a flaying...

What could have gotten Korbaz so worked up? She had been all ready to butter him up again before the Crewmaster had come barging in. Pity, he had been looking forward to more meat. The Rask weren’t bad cooks, all things considered. It had to be something important, but he hadn’t understood a word of their conversation, the bastards had reverted to their native language to keep him in the dark.

He milled around for a bit, amusing himself by kicking the bars in the faint hope that it might irritate nearby Rask. After a while, he heard rushing footsteps, Cooper pressing up against the door as he tried to get a look at the commotion outside.

Two leather-clad soldiers rushed past him, carrying a third on a stretcher between them, the alien doubling over as he groaned in pain. More followed after them, a procession of injured Rask passing before his cell, Cooper’s head on a swivel as he watched them race by. They were in bad shape, they’d obviously gone up against Coalition forces and gotten their arses handed to them. Even a human could smell the worrying scent of copper on the air. There must be a dozen on stretchers, at least. There were walking wounded, too, a Rask passing by who had his arm hanging limp in a bloodstained sling. Another had a bandage over his eyes, one of his comrades guiding him along.

He recognized Vitza and Korbaz, reaching out to grab Vitza’s jacket as he came within range. The alien hissed, baring his teeth, some of the soldiers pausing to snarl at him. Korbaz waved them off, her yellow eyes meeting Cooper’s through the iron bars.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“This does not concern you,” she replied coldly, gripping his wrist and forcing him to relinquish his grip on Vitza’s sleeve. She ushered the engineer along, the other soldiers following behind him.

“Looks like your guys were on the wrong end of an arse-kicking,” Cooper continued, nodding in their direction.

“And I am sure that makes you very happy,” she sneered, relinquishing her hold on his wrist. She began to stalk off, Cooper calling after her.

“I can help them!”

She stopped, one of her furry ears swiveling to face behind her. After a moment, her head followed, her feline eyes catching the light.

“What could you possibly do?” she demanded.

“All UNN combat personnel are trained in triage and first aid,” he replied. “Let me help.”

“Why would you want to heal your enemies?” she asked, her flat brow furrowing. “They have been slaughtering your comrades, they were injured in battle against your own people.”

“I don’t know how the Rask do it,” he replied, leaning on his cell door. “But in the UNN, we treat the wounded, regardless of what side they were fighting on. Come on, I know you dickheads don’t have medical training, you’re probably still using leeches.”

She looked conflicted, her furry tail whipping back and forth behind her. After a moment, she returned to his door, the thick keychain clattering as she began to unlock it.

“If you try anything,” she began, “I’ll make sure that you regret it.” She swung the door open, waiting for him to join her. Cooper hurried out into the hallway, following behind Korbaz. The corridor outside was clogged with Rask, the Admiral parting the crowd as she led him into a side room. It must have once been a storage room of some kind, maybe for spare parts, judging by its relatively large size. It was as least as big as some of the infirmaries that he had seen on smaller Navy ships. The space was now occupied by rows of cots and steel tables. The walls were loaded with medical supplies, the tables piled with crates and boxes, many of which sported the blue UN insignia.

“Nice to see you’re using UN medical aid packages for the war effort,” he muttered as they made their way inside. All of the cots were occupied by injured Rask, who were being tended by what must pass for medics here, three aliens wearing full-body clean suits and surgical masks. These were certainly of human origin too, Cooper doubted whether the Rask even had the industrial capacity to produce plastics. He would have expected their sharp claws to tear through the material of their gloves, but that wasn’t the case. The fingers seemed to have little caps on them, like the end of a stylus, allowing them to more easily manipulate objects through them. He vaguely recalled seeing Polars wearing similar suits around the hospital on the Pinwheel.

“What have you got?” he demanded, barging past a Rask who was waiting at the foot of one of the cots. The medic who was tending to the patient didn’t answer, glancing over at Korbaz instead as if to ask what was going on. “Don’t just stand there staring, cunt,” Cooper added. “Get me a bloody medical scanner!”

Korbaz nodded, and the doctor fetched him one of the devices. It was shaped like a handgun with a built-in touch panel, Cooper waving it over the writhing patient. He was clad in the usual blend of leather and ceramic armor, now covered in dust and sand, his left leg twisted and misshapen. He ran the device over the limb, his brow furrowing as the X-ray function revealed shattered bone.

“Cut his trouser leg off,” Cooper insisted, giving the doctor a shove when he didn’t respond. “Oi, Korbaz. Can you get this cunt to do as I say?”

“Do as he asks,” she replied, the doctor springing into action. He began to cut through the leather from the hem up with a pair of large scissors, revealing more mangled flesh as he went. The Rask yowled as he nicked the wounds, Cooper pointing at a nearby soldier who was watching from nearby.

“You, get up here and hold him down. Don’t look at her, you fuckwit, look at me.”

The bewildered warrior did as he asked once Korbaz had given her approval, moving to the top of the cot to grip the patient by the shoulders, keeping him from thrashing around.

“Don’t you guys have painkillers?” Cooper asked, “this guy needs morphine or something. I hope you know the right dosages for a Borealan because I sure as fuck don’t.”

The doctor pulled the leather aside, revealing the entire leg, Cooper’s stomach churning as he ran the scanner over it.

“Take it off at the thigh, here,” he said as he gestured to the ruined limb.

“Take it off?” the doctor repeated.

“Yes, take it off! It’s full of shrapnel, and the bones have been turned to dust.” He thrust the device into the doctor’s oversized hands, forcing him to look at the readout. “Unless you have some way to repair those compound fractures, dressing the wounds and setting the leg isn’t going to do shit. Make sure you clamp the femoral artery too, or the fucker’ll cark it.”

He snatched the device back and made his way to the next cot, Korbaz walking along with him, keeping out of his way as she watched him curiously. He examined the Rask who was lying motionless on it, his eyes closed. His chest was moving, but his breathing was shallow.

“What’s up with this one?” he asked the attending doctor. He seemed more willing to deal with Cooper than the last one, gesturing to his patient’s torso with a gloved finger.

“He has been wounded in the chest.”

“Railgun or shrapnel?” Cooper asked, opening his jacket gingerly to see an entry wound that had torn the flesh just above his right nipple. “Never mind, if that had been a railgun, I’d be able to fit my fucking arm through him. Get me a chest seal, it’s oval-shaped, it comes in a white package. And make sure it has a vent!” he called after the doctor as he made his way over to one of the medical supply crates. He returned shortly with the device, Cooper holding it one-handed as he tore into it with his teeth.

“Disinfect the wound, clean it up so I can see what I’m doing,” he said. The doctor swabbed around the torn flesh, more dark blood pouring from it with every beat of the patient’s heart. Cooper placed the seal over it, opening the vent, the Rask’s wheezing breathing growing a little deeper and more regular.

“That should keep him stable for now,” Cooper said, wiping a bloody hand on the sheets. “Watch him,” he added, pointing at the doctor with an accusing finger. “If his lips turn blue, or you see the veins in his neck bulging, take it off. He needs an oxygen mask ASAP, a plasma infusion, then his chest cavity will need to be drained. He’s low priority right now, but you need to get to him soon. You know how to do all that?”

The medic hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Good, then go to see to the others,” he added as he moved over to the next cot. “And can we make some bloody room in here? Anyone who isn’t injured needs to clear out, you’re not helping by standing around wasting oxygen.”

This one was bleeding profusely from a wound in his leg, the leather soaked with dark fluid. The Rask had made a tourniquet out of one of the many belts that they all wore to stem the flow, which was probably the only reason he was still conscious. He peered up at Cooper suspiciously, baring his teeth as he approached. There were more cuts on his face, the armor plating on his chest pocked with marks from debris. He must have been near an explosion of some sort. Cooper leaned down to examine the wound more closely.

“Oi, one of you cunts get me a can of foam,” he shouted. The nearest soldier cocked his head at him quizzically. “It comes in a green canister,” he explained, gesturing to the piles of medical supplies that surrounded them. The alien darted off to rummage through the crates, returning with one of the devices. It looked a little like a miniature fire extinguisher with a small nozzle on a flexible tube.

“Right,” he said, waving the alien over. “Take the nozzle in your hand, and jam it into the wound, deep as you can get it.”

“What?” the Rask asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am a warrior, not a healer.”

“Congratulations!” Cooper replied, spreading his arm sarcastically. “You just made it into medical school, your parents must be so proud. Now stick the nozzle in the hole, dickhead. I can’t do it myself, I need a hand if you hadn’t noticed.”

The feline moved over to the side of the cot hesitantly, the patient yowling as he pressed the nozzle into the wound, his claws tearing up the sheets as he dug them into the mattress. Cooper instructed his reluctant helper to press down on the handle, the cavity quickly filling with antiseptic foam, stemming the bleeding and disinfecting the wound.

“You’ll be fine,” Cooper said, giving the patient’s leg a tap and making him grit his teeth.

Over the next hour, he worked diligently, moving between the patients and instructing the Rask when they didn’t know what to do. Some of them had basic training, probably as a result of working with the UNN, but others were totally clueless. At least Vitza seemed to have an idea of what he was doing, he was supervising the use of the various medical tools. Most of the ones who were more seriously injured had probably died during transit, which meant that the prognosis was relatively good for those who had made it to the crawler. Korbaz watched the whole time, hovering around him as he worked, ensuring that her crew followed his instructions.

“Come here,” he said, waving her over. She drew nearer, peering over his shoulder at one of her injured soldiers. He had a wound in his arm that was seeping blood, another product of flying shrapnel, the skin bruised and blackened. He was sitting on one of the chairs, they had dealt with most of the more seriously wounded now. Cooper had noticed that there were few patients who had been hit by railguns, as almost none of them would survive such an event. “I’m going to need you to pop the bone back into place while I set it,” he explained, Korbaz recoiling slightly. She began to complain in her usual haughty tone.