Chp. 40: So That it Was not in Vain
March 28, 2024
NAS Shiatami Hospital
Otome, that was her name! The young man jolted up a bit with the much-awaited realization of who he'd been thinking of. He didn't get very far, as he quickly discovered he didn't have the strength to sit upright. In fact, it hurt a bit and he was quick to lay down again. The sterile air and plain ceiling above felt a stark contrast to where he last remembered being. In the tank, Gaijin Kaiju, that faithful beast. The sounds and the cool air piled on to make him realize he was in a hospital. Dread started to set in as he tried to raise a hand. It took a minute, but it revealed only some light bandages. Same with the other hand, just scratches...chest felt fine. The young man's heart sank before he reached down the covers, then sighed in relief. Okay, the important stuff was okay, but he heard the sound of metal as his legs inevitably twitched.
He discovered the reason for being here as he uncovered the artificial leg. He struggled up again, then laid back down and looked from side to side for the controls to the bed. He found them on his right and eased the top half of the mattress up so he could look down at the device. He felt a certain aloofness towards the sight; the feeling that what he saw should not be there. He tried to reach for it, but again the soreness and discomfort kept him from getting too far. He was content to simply stare at the fact that his left leg had been replaced. He didn't even think to take in the rest of the room until the door opened and in walked a man in that pseudo-MARPAT stuff some Navy types wore.
"Well well, look who's awake. How're you feeling, Corporal?" The sailor, some kind of nurse James guessed, asked.
"Where am I? What happened? How long ago did whatever happened to my leg happen?" The Marine responded with increasing desperation. The nurse remained calm as he walked to the machines monitoring James's vitals.
"You're at the NAS Shiatami hospital. Helo brought you in a few days ago, said you had a pretty serious hit to the leg. Lieutenant Commander Sheenan could explain more; she talked with the surgeon. I could probably find him too, if you really wanted."
"Where's the rest of my crew?"
"Can't say I know, but I can look into that if you want. Don't worry, you're back from the brink. Rest is your best friend right now; you've got a long road ahead of you."
"Yeah...look, sorry but can I see Commander Sheenan? Now?"
"She'll be along in a few minutes. Want something to drink while you're waiting? Charge nurse keeps a fridge full of soda and stuff for the patients and we've got plenty of water."
"Uhh...got any Cokes?"
"Cherry? Diet?"
"Cherry; cherry's good. Maybe water, too."
"Cool, be back in a minute."
The nurse left, still wearing the same smile he'd come in with. James slowly returned to staring at the bionic leg. He furrowed his brow and thought of wiggling his toes. The robotic digits twitched, then moved exactly how his actual toes would have. He did the same with his opposite foot, then again with the new one. The Lieutenant Commander was the one who ended up bringing in the Coke, carrying with her a clipboard wells-stocked with papers.
"Good afternoon Corporal Bradford, I'm Doctor Sheenan. I'll be helping you recover from your injuries. I see you've been introduced to your new limb, and I can imagine you have a lot of questions. I also understand you asked for a Cherry Coke and water, so grab a drink of that to calm you before we dive in." She said, taking a seat next to his bed. James accepted the latter and took a long drink until his stomach felt a little full from chugging the stuff so much.
"Okay...so, I lost my leg?" He started.
"Yes...according to the chart when you came in, your track got hit bad and did some serious damage to your left leg, around where the thigh meets the knee. You also took some additional scrapes, to put it lightly, across your arms and chest." She confirmed.
"How serious are we talking? About the damage to my leg."
"You want it bluntly?"
"...Yeah."
"Your tank took a hit from an armor-piercing round. If it'd been just a few inches closer, you might've lost the entire lower half of your body...and your life. I don't know if you're the religious kind, Corporal, but if you have a guardian angel then they stepped in on this one."
"I guess...so, I mean, when did I lose it? Is it, like, laying in the snow someplace in Gianshu?"
"No, it was removed in surgery. By the time you got here, this was the decided course of action in order to save your life. You've had the bionic for about three days now, but you might not remember much cause we had you under quite a bit. It takes some time to get someone set up with one of those and memories may come back." She replied. James couldn't think of many meaningful questions to follow up with.
"Will it take a long time to get used to?"
"Yes, but in time it'll feel as natural as your original leg. The initial healing is the easy part, honestly. Thank modern science for that. Anything like this takes time, physically mentally and emotionally. You're not gonna like it at first, it'll feel like it's harder to walk with when you think it should be easy. No part of it will be pleasant, but you'll learn to accept it…"
Sheenan stopped, then paused and recomposed herself.
"I shouldn't say 'accept it", either. A better way to put it is that you'll learn to think of it as a natural part of your body. You'll one day look at it and the memories may come back, but you will still physically feel like it's part of you. Not something alien. It's hard to describe; sorry if that got a bit heavy."
There was a long pause between the two while James looked down and wiggled the toes on both feet again. He drew in a breath and looked back at Sheenan.
"You're being real with me, Doctor. I think alotta people can appreciate that, even if it takes a minute. Hell, you seem to know a lot about this stuff, and that's comforting."
"Yeah, I know exactly what it involves…"
The doctor unbloused and lifted one of her pant's legs so James could see a similar bionic underneath.
"IED while I was deployed in Varcia. I'm here and I stay here cause I know firsthand what it takes."
James nodded again and looked back down at the...fake leg. It felt hard to think that but it was the quickest way to describe it. He suddenly wanted to go back to sleep and forget about this. Try and take some more time to get used to it.
"How does it work?" He asked, unable to keep the defeat from his voice.
"It's basically fused to you, so on paper it's easy. The trick is, like I said, the mental part. Right now, your body still thinks there's a stump there as it goes through the long-term healing. You have to get it in the habit of thinking that a real leg is still attached. Making your body think it's still attached as it irons out all the details, so to speak." She replied sympathetically, then glancing at her papers.
"You'll remain in bed for a few more days while the healing continues, then we'll slowly begin to move towards moving around with it. After two weeks of basics, we'll do an eval and then move on to more complex things. If you perform exceptionally well, that timetable may speed up." The doctor added.
"So I'll be here awhile...uhm, what about visitors? I have a girlfriend in Kabaru, so can I call her? Can she come here to see me?"
"We'll work out those details over the next few days, Corporal. I can see about getting you access to a phone or a computer to videochat, but don't expect it to happen today."
James felt a bit angered at that, but kept his mouth shut. He sat back against the bed and nodded slowly.
"Okay, yeah...alright, so what now?" He asked.
"You rest. Remote to the TV's over there and dinner will be in a few hours. Tonight's tuna melts and steamed veggies. Pudding for dessert."
The doctor went through the formalities of a physical after the burning questions had been addressed. James sat still if only because it would be futile to try and move. He was stuck here, bound by nothing more than the simple fact that he'd never get far. What had happened that day he'd lost his leg was still a blur. Where the others were, if his platoon was even still fighting on without its commanding officer and her tank. Maybe she'd taken a new one; it usually worked that way. He didn't have much more to discuss with the doctor, and when she was done she left him to sit and contemplate his existence. He really just wanted to be with Otome right now and let her coo sweet nothings into his ear. Great, he got to sit here and engage in navel gazing. Very fitting for a young Marine. All things considered, he'd rather be back in Gianshu fighting the Veruseans.
He reached for the remote and turned on the TV to see if he could find a distraction from the swirling thoughts. Naturally the default channel was the Osean Armed Forces Network, but the headline sitting under the images caused James to stop. The Secretary of State was standing next to some Verusean guy in a suit. The accompanying words read: Ceasefire agreement reached and withdrawal to be discussed over coming days. He waited to see if someone mentioned when this happened, and found it'd been earlier this morning. Almost immediately James changed the channel again; that was too much to digest alongside waking up without a leg…
Eric followed the rest of the squadron over to McGavin's bird as it was parked near the forward port aircraft elevator. In comparison to his brother's feelings, Eric could only feel a great sense of relief as VF-138 met its CO to congratulate him on completing the last sortie of the shooting war. A sense of relief and pride in what he'd done; Verusa had been met, beaten and was now slinking back from what little territory they still occupied. Any and all flights by the wing would be to monitor the withdrawal. That was set aside as McGavin reached the bottom of the boarding steps and was met by his wingman and the others. Handshakes were being exchanged almost immediately as the Commander was presented with a large bottle of Gatorade by Eric.
"Welcome back, Skipper! You earned a drink; hope it'll do until a proper toast can be done." He said, holding out the sports drink.
"Right now? It's perfect, cause I'm parched!" McGavin replied, happily accepting the bottle.
There was a round of applause as the man took a swig of the blue liquid and raised the bottle in a toast. He looked down at the toes of his boots and put his free hand on his hip.
"Fellow Ronin, I'm glad to have reached this point with you all...I have seen the Osean Navy go through several ups and downs, times when we were all but extinct. I'm certain I'm not the first skipper of the Red Ronin to say that either, and I won't be the last. My pride for those I've been given the privilege to lead into battle comes not only from our victory over those who wish to oppress under communism's evils, but from the many commendable traits you all possess. Honor, dedication to duty and each other, tenacity, unity as a squadron, and a pool of knowledge and experience to share. Those traits have allowed us to ensure that the peace is secured and the freedom of two nations is preserved. It is those traits that have given me great comfort in knowing the sacrifices made, including our brave Ronin who paid the ultimate price...It is those traits that tells me their sacrifice was not in vain, and shall never be in vain. They shall be remembered as our fellow Ronin, and we shall honor their actions by enjoying what they fought for." The man mused, sometimes pausing to mull over the words of the impromptu speech. The applause was more reserved this time, but the smiles remained. Vixen stepped forward as it died down.
"Skipper, I would like to have a photo taken for the occasion of the entire squadron, as I'd mentioned earlier. Blank, you got the banner?" She said.
"Yes ma'am!" The Lieutenant replied.
Eric stepped forward and accepted one side of the banner while Blank kept a hold of the other. They unfurled it, revealing a tally of VF-138's accomplishments over the course of the war. It read "Red Ronin, WestPac 2024, 355 Missions Flown & 103 Bandits Flamed!" in the same color as their namesake. The officers all gathered in two rows, placed in front of McGavin's aircraft while the photographer on hand tried to find the best distance and focus setting to get a good photo. Eric knelt down in the front row, still holding his side of the banner, and smiled with the rest of the squadron while they got their picture taken in front of the plane. Of those 103 kills, and the numerous kills against anti-ship missiles aimed at the fleet, he'd claimed no less than 14. Injecting what he'd learned during the war was likely when they got back to port. Whether he went off to an aggressor squadron or simply passed on what he had to the greater pool of tactics and knowledge, he'd have at least one new detail to share.
As soon as the image had been taken, the group stood up and the banner was rolled up. Chatter picked up as they walked towards the nearest stairs down into the catwalks and the road back to their quarters, department offices, the ready room etc. Flight operations in support of the withdrawal of Verusean troops were due to start just after midnight; airliners and merchant ships would carry out the soldiers while their weapons were collected and destroyed. CAP and TARPS was the way of the Ronin for the next couple of weeks. Now it was also a time of reflection, and facing the transition back to a peacetime tempo. Resuming family life; there were probably at least three or four weddings to come after VF-138 was home. Eric's was likely gonna be one of them...
General Chen entered the President's office with the usual apprehension, but this time he'd snuck his sidearm in. The communist system left no room, no tolerance for failure. Officers who didn't obtain final victory were often executed and labeled traitors. Wáng-Xú had ended the war and Verusa was still alive, but the fact remained that Verusa had held onto nothing it'd gained. A war fought, and effectively lost, for nothing. Verusa would never admit it lost, whether through pride or a desire to keep the population at large from resenting the government. The truth would slip through, though; you couldn't hide thousands of unarmed soldiers coming home and no talk or offerings of settlement in newly-captured territories. He had gone in with two whole armies, and had come out with perhaps half of that. Many weapons that had more than proven themselves to be a match for much-vaunted Osean equipment, capable of overcoming all the technology of capitalist armies, would be done away with like trash.
The images of long columns of disheveled and wounded men, some walking and many stuffed into trucks, would haunt him the rest of his days. Shimoji, Songol and Osean soldiers escorting them and providing what aid they could. Seeing them had caused Chen to earn some respect for his adversary beyond his fighting capabilities. Propaganda and training could never really mask the true nature of one's enemy. Watching how even the Songols, with their fervent hate of communism, regarded the retreating Verusean army with begrudging respect. No taunts, no anger, just a commitment to the job of supervising their enemy's withdrawal. Chen felt sorry for the prisoners who'd eventually be returned to their home; their captivity in Songola and the Shimoji Islands was probably paradise. Here, all they had to look forward to as disgrace. The veterans of the conflict, now shooed away and scorned; that boiled Chen's blood the most.
He blamed himself, if only to find some solace, some way of not having to blame the soldiers, sailors and airmen under his command. The dilemma of all generals and one that his enemies had likely fallen to, even as they were hailed as heroes. The President would be free from all the blame as he twisted the public's reception to his needs. That was something the party was good at; deflecting. They had marched on for decades, casually swatting away any criticism like they were the only sane ones in the room. Until now he had sided with the man to prevent escalating to nuclear war, and now he was trash to be disposed of. He knew it from the day he really wised up about his career, but had never given it much attention until the past few days. Chen had decided that if he was going to be killed for losing the war they wanted, he wouldn't give that fat bastard Wáng-Xú a chance to see it. The Verusean president was calm as Chen walked into his office, watching the General with a guarded expression as the man walked up.
"Reporting as ordered, Comrade President." The man said, standing at attention.
"Comrade General, I assume you know why you're here?" Wáng-Xú replied.
"Yes, to be your little scapegoat in the name of saving the nation and the party."
"Your bellyaching won't sway my view on the situation, or the fact that what must be done is the only way to save the government from becoming destabilized."
"I am not "bellyaching", Comrade President. I am staunchly opposed to you callously turning a blind eye to the brave soldiers who survived your short-sighted military adventures! But then, what could I expect from a politician who had to blame a bunch of old men for what he saw fit in the first place."
Wáng-Xú slammed a palm on his table as he stood up.
"How dare you! I am the vanguard of the revolution, and I did what was in the interests of the people's survival!" He roared, jabbing a finger at the General.
"You only did what you did to save yourself, and no matter how much you try to cover up that fact, it will haunt you to your death! Which, if there is any true justice in this world, will be at the hands of the very people you betray and use!"
Wáng-Xú arrogantly made it obvious he had already called for his guards to remove the general, but the man stood undaunted. Chen reached back for his handgun, shouting "long live the revolution!" As he produced a CF-07 handgun. The door burst open behind him and he felt stabs in the back as the guards fired several shots from their Type 63s into his back. The President dropped down as soon as he realized he was in the line of fire and waited until the shooting had stopped, leaving only the screaming of his secretary and the sound of an alarm going off. Wáng-Xú looked at the dying Chen and walked over to him with a content smile. He knelt down and sneered at the man.
"Long live the revolution, "Comrade", but not the traitors who wish to oppose it." He said.
He stood up as the corpse was picked up and taken away. The president walked to the window as if nothing had happened, and stared out at the capital as the dusk turned to night. Chen's accusations had scratched at his armor, but not enough to penetrate. He could feel a new era coming about. A new era of prosperity for the Verusean people, and an era cemented by his rule. It would take time, but soon this...mistake...would be long forgotten in the minds of the Verusean populace. The proverbial dragon would remain, still strong and still undaunted. The reality of the world after this would never be able to get very far with him to hold it back. The proverbial dragon would remain, still strong and still undaunted. Even as Verusa's broken armies returned to their home with their heads hung in shame.