Fate weaver’s convergence

“Where's that O-positive blood?!”

 

The yelling was chaotic.

 

“Prep the tent, this one's going into surgery.”

 

“Hey Doc, think this will get me a purple heart?”

 

“Sure as shit, now shut up and let the anesthetic do its work! You wanna be awake for this?!”

 

“Sure thing, Doc.”

 

We were all high-strung upon our return to base camp, the wounded either screaming or bantering with the medical personnel trying to take care of them. Lucas and Rawlins hobbled over to one of the med tents, slumping against a picnic table before each taking their own seat. I helped Mike- LT– I helped LT from the truck, muttering some expletives as he idly watched the wounded being carried into the med tent.

 

“God, the muties came out of fuckin nowhere. The one that got Danovitch came out of a storm drain. A storm drain! God, I can still hear his screams– I–”

 

I shrugged, giving myself better leverage under his good arm as we guided each other.

 

“You did good, sir. Your plan for exfil kept us alive, and that grid square you gave Dragon was tight as a fly’s ass.”

 

The tent was awake from activity. Dining tables were cleared for emergency care, and cots were brought in to lay down the wounded in less dire conditions. 

 

Shit looks fucked.

 

I walked LT to a cot, helping him onto his back and keeping him company.

 

“Ironsides, this is Workhorse–”

 

A radio operator was calling up a nine-line medevac for some SOB who got a gash on one of his arteries in the leg.

 

“Sir, we could just not even be here anymore.”

 

I sat at the LT’s legs, pulling the can of dip from my pocket. I packed the pouch between my gms, the burn of nicotine flowing across my mouth and gums. 

 

“Gimme one.”

 

I took another pouch between my fingers, motioning for the LT to open his mouth. He allowed me to press the pouch into his upper lip behind his canines before swishing saliva around, then spitting on the ground. His head dropped to the cot, swaying from side to side for a second. 

 

“Aidan, you smell like shit… shit and blood. Have you taken a look at yourself?”

 

I shook my head, letting the nicotine high send my head swirling. 

 

“Aidan, look the hell down.”

 

I shook my head again, looking about as I mentally tallied every wounded troop but Rawlins. It wasn't but a few moments later that a medic eyed me suspiciously before walking over. 

 

“Sir, Staff sergeant.”

Some female specialist, her name was forgettable enough. 

 

“Specialist, will you make this bastard clean himself up? Making me wanna spew chunks.”

 

“Up yours, sir… respectfully.”

 

We both chuckled, spitting onto the exposed ground. 

 

“Sergeant, with all due respect–”

 

The specialist reached to around one of the emergency disconnects on my side, yanking it open.

 

“Take off your body armor, the last thing we need is you getting an infection.”

 

I raised a brow.

 

“The hell you mean? I’m–”

 

I looked down, realizing why I was looked at like I was crazy the whole time, why the LT was haranguing me.

 

Shit, I think I’ll be sick!

 

I spat, clearing my mouth before suddenly choking down my shock and nausea. I nearly jumped at the realization. The feeling of wetness, being cold and warm all at once, the inevitable rash from wet pants and undergarments, the strange sense of stickiness.

 

“Oh fuck–”

 

I dry heaved, coughing up what little water was in my stomach alongside the freshly used snus pouch. I was soaked, my uniform and skin stained red and brown from blood. The pool in the basement was full of blood, probably to feed the sun grinder while it was dormant. 

 

I just realized I can barely smell anymore.

 

I covered one nostril, while blowing through the other. A jet of mucus and coagulated blood allowing fresh air to pass through my nose. 

 

Fuck, I stink like shit– Shit and rotten animal blood.

 

I sneered.

 

“Sergeant, we’ll get you cleaned up. Follow me–”

 

The specialist paused, looking at the LT. 

 

“Sir, you’ll be fine?”

 

He waved his tourniquet arm.

 

“There's a dozen of you; someone will get to me.”

 

That's the sir for ya, just as likely to refuse care as I would in his place.

 

“I can wait.”

 

I tried to wave her away one last time before she grabbed me by my collar. She’d rolled my top into her hands before heaving me up.

 

“Oh shi– I’m up, I’m up!”

I stood shakily, putting all my weight onto my good leg.

 

“We have spare uniforms from supply ready to get you in something ‘semi-fresh.”

 

It was my turn to be leveraged, my bad leg suspended as the specialist helped me. Walking out the back of the tent, we rounded the corner to a house that command had been given by a local. Through the entrance, the company commander, the XO–

 

“First sergeant.”

 

I nodded. A grizzled old fart in his late forties nodded as we passed, watching us through his bifocals. Up the stairs, past an empty bedroom, and into a bathroom at the far end of a hall. 

 

“Undress.”

 

I made a double take, looking at the bath before I turned to see her leaning against the doorway.

 

“Fuck, can I get some privacy?”

 

I asked, sitting on the toilet to take off my boots. I winced as I pulled at my wounded side, looking to the specialist.

 

“Well?”

 

I asked. She shook her head, lifting her chin to speak. 

 

“No can do, Sarge, you may outrank me. But legitimately, we’re supposed to check for bites or scratches. You know the drill. You’re just lucky I’m not undressing you myself.”

 

She chuckled, kneeling to help remove the boot. Pulling it free, even my socks were waterlogged with the sludge. Thankfully, the floor in here was tile, and the edges sealed with silicone. The specialist started working at the velcro and zipper of my top. 

 

“Shit, the least you can do, Doc, is tell me your name before you fuckin undress me.”

 

She paused, looked at me with the expression like she was saying, ‘Can’t you read?’

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

I looked at the right side of her chest, at her name tape. That next moment, I realized one of my eyes was blurred. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Smith, it’s Smith.”

 

“Sorry, struggling to read right now, apparently. Probably a concussion.”

 

She nodded.

 

“A little more than a concussion, Sarge.”

 

She grabbed a hand mirror from the sink counter, holding it up in front of my face. My five o’clock shadow had come in, emphasizing the matted hair on my head and face while the skin was stained pink and red like my hands. Aside from that, one of my eyes, the sclera, was filled with blood, nearly drowning out the brown color of the iris’s.

 

“Some cultist tried to drown me, got a few hits in maybe. Think that may have been it?”

 

I asked, Smith, continuing her work.

 

“Possibly, once you're cleaned up enough, we can tell what blood is yours and not.”

 

“I just realized the bath–”

 

She pulled my top off, forcing me to lean forward as she pulled it off by the sleeves.

 

“All of the designated decontamination areas are cut off from the sewers and rerouted to storage tanks for sterilization.”

 

She pointed to the faucet.

 

“Only the water is still tapped in, for obvious reasons.”

 

She reached over, turning the knobs for hot and cold. 

 

“Getting that pant leg off is gonna be the hardest–”

 

She reached for my belt, my hands instinctively grabbing her wrists.

 

“Come on, Smith, it's not like I need you to wipe my ass.”

 

I’d earned a snicker from her, raising her hands as she backed away. I pulled off my undershirt and socks before beckoning for her to help me into the tub. The water was pleasant, my first bath in weeks, as I allowed the rush from the faucet to pass over my feet until they were fully submerged. I’d finished undoing my belt, leaving only my skivvies on at this point as I shuffled my good leg free. Smith seemed to cringe at the sight of a jagged scar that wrapped all the way around the limb just above the knee.

 

“Can’t feel anything in that leg. It was nearly bisected back in Oklahoma, was lucky to keep it.”

 

I bent the leg, rubbing at the one that was still stuck in the pant leg.

 

“Can’t help but wonder why they keep guys like you around, Sarge, no offense… You’ve taken your licks, why tag along with Three Corps?”

 

I relaxed into the tub, shaking my head. 

 

“You know many engineers that can close a rift?”

 

I asked half serious and half joking. She herself seemed to take it as such for a moment before suddenly going white in the face.

 

“You were in Salt Lake City?”

 

I nodded, leaning my head back as I cleared my throat. 

 

“OKC, Salt Lake, Atlanta, Ft. Benning, Phoenix, and Wyoming… after Yellowstone went up and glassed most of everything around it… It's a miracle that either Cheyenne or Salt Lake City are still around.”

 

I nodded at the floor.

 

“Three corps will take what it can get, Doc. Orleans and Paris both have rifts still, apparently. The moment the quarantine zone is set, the Bundeswehr is moving in with us from Luxembourg, while the eighty-second, first and second cav, and first armored all move in from Tours.”

 

She nodded, standing after collecting my clothes. 

 

“I was tracking the plan, but I wasn’t exactly privy to another set of rifts.”

 

Moving to the doorway, she yelled over her shoulder. 

 

“I’ll be right back with another uniform and some clean boots. Hang tight, we’ll try and remove that clothing from the wound once it's nice and soaked.”

 

She left without further explanation. 

 

At least the Sungrinder is down… that could have been worse. It could have gone unnoticed and woke up as Three Corps passed back over it. If Dragon wasn't already on standby and then moving in? What could we really have done? There weren't any underground parking garages or large enough structures to slow it down. And it would have torn through any concealment we used like paper. Could have been much–

 

A gunshot.

 

What was that?

 

I raised my head, my blood pressure rising for a moment as another gunshot cracked against the background. It was immediately followed by yelling from downstairs and people entering and leaving the house in a hurry.

 

For fucks sake, what now?

 

I dropped my head back to the tub's edge, staring at the ceiling. 

 

Ten minutes.

 

Twenty. 

 

A half-hour, the coagulated wound on my leg stung as the water stagnated. My pants were floating around the leg, a jolt of pain shooting up my leg as I moved it. The adrenaline had worn off, so I was no longer shielded by the chemical doping my senses.

 

“Sorry… there’s not much time; we need to get you dressed and over to the staging area now.”

 

I sat up, awkwardly trying to sit myself up as she approached. Tossing the clean uniform and boots onto the toilet seat, she placed a roll of bandages in her teeth.

 

“Sommy, vhis ish gumma hurd.”

 

“The hell do you mean hurt– Fuck! God– ah, fuck!”

 

“Cholb yew.”

 

Smith grabbed my leg and tore the pants from the wound, yanking it up and over the edge of the tub. Blood began to seep from the now exposed wound, a piece of bone that wasn't my own exposed to the light. She winced, grabbing it with a set of pliers, then yanked it free.

 

“Aaaah! FFf– uuh. Fu–”

 

I nearly blacked out; the sensation no longer dull. It was well and alive, shooting waves of pain throughout the leg as each pulse of my heart forced the wound to look as if it was fresh. 

 

“Again, sorry, but the commander called a formation for accountability.”

 

She began wrapping the bandages around my leg, following a criss-cross pattern repeatedly until the wet bandages were simply dyed red and then wholly white. Her own trousers were stained red now, but not in a way that it wasn't expected.

 

“Was it something to do with the gunfire earlier?”

 

Smith froze for a moment, continuing as she took stolen glances at me. 

 

“One of the wounded had to be euthanized.”

 

My blood went cold.

 

“Who?”

 

She paused before continuing her work, opting to remain silent.

 

“Damnit, Smith, they're my goddamn troops! Who?!”

 

Her brows furrowed whilst she sneered, fighting against herself. She muttered something inaudible before whispering the name whilst she tied the bandage off.

 

“One of first squad’s, guys. Jones. They had him on the operating table, cleaning up what they thought was a shrapnel wound. He started changing while they worked. He barely got through the ossification phase before your LT shot him through the temple.”

 

She paused, looking into the hallway. She couldn't even look at me.

 

“Your entire Platoon is being detained to ensure you all follow general order four.”

 

We both went silent as I looked at the piece of unidentified bone on the floor.

 

General order four.

 

I stared at the bone, reciting the order in my head.

 

Any and all contact with mutant, ravager, sungrinder, or unidentified must be followed by immediate examination for mutations or infection. If infected, designated troops are to turn over all personal effects and all ammunition, withstanding three rounds. Each troop is to dispatch themselves or their fellow man, following religious service of their preference.

 

“Fuck.”

 

I muttered under my breath. 

 

“Yeah.”

 

It wasn’t my first examination. This would be my second, the first, following the battle for Oklahoma City when I was wounded by a sungrinder, surviving by some miracle. 

 

“Let’s get me dressed, then.”