Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. No copyright infringement intended.
AN: This is, quite frankly, rather gruesome. However, I think that underscores
the horrors of war. After all, war is hell, and there's no way around that. My
next story, though, I think I will try to make a little more uplifting.
Also, I love feedback, so if you could take a few seconds and review this, I
would much appreciate it.
Normally I dedicate my stories to people, but I can't imagine anyone wanting
this written in their name. You'll see what I mean.

A Soothing Hand
Adia Morrow

When the shuttle had touched town, I moved out with my team. We went
quickly, running down the boarding ramp and fanning out into the small village.
Somehow we had been unlucky enough to draw this assignment-one of the sights
with the most damage. The attack had only been a hit-and-fade, but it was worse
than usual. Most of the buildings were charred, and not many of them remained
standing. There were a few, but those looked like they could collapse at any
moment, for they too had been blackened by the fires. We hardly expected anyone
to have survived, so this was more of a clean up than a rescue mission.

The sickly sweet smell of death hit me soon after I was off the ship.
Everywhere I turned I saw bodies, lying in the street, where the men and women
must have run screaming as they burned to death. I saw large bodies, of animals
and men. I saw the tiny bodies of children and babies. I choked back the bile,
as I always did on these kinds of missions. So many innocents. I still had not
gotten used to the sight of the dead, and I hoped I never would.

I was nearly done with my portion of the city, when I heard a small
whimper. I turned, searching for the sound, when a tiny movement at the edge of
my vision caught my attention. There, under the shelter of rubble, was a girl.
She must have been four standard years, but she was scrawny and frail enough for
me to want to guess she was younger.

I approached the child cautiously, quietly, so as not to frighten her. I
put as much gentleness into my voice as I could.

"Why don't you come out of there, honey. Isn't it cold?"

She was naked-her clothes must have been burnt off. Strangely, though, she
seemed to be physically unharmed. The girl mouthed something, and I understood
that she was trying to speak, but couldn't. I smiled encouragingly. Finally, she
found her voice.

"Mommy?" The voice was thin and plaintive. For a moment I thought she had
mistaken me for her mother, and I almost corrected her, but I was distracted by
something she was holding.

A woman's hand.

I opened my mouth in a soundless scream. The hand.it was not attached to
anything. It had been severed completely from whatever arm it had once been a
part of. And it was not burnt, just like the girl. In the back of my mind, as I
was registering all of this, another thought occurred to me. I leaned to the
side, and, as I had thought, there was a body, one limb stuck underneath the
rock this child huddled against.

It was then I understood. Her mother must have been crushed by the
collapsing building, and then burned. Her hand must have been cut off in the
downfall of rock. That same rock that killed her had protected her daughter,
somehow, even through the raging inferno that followed. The child surviving was
nothing short of a miracle, one that I didn't fully grasp. Now the girl was
clinging to the only thing familiar to her in this hell-a mother's hand.

This time I couldn't hold back, and I vomited.