CHAPTER 4

Counting the Losses

The blackness of unconsciousness started to lift slowly as Bosch gave a loud groan and started to open his eyes. He had no recollection of what happened just now, except for a blinding flash of pain and then the blissful darkness that came with blacking out from the pain.

He was still in darkness when the first voice spoke up, somewhere from his left. It was a shout and set off loud bell ringing in his right ear.

"Hey! He's coming to! Someone get the med-kit here, stat!"

Bosch couldn't make out whom the voice belonged to, his memory was too jumbled for that right now. He tried opening his eyes, but closed them immediately after, as the light above him was too bright. It was too bright even though his eyes were closed, instinctively forcing him to bring his right hand up. Or at least…try to bring it up. But when he tried to move his hand, the only response he got was shooting pain right through his arm, all the way up to the shoulder, forcing yet another groan out of him.

"What? All right, we're coming. Keep him still! Don't let him move about or he'll simply hurt that arm more!"

Another voice ran out from elsewhere in the room. Bosch tried raising his other arm, and succeeded a bit before a hand came down and restricted the arm's movement, forcing it back down. The first voice spoke again, this time right next to Bosch.

"Sir, I don't think you want to do that, trust me. John, lower that field light there! It's too damn bright!"

A much more different voice - obviously belonging to John in this case - answered back from across the room. His voice was soft, as if behind some object or the other, which was odd since he didn't remember their being anything at the back of the bay….

"Roger, turning down the lights."

About a second later, the light dimmed enough to allow Bosch to stop squinting and then dimmed further to allow him to open up his eyes a bit more. Looking up, he saw Gibson waving at somebody to his right, and holding something else in his left hand. Upon closer examination, Bosch could see it was a hypodermic needle, used to inject drugs and other medicines directly into the bloodstream.

Gibson primed the needle and then looked down at Bosch. He could only look on as Gibson spoke "Don't worry Sir, it's going to be all right." Then he jabbed Bosch's left arm with the needle and injected the contents of the needle directly into his bloodstream. A jolt of pain went up his left side, and his vision slowly started to fade out, throwing Bosch back into the blissful darkness that was unconsciousness.

When he awoke again, the light was not as bright as it was before. In fact, it was not there at all, allowing Bosch to open his eyes almost immediately. He looked up at the ceiling, from which the field light hung, swinging about slowly from side to side.

His ears were still ringing, and he could barely hear a thing. A massive headache wasn't exactly helping either. Instinctively, he tried to bring his right arm up to his head. His attempt failed miserably as a jolt of pain went up the arm, eliciting a groan from Bosch.

Remembering what had happened earlier; Bosch learnt his lesson and decided to take a bit more care when moving his head from left to right. Cautiously, he turned to the left, trying to turn as far as he could before it started hurting. He managed to get it to go to as much as it should, but it felt a bit stiff and difficult. However, there appeared to be no major damage. Consequently, he managed to get a partial view into the cockpit, not mention a good idea on where exactly he was in all of the transport.

But what stuck out at him was the situation of the cockpit. The entire windscreen and front had been smashed in and covered with white snow. The control panel was now only a little over a foot away from the back of the seat where he had been sitting. The right side of the panel was significantly closer, which would explain the pain in his right arm. It must have been crushed by the panel, or at least partially broken during the crash. Quite a bit of the left side of the cockpit was not visible, as it was buried in the snow, but Bosch could make out part of one of the metallic harnesses that he had secured Sarno and John onto the wall. As he studied it, he was a bit shocked to see some blood on the harness. Whoever had been strapped there had been obviously been injured quite badly, which meant he was probably to his right side.

Turning his neck back, Bosch tried the other side. Slowly, the rest of the transport came into view, and it was a very different one. The long corridor that had been clear before was now littered with debris. Along the walls, Bosch could see the empty harnesses where the rest of his crew had strapped themselves in on the way down. Where had they gone? Had they all managed to make it? He certainly hoped they had.

Then his gaze fell onto one of the corners next to the second exit leading to the engine section, directly opposite from the small hole that led down to the cargo bay. In the corner were two bodies, wrapped and covered in white sheets. Bosch stared at both the bodies for a second, unable to comprehend what he was looking at. Then he simply looked back up and gave out a sigh, closing his eyes.

By this time the ringing in his ears had mostly died down. Perhaps it was time to try and get up. Moving his left arm cautiously, he was capable of moving it significantly without much problem. The tried the same with his legs, starting with the left first, both appeared to be uninjured.

Good….I'll be needing both of them. he thought to himself. This was going to be painful, to say the least. Grunting, Bosch tensed his back, and then using his left arm and leg, managed to lift himself off the platform and onto his back. His right arm exploded in pain, forcing his features into a grimace and nearly causing him to scream out in agony. But Bosch controlled himself; he couldn't cave in to the pain, not here, not now.

When he was finally up, he looked down at his right arm. From what he could see, his arm was in a complete plaster cast, making it rather heavy to hold up. The cast was supported by a cloth wrapped around his arm and neck. It was obvious that the advanced medical tools he was normally used to weren't available, hence forcing them to resort to this. But at least it worked, so Bosch could complain little.

Bosch swung his legs off the platform, letting his feet dangle a few inches off the ground. He sat at the platform for a few minutes, trying to hear if anyone else was there. No sounds were present, except for a loud howling from the rear of the engine. Where had everyone else gone? Why had he been left alone here?

Deciding that sitting around would not be very productive, Bosch got off the platform, grunting in pain as his right arm moved a bit as he did so. Unfortunately, he nearly fell down as his legs - unused to the gravity thus far - almost crumpled under the weight of his body. Only the fact that he was using his left arm to help support his body prevented him from falling down. The weight of the sling drew heavily on his neck, forcing him to hunch a bit.

Perhaps walking around would not be such a good idea Bosch thought to himself. He was in no condition to leave the transport, or walk anywhere for that matter. Instead, he decided to climb back onto the platform and sit down. The others probably went out for food or something else, so instead he would have to sit here and wait.

Bosch looked around for a stash or some supplies of some sort first. He was thirsty and hungry, not to mention would need something to keep himself busy with. Finally, he found a small bag near the base of the platform. He first jumped up onto the platform as best as he could, and then bent down and grabbed the bag, lifting it up to the top platform, he opened it, rummaging through.

Inside, he found a few medical supplies, a small canister holding some water. There was no food inside, but Bosch also found a small notebook that was somewhat damaged, but still intact. Inside the book was a small pen, along with notes on the first few pages. It appeared to be in Sargo's handwriting, but the notes themselves were dated quite old, and hence useless in this situation.

Deciding the claim the book as his own, Bosch carefully and neatly removed the first few pages (Sargo may want it back) and then kept it aside in a neat pile next to him. Placing the now-open book in his lap, Bosch carefully positioned the pen in his left hand and attempted to write. Although the handwriting was bad, it was still legible enough for Bosch to be able to read.

And so he began to write.

This is the written log of Admiral Aken Bosch, ex-leader of the Neo Terran Front.

Due to a lack of tape recorders or other such audio recording equipment, I have been forced into using commandeering this old notebook - it was probably Sargo's previously - for the use of my logs and notes. From what I can see, the current situation appears to be quite bad from the crash. I still don't know how we managed to crash, as everything seemed to be going all right till the moment we touched down. After that, I remember nothing.

The crash itself was pretty severe, upon examining of the cockpit area and what remains of my seat; I realize that having a broken arm is actually a blessing, compared to the alternative. This is the closest I've come to death in years, the last time being my encounter with the GTI and the Hades so many decades ago.

Unfortunately, as I have just found out, it seems two others of my crew were not as lucky. The only question remains is which two members of my crew lie underneath the white cloth. Unfortunately, it is an answer I am unable to easily discern. Judging from the blood stain that is present in one of the harnesses in the cockpit, one of the bodies could be Sarno's or John's. I will have to wait for the others to confirm who exactly it is first, before I try making any more judgment on the matter….

But still…it disturbs me to see death at such closeness. As a pilot in my days of the GTA and then as the Supreme Commander of the NTF, I have the deaths of Millions of individuals, both Terran and Vasudan on my hands, but these deaths have always remained at a distance. As a fighter pilot, I never actually saw my enemy and each time I destroyed one of their fighters, I never once stopped to think, never once paused to consider who the enemy actually was. It is something that I have avoided all my life, and something I put aside so that I could continue with this bold crusade. But now, two people with whom I have survived this journey have died. What will their families think of back home? That they died for a good cause? Or merely at the hands of an evil dictator, much akin to the long-dead fuehrer himself?

I was prepared for the verdict history placed upon me, but now I question myself, did I prepare myself for the verdict history would place on those whom are close to me?

To achieve my goal of ensuring the survival of humanity, I had to see the death of millions, all ordered at my hands. But now, upon recollection, does it seem worth it? Everyday during that period, I reassured myself that it was, that saving the lives of billions would require the sacrifice of a few million.

Now that the deed has been done, there is little I can do but to pray that this fool's crusade is indeed justified. As I re-assured myself so long ago, I must re-assure myself now. I have no choice but to play this role to the bitter end, no matter what ending that may be. Those who decided to come with me made their decision. While history may decide their verdicts, at the very least, I know it is untrue, I know what their sacrifices meant.

I cannot stop here, not now, not ever, especially when I am so close to unlocking the mystery behind the Shivans, and what may just be a new hope for the human race.

End log.