The First Contact War

by 1Ragnarok1

In 2621 a Galactic Republic vessel is found in the Orion Arm, this springboards the United Earth Government into a galaxy at the start of the Clone Wars. A war that will test the 2nd UEG Expeditionary Force as well as the UEG finding out where it fits in this new galaxy, and their new neighbours.

17. That Others May Live

The First Contact War

Chapter 17

That Others May Live

"It is my duty as a Pararescueman to save life and to aid the injured. I will be prepared at all times to perform my assigned duties quickly and efficiently, placing these duties before personal desires and comforts. These things we (I) do, that others may live." Pararescue Creed.

2622 September 12th Earth Standard Calendar, Yinchorr, Senior Airman Johnathon Mar.

Senior Airmen Johnathon, or John, Mar, 114th Rescue Squadron, two tours, one on Abregado and one on Vanqor. Mar had rescued more men than a small clinic could treat in a month. It was the beginning of his third tour and the first shift change for his unit. In an addition to his team, a new recruit fresh out of PJ Indoc had joined them for the ride. Summer time, the CIS attacks were frequent and high during the hottest season of the year. Mar was from Arcadia and was used to the weather, his tanned skin making him different from the rest of his lobster red teammates. Yinchorr had been taken over in a coup supported by the CIS, the OAG had been quick to respond and it two months the world had been liberated. However there were still Separatist Militias dotted all over the world.

The AM team was changing shifts with the PM team. Mar and fifteen others would be working from noon until 11 PM at night. The team would be hooking their gear up to the VTOL's passenger bay complete with blood packs, medical equipment and their own personal protective vests and gear. John was finish up his preparations and was waiting for blood packs along with extra medical gear to be stocked in the helicopter when the dreadful sound rang out from the airbase's speakers.

The speakers boomed as the automated audio clip played before the dispatcher spoke, "Pedros. Scramble, scramble, scramble."

"What the fuck?" John screamed, "What about the blood packs and other equipment?"

"AM team's bringing it!" John's senior, Gary yelled, "Get your gear on and get ready to dust off!"

John quickly pulled on his body armour and medical gloves, seeing the two other members of the team rushing to the helicopter. In their arms were boxes for blood packs while another two behind them had medical equipment. Slipping on his ballistic sunglasses and helmet, John jumped inside the helicopter to do the final check while waving goodbye to the AM shift guys. The rookie and another experienced pararescuemen were gearing up as the pilots started up the Warbird. Hot air started to blast into the passenger bay, the sound of rotors whirling before turning into a thundering thumping. Mar jacked the radio into his headset to hear the pilots talking.

"Pedro 3-2, spooled up and ready to lift," he heard the pilot report.

"Everyone ready?!" John screamed.

All three gave him a thumbs-up.

"PJ, Pilot, crew ready for dust off," John reported.

"Roger PJ, lifting off in one mike."

Mar reached for the right side door and slid the slab of metal shut. The rookie, Barnaby Smith, was still donning his helmet when the helicopter jerked forward. The MH-64 Warbird soon took off and with it, the four pararescuemen. John looked out the window to see a plain of desert stretching as far as the eye can see with a few mountains poking above the horizon. Tol-Kashorn airbase was one of the few places that he felt slightly safe in, just slightly. Another Warbird was flying ahead of theirs. Pedro 3-1 was their lead Warbird with another batch of pararescuemen. Their job was to load seven more patients if need be and to provide air cover for Pedro 3-2 as they extracted the injured.

"Gary!" John screamed, "Gary! What does MIST say?!"

"Uh..." Gary muttered, looking at a small PDA device, "one CAT Alpha. Not amputated, GSW to chest and arm. Lost a lot of blood."

"Hey Rich," John screamed, "get an IV drip going and prep a blood pack just in case!"

"What?!" Barnaby yelled back, trying to hear over the engines.

"I. V. I. V," John screamed back, making gestures with his hands, "and a blood pack!"

Barnaby passed Mar a clear plastic bag with clear liquid floating inside. He clipped the carabiner holding the IV bag to the top of the helicopter, a small radio wire holding the bag in place. Soon, there were bags holding various liquids hanging from the Warbirds ceiling with clear tubes cascading down from them. Extra preparations were made just in case there were more patients preparing to board the medevac helicopter. John was looking out the window when he saw Gary look down at his vest. The team leader reached into his pouch and pulled out the PDA, his eyebrows scrunching in curiosity before looking up at the other three.

"Change in the MIST!" MIST or Mechanism of injury, Injuries, Signs/Symptoms, Treatment, "two CAT Alphas and one CAT Bravo, IED, GSW to chest and arm along with IED, shrapnel to body!"

"Is that MIST for the other CAT Alpha and Bravo?" John screamed.

"Yeah!" Gary yelled back. "Jason," he spoke into his headset microphone, "we are taking all injured, copy?"

"Check," came the short reply.

"Pilot, CRO," the pilot spoke.

"CRO, go ahead," Combat Rescue Officer Gary replied.

"Exit's on right side the dude," the pilot stated.

"Check."

Mar kept watch over the horizon as they flew towards their VLZ (VTOL Landing Zone) just twenty to thirty miles from the airbase. He hoped that the patient would be delivered to the hospital within the golden hour. One hour was all that stood between life and death. Shortly after the golden hour, the chance of survival would drop off dramatically. The two tour veteran felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Gary tapping his watch on the left wrist along with flashing his finger fingers.

They were five minutes out.

John pulled open the right door and felt the gust of cold wind rush into the passenger bay. It felt good. The ground below looked absolutely staggering for a war torn country. Mountains rose from their left with white snow-capped peaks, huge lakes of glimmering blue water slid by below them and the brown sky with a few clouds behind them as the two helicopters banked right towards the ground. Mar sat on the edge of the Warbird and grabbed onto the rail while the Warbird banked. Soon, they were flying just a few hundred feet above the rooftops. Mar flicked the safety off and racked the charging handle of his AC-30 Carbine to chamber a Plasma bullet.

The Senior Airmen glanced left to see his helicopter's flight engineer racking the M2 Plasma Machine Gun. None of the Plasma bullets in the belt were moving into the machine gun. This looked bad. Another pull and still nothing. Looks like the gun wasn't feeding correctly. Mar couldn't hear anything over the engines wiring in the air. He saw the flight engineer lift up the Browning's cover before slamming it back down and pulling on the charging handle.

Nothing.

"Hey Gary!" Mar yelled.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"What's up with the right gun?"

"It's hard bent!" Hard bent, slang for broken.

John could hear the pilots talk but the constant, loud wirr of the engines made it hard for him to hear even with ear protection. If the right gun failed, they might have to resort to the LMG-5 Squad Automatic Weapon back-up they had inside the helicopter. Loud heavy, metallic thumps exploded in his ears as Mar turned to see the left door gunner testing his own machine gun with lethal results. He gave a thumbs up to the pilots before resuming his duty of watching the ground below. Then, Mar could hear good news over the faint radio transmissions.

"Uh," the voice muttered, "I got the right gun back online again."

A series of heavy thumps exploded close to him.

"Yeah, it's working again," the flight engineer on the right gun reported.

"That is fucking awesome dude," the pilot replied.

They were close to the VLZ, only a few minutes left before they would be on the ground. He knew nothing except that they were picking up OAG soldiers twenty to thirty miles from Tol-Kashorn Airbase. It was their job to put their lives on the line, and just like their motto, so that 'others may live.' Mar felt the Warbird jerk left, his arm quickly grabbing onto the rail by the door.

"One, defending. I have a missile launch warning and I can't see the trail," the pilot quickly reported.

Pops and fizzes exploded from the rear of the chopper in the form of glowing orange balls. Flares were being launched to protect the Warbird against enemy heat seeking rockets and missiles. The Warbird banked right once more to zigzag towards the HLZ. Just as fast as it came, the threat was gone. They were now circling the landing zone and were waiting for the friendly forces to signal that it was all clear. It had to be swept of IEDs and mines or else the Warbird crew itself would become the injured.

"Alright," the pilot spoke up, "the ground team says it's clear. 3-2's going in to land."

"Roger, 3-1's cover."

"PJs," the pilot called, "expect a brown out!"

The Warbird levelled off and pitched up to land. Brownout, or a visual restriction usually from sand or dust from the helicopter's rotor downwash. This made it extremely dangerous for both the pilots and the PJs. Both can't see the enemy beyond the cloud of dust and made them extremely vulnerable to incoming fire. As the Warbird closed distance with the VLZ and the ground, a cloud of dust erupted from underneath the Warbird. It was being blown away by the powerful rotors and encased the helicopter like a hurricane, with the Warbird being the eye of a brown storm.

"Twenty, fifteen, ten, five, tail...brakes," the pilot called out the altitude in feet as John felt a sudden jolt.

"Clipping out," Gary reported, the four men pulling out their radio jacks connecting them with the helicopter's communication.

Mar hopped off the Warbird right after Richard and Gary with his other teammate, Finn, bringing up the rear. The four crouched down right next to the passenger door. Dust, dirt and sand blew all around the Warbird. It was too dangerous to venture blind. For all they knew, enemy fire could cut down the entire team there and then. Mar wanted to take the risk to walk through the fog of war. It was their job after all so that others may live. John saw movement from his peripheral vision. He glanced over to see the pilot's hand waving towards the helicopter's left, just off the nose.

Gary looked back and screamed, "follow me!"

Gary got up, calmly walking straight out from the helicopter to avoid the hot exhaust and turned towards the direction that the pilot waved at. Nothing but brown clouds. Slowly, the fog of dust parted ways to reveal Army soldiers standing around two stretchers and a female. It seemed like a camera crew was also there and the female was a reporter or attached journalist. Gary instantly went to the medic for information as Richard and Finn helped the two men load the stretchers onto the helicopter.

Mar was left with the female reporter.

"Are you okay ma'am?!" Mar screamed over the sound of the rotorblades.

"Y-y-yes!" the reporter screamed back, "I have a couple of scratches here and there but my leg's broken from the IED blast!"

"Okay ma'am," Mar replied, "get on my back! I'll carry you to the Warbird!"

The reporter hesitated for a second before jumping on Mar's back. Her leg was bandaged up and a makeshift splint was wrapped around it. Mar could feel her weight against his back as he shuffled forwards. As if on cue, all hell started to break loose. One single laser zinged right by his ear, a ricochet bouncing off the warbirds metal skin. The Warbird was a giant laser magnet and was the biggest target for an ambush.

"Contact!" the Army soldiers screamed.

"John," Gary yelled from behind him, "get her on the fucking Bird! I'll cover you!"

Mar ran the same pattern. Straight down, adjacent from the Warbird and straight in. He placed the reporter on the helicopter's deck and eased her inside while Gary fired off rounds right behind him. The flight engineers were stoic, their eyes scanning the cloud of dust for any droids that might be running through the fog and inside the repulse engines or area around the helicopter. There were many attempts at suicide bombing on a warbird before and this was not going to be the last. John hopped in and immediately raised his rifle as Barnaby and Finn had started treatment on the patient.

"Everyone's in!" John yelled into the microphone as he connected himself to the helicopter's comms and saw Gary mounting the Pave Hawk, the CRO closing the door behind him.

"Everyone's accounted for, Pedro 3-2 dusting off," the pilots reported, "hold on."

Mar felt his stomach lurch, the helicopter dangerously exploding upwards into the air and pitching forward. The burst of speed carried the aircraft out of the brown smoke and straight into the air. He could hear the thumping of Pedro 3-1's M2's hammering the enemy on the ground with fifty calibre plasma bullets. The helicopter was climbing rapidly to cruise altitude as they banked left towards the OAG hospital.

"Contact, contact muzzle flare at eight o'clock low," Mar heard one of the flight engineers call out the targets.

Another series of pings echoed inside the helicopter.

"Holy shit that was right on," the pilot muttered.

"Three dudes, you see that?" the co-pilot reported, "they look like they have rocket tubes."

"Climbing," the pilot replied.

Mar hooked his rifle up the back wall, the carabiner hanging from the back of his rifle's buttstock. He paid no heed to the reporter. She might be civilian but the two other patients were Catagory Alpha or severe. He did a quick blood sweep to see if he was injured anywhere else and started to pack the gunshot wounds with bandages to soak up the blood. Then, a quick shot of Ketamine to dull the pain before inserting an IV drip into the neck of his elbow to deliver blood. Gary helped him, making sure everything was okay.

"Hey buddy," Gary said as he patted the soldier's face, "you're okay. You're going to make it, okay?"

The soldier merely moaned and lifted up his left arm, forming an okay sign.

"That's it," Gary replied with a reassuring nod, "stay with us buddy."

"Hey!" Mar heard Finn scream, "hey! Blood sweep!"

Barnaby skipped steps. His face looked like a man who was processing information far too slowly. Some had to become accustomed to the information overload while others adapt fairly quickly. The blood sweep was vital; it was to check if there were any injuries they didn't find or know about. Barnaby did the blood sweep and quickly went to insert an IV drip. Gary on the other hand, was busy with the soldier's left leg. It was amputated, blown off by the IED. The lead pararescuemen was busy trying to get a tourniquet to clamp down the bleeding.

"IV's not working!" Barnaby screamed, holding up the needle and shaking his head.

"Go for an IO!" Gary yelled a reply as his medical gloves were drenched in blood.

An Intraosseous Infusion was an operation that injected blood straight into the bone marrow. It was going to hurt the soldier and bad. Mar quickly jumped to action, slipping a syringe of Ketamine into the soldier's blood stream before letting Barnaby perform the IO. The rookie pulled out a red apparatus that looked like rotary saw except the tip had a giant, sharp needle. He fitted another needle like device onto it and rolled the soldier onto his side. Slowly, Barnaby pushed the needle into the soldier's shoulder and heard the agonizing scream erupt from the man's mouth.

"It's just going to hurt for a bit!" Finn assured just as Barnaby pulled the IO inserter out and plugged in a blood pack tube.

Red liquid spiralled down into a small device before going into the soldier's IO. He was receiving blood that would probably save his life. The screaming subsided to a moan as the four pararescuemen continued to treat the patients. They were within the golden hour alright. Pedro 3-2 arrived at the helipad only fifty minutes into the golden hour, the Warbird touching down right next to an ambulance.

Mar slammed open the door to see two Army soldiers rushing out to get their comrade. Gary and Finn went into the first ambulance with the patient while Barnaby and Finn went into the next with the reporter and the less critical soldier. The two soldiers were sent straight into the examination bay and then into the surgery room. Gary and Finn were giving the doctors information while Hume handed off the reporter.

A female Army nurse was waiting for him.

"What have you got?" she asked, flashing a smile.

"She's got a broken right leg, splint. Minor incarcerations and scratches from shrapnel. Otherwise she's okay," Mar reported as the nurse nodded.

"Thanks guys," she said patting him on the back, "we'll take her from here."

John lingered for a few minutes longer, waiting for his brothers as they watched the men being wheeled away on medical beds. As they turned to walk back to their helicopters, the three of them patted Barnaby on the back. It was his first day and he was doing better than expected. Back on the Warbird, John stared at the blood on the deck. So much maroon blood staining the black metal. The stench and sight of drying blood was forever burned into the back of his head. But this was war, it was real and it was gritty.

The Warbird was back in Tol-Kashorn Airbase, it's pilots flying the metal bird into its final traffic pattern before landing it back on the helipad. The emotion was raw still, visceral like the war around it. John had felt it before and there were no words to describe it. He tried to describe it to his father, mother and siblings back home but not no avail. What was it, that feeling of doing your best to save someone's life before they passed away? Satisfaction that you saved a life, regret that you could have done something better, guilt that you didn't move fast enough?

He would never know.

Metal shuddered, his body jerked forward slightly and the Warbird came to a complete stop. Whines escaped the engines as they spooled down and the repulsers blue glow diming while the pilots shut down the aircraft. John slid the door open and jumped off, taking off his vest and helmet. He hooked the gear back on its place at the rear wall of the Warbird. The same was done to his rifle with the carabiner at the back of the buttstock. He turned around to see the lead Warbird's crew coming up to congratulate Richard on a job well done.

"Hey good job buddy," Jason, the Pedro 3-1's CRO, praised Barnaby.

"Yeah, out-fucking-standing work out there man," Finn rubbed the rookie's head.

"We'll make a combat rescue crewman out of you yet," John said with a small smile.

"Thanks guys," Barnaby grunted as he hooked up his gear, "means a lot to me."

"You know what means alot to me?" the pilot said taking off his helmet, the radio/mouth shield combo, "helping me clean up the blood on Jessica."

"Yes sir, Lieutenant Hardass sir," Gary sighed as the pilot laughed, "I'm the only one keeping you and your patients alive Lieutenant."

"Still can't believe you called the Warbird Jessica"

The four plus the four flight engineers and pilots went on about their day. Scrubbing the aircraft down and sanitizing it, the red blood washing away from the black metal of the Warbird. After they had done that, it was back to the ready room. Food, entertainment, lavatories, all of it had to be there. The Pararescuemen had to be within sprinting distance of the Warbirds.

Hours passed by and the eight were lounging around in their office chairs. The room was cooled by large air conditioners and on the tables were TV dinner like trays devoid of food. They sat in a wooden box awaiting their next call, and wait they did.

The automated audio alarm blared before the voice spoke, "Pedros, scramble, scramble, scramble."

"There's our next call!" Gary yelled, jumping out of his seat and out the door. Towards the helicopter.

"Putting our lives on the line so that others might live!" John screamed after him, the Arcadian sprinting just behind him.

This was his life.

His life as a pararescueman.

2622 November 18th Earth Standard Calendar, Senior Airman Johnathon Mar, Dorin.

Another day, another possible life waiting to be saved. It has been two months into deployment and yet nothing too gruesome had shown up. Okay, maybe gruesome but not soul maiming. Senior Airmen Johnathon 'John' Mar sat idly in his chair while throwing a tennis ball at the wall opposite of him.

His Warbird's Combat Rescue Officer, Gary, was in his own officer's cubicle separated from the enlisted men. He often joined the rowdy grunts but for today, he was talking to his wife back home. Barnaby Smith, the team's newly christened rookie, stared blankly into a news channel reporting the war. The British female news anchor thanking the Pararescuemen for rescuing the documentary host from under enemy fire and delivering her to relative safety along with much needed medical care and also reporting on a creature called the Zillo Beast that had rampaged on Courascant. Steven Finn, the team's third most seasoned veteran, was fooling around in the computer room. The annoying thing about having to fight on Dorin was that all OAG personnel had to wear breathing masks 24/7 or else they would suffocate in the toxic air.

One of the lead Warbird's men were mess around with each other, the two trying to have staple wars from their chairs. Such were one of war's most forgotten tragedies: Boredom.

"I almost got you!" one of them screamed, "fucking close!"

"Bruce," Mar muttered with boredom as he continued throwing the ball, "better stop it before you staple your balls to the chair."

"Like hell I will," Bruce shot back before his friend landed a quick blow to the crotch of his service trousers, nailing the fabric to the chair.

"Woo!" Bruce's friend, Tony, yelled in victory, "nailed it!"

"Ha ha, very funny T," Bruce replied with a low mumble.

Then, the alarm rang out accompanied by an audio clip, "Pedros, scramble, scramble, scramble."

"Fuck," Bruce screamed as he tried to unpin his trousers' crotch from the staple, "I'm stuck!"

"I told you so," Mar laughed, running out the door and towards the helicopter.

The seventy-meter sprint towards the flight line was nothing short of explosive. Each second counted as the timer ticked down for the wounded. With his heart pounding against his chest from the short sprint, Mar threw on his plate carrier and radio headset. He watched the pilots getting into their seats as he donned his helmet. One unified whirl from both engines signalled that the Warbird was starting up. The blades slowly turned before speeding up into an air chopping roar. Mar clipped himself into the Warbird's intercom system, the combat rescue airmen finishing his final gear check. He sat on the helicopter's passenger deck with his legs dangling down from the side.

"Pedro 3-2 spooled up and ready for lift off," the pilot reported on the intercom.

"Pedro 3-1, ditto here," the pilot of the flight's lead helicopter replied.

Mar slipped on his Oakley sunglasses while waiting next to Gary for the Warbird to lift off. A minute passed, then two, nothing happened. Mar waited anxiously for the Warbird flight to taxi to the short runway. His right index finger was tapping against his AC-30 Carbine's magazine well in impatience. The wounded's life counter was ticking down each second they sat here doing nothing on the flight line.

Mar turned to Gary and asked, "What the fuck are we waiting for?!"

"Don't know!" Gary yelled back.

"And what does MIST say?!" Mar asked once again.

"Dorin boy, GSW to torso, MIST doesn't say where specifically!" Gary answered back, consulting the small PDA tucked away in the depths of his vest.

"Hey PJs," the co-pilot said and looked back from the cockpit, "we're still on standby. Boss is trying to confirm whether or not the kid's up to MEDROE."

MEDROE or Medical Rules of Eligibility were changed in recent years. Before, the Pararescue could pick up injured non-OAG children and non-OAG citizens alike. Now, only those who were in critical condition, like from a bullet wound to the head, were eligible to be picked up by the Warbirds. This, in John's opinion, was an unwelcomed change. Every life counts, no matter the nationality. And the team's motto, 'That Others Might Live', would not be fulfilled in the slightest. Only those hit by accidental fire from the joint Republic and OAG Forces were allowed to be picked up in addition to the critically wounded.

A sense of frustration started to swelter inside the Senior Airmen.

"Anything from Command?!" Gary yelled into the headset's microphone.

"No," the pilot replied with a sigh, "nothing dude."

"This is frustrating," Barnaby muttered into the microphone.

"Damn right it is," Finn sighed back an answer.

Another fifteen or so minutes passed before an answer arrived, "uh…stand down, stand down," the pilot said.

"What? Why?!" Barnaby yelled back angrily.

"Kid got shot by the CIS, not us," the pilot replied as the shut down the Warbird.

"God damn it!" Barnaby screamed, "we could have helped him."

"Could have, would have, should have," Finn said, patting the rookie's shoulder, "we're in the military and have orders to follow B. We aren't Doctors Without Borders."

Mar clipped the carabiner attached to the butt stock of his rifle to the rear wall of the Warbird. The rear wall held all the medical equipment they needed to keep a person alive during the trip to the OAG field hospital or Dorin hospital. The eight pararescue airmen walked back towards the command centre in disappointment. With the gear still on, they entered the air-conditioned room with the hope of the call would once again come for them to save the kid's life.

"What happened?" John asked the question of which he already knew the answer to his commanding officer, Captain Derek McHale.

"Not up to fucking MEDROE," Captain McHale sighed and rubbed his face in frustration.

"Wish we could have done something about it still," Barnaby muttered with silent frustration.

"Could have, but what if another call comes in during that child's rescue? Mass casualties and tango one patients?" Captain McHale shot back to a silent Barnaby. Tango One patients were those in need of immediate surgery to save their lives and were number one priorities.

The alarm blared once again. "All Pedros, scramble, scramble, scramble," the dispatch spoke into a microphone stand above a stack of military radios.

"There's your other call, now chop, chop PJs," Captain McHale said and clapped his hands twice to shoo the airmen out.

The pilots, who were just taking off their helmets after a post-flight check, even though they didn't get off the ground, were once again donning the metal brain buckets. Hume climbed back into the helicopter's passenger bay and sat down by the lip of the deck. He grabbed his rifle before quickly giving a thumbs-up to the flight engineer whom was clipping the Maxillofacial Shield to his helmet. The Maxillofacial Shield or simply, the MFS, was a small metal mask that covered the wearer's lower face from debris and dust during flight operations and allows for a microphone to be placed inside for better radio communications.

Mar watched as the other three members of the rescue unit quickly climb aboard and slam their fists into the side of the Warbird's skin to signal that they were ready. It took a few minutes for the Warbird to spool up again, but this time, they had the go signal. The Warbird jerked forward before turning left and towards the runway. Before long, they were rolling forward and into the air. The Warbird slowly cruised from the tarmac, gaining speed and banking left towards, what John remembered was, Dor'shan City.

"MIST updates!" Gary screamed into his microphone over the chopping of the rotor blades, "mass casualties of twelve! Confirmed one Dorin child, two Dorin National Soldiers and two OAG Soldiers! Others still unknown, but these guys are CAT Alphas!"

Category Alphas were critically wounded. They needed to be rescued within the golden hour or the risk of losing them multiplies by the minute. Mar slid himself back into the passenger bay as soon as the helicopters were flying at their designated altitude and pulled the doors forward, closing them. The four of them start preparing blood packs and IV bags with IV lines already hooked up. Mar pulled off his combat gloves and pulled on black medical ones in anticipation of a bloodied patient. It was about fifteen minutes from Dor'shan Air Base to Dor'shan City and even more with headwind.

"I don't like this," the new co-pilot, Sam, was a new recruit just like Barnaby, "looks like an ambush to me."

"I know what you're saying," their pilot, Ben, replied, "it doesn't sit well with me."

"Weapons chambered when we go in?" Sam asked.

"Definitely dude," Ben breathed a reply.

Incidents like this were laser magnets from the CIS. Blow up civilian and military targets, wait for the Birds to pick them up and blow them up too. Much higher casualty rates and a much higher payoff, the chopper's M2 plasma machine guns' door guns were here to make sure that didn't happen. Mar watched the cockpit to see Ben pull out his K11 pistol and rack the slide to chamber a round. Sam was flying the route today, just because he's the co-pilot doesn't mean he didn't fly. Everyone had to gain experience.

Mar checked his watch.

1628 Hours.

"We're ten mikes out," Ben said, "make ready."

Hume watched the two flight engineers unlock their M2's from the downed position. Both racked the charging handle to chamber the large fifty calibres round, test firing them on the mountain range they were flying overhead. Left and right door guns fired with a loud thumping, much louder than the engines.

"Left gun ready," one of the flight engineers reported.

"Right gun ready," the other said.

"Are you sure Leo?" Ben asked, teasing the flight engineer, "it's not going to be like the first time we deployed right?"

"Fuck no Ben," Leo replied, "this time it's working for sure."

"If you say so dude," Ben said as the city of Kandahar revealed itself behind the mountains.

"Five mikes," the pilot warned.

Mar threw open the right door, preparing to jump out either side as soon as the helicopter touched down. Below them, the plains of Dorin were filled with life. The odd Eerm slithering about, men working in the fields and women walking to and from the towns to buy groceries. It would have all seemed a bit backwards if not for the technological structures that dotted the towns.

"This is strange," Ben muttered into the radio, "I can't raise command or the ground forces."

"Do you think they're jamming?" Sam asked.

"Don't know. Have you been to Dor'shan before?" Ben replied.

"Negative," Sam stated.

"Do you want me to fly the approach dude? It could get pretty hot."

After a short pause, Sam replied, "Yeah, okay."

Mar's stomach started to fill up with butterflies. He wasn't normally nervous, but this was bad. OAG forces jamming communications means the loss of time for the injured and the fact that they were under such heavy fire that the jamming needed to be done. He felt the helicopter shift underneath him, the metal beast banking left to orbit in a counter clockwise pattern. Cracks from below were tell-tale signs of a gunfight. It was going to be hot when they go in.

"Jason!" Gary yelled into his headset microphone, "we'll pick up the kid and the two Dorin forces okay?"

No answer.

"Jason?!" Gary yelled once again, "screw this noise."

"Jamming's messing with flight communications," Ben replied.

"Can you level out so I can signal Pedro 3-1's CRO?" Gary asked.

"I can try," Ben said with a nod.

Mar watched as the formation lights and anti-collision lights on the Warbird flash on for a short two or so seconds. The lead Warbird of the flight levelled out, allowing their chopper to catch up. Gary came face to face with Jason, the lead Warbird's CRO. Flying in close formation was dangerous but it was the only way to communicate information across to the other team. Gary started flashing his fingers in sign language with Jason responding in kind. It was a brief moment of silent communication between the two team leaders. A blast back to the dark ages.

"I. Will. Pick. Up. The. Kid. And. The. Two. Dorins," Gary muttered silently into the microphone.

"Jason, Gary, you copy?!" the transmission came back through.

"What the fuck is happening?" Gary screamed at the pilots.

"Jamming's let up," Ben quickly replied, "I'm getting information as we speak."

"I'll pick up the two kids and the Dorins, you get the two OAG forces and the rest of the casualties!" Gary yelled at Jason sitting only a dozen or so feet away from him in the other helicopter.

Jason gave him a thumbs-up.

"Pedro 3-2, Pedro 3-1, breaking off and entering orbit pattern," Ben reported.

"Roger that Pedro 3-2, 1's cover."

The Warbird banked hard left, bringing the aircraft over the outskirts of the city. Mar looked back to see tracers shooting from the roads into the city. The red tracers were OAG soldiers firing off their machine guns. It looked like four to five armoured vehicles were trying to protect the wounded men. The landing zone would be lit up in an instant, but they didn't have the luxury of time anymore.

"Okay PJs," Ben said as he took over the flight controls, "exit's on the left and expect the LZ to be super-hot."

"Roger that," Gary yelled, "bring us in Ben!"

"Check," Ben said calmly, "prepare for a brown out."

The Warbird flew straight, away from the landing zone before turning hard left back towards the small convoy of vehicles. Gary and Mar were to be the first ones out, Gary being the CRO and Mar being the most experienced enlisted Pararescuemen. Strong winds from the repulse engines were directed down and into the dust, sand and dirt. A rolling storm of dust started to expand from the centre like a tsunami of dirt. The dust enveloped the Warbird as it neared the ground, the pilots trusting the radar altimeter to show how far they were from the ground.

"Twenty, fifteen, ten…five, three, two, brace. Back, front, brakes." Ben reported the Warbird altitude as they touched down.

Mar felt the Warbird jerk violently as they smacked into the ground. Gary and he were the first two out the side of the Warbird. The dust cloud made by the engines made it impossible to see anything further than six feet in front of them. Mar took a knee and raised his rifle, creating a defensive perimeter while they took cover inside the Warbird's arc of fire. Just as Gary tried to move out of the Warbirds 'rotor disk' or the area where the engines were pushing the air down, a loud thud quickly made Mar extend out his arm with his hand curled into a fist. It was their sign for everyone to freeze.

"What the fuck was that?!" Finn screamed into the microphone.

Mar turned to Sam to see the co-pilot waving the airmen forwards and left from the rotor disk. Cautious, the four men slowly ventured out from the safety of the helicopter's M2 Plasma Machine Gun. As the airmen got further away from the engines, the dust started to clear with OAG forces hunching over six stretchers. Gary immediately ran to the medic in charge of the wounded to get information. Mar, Finn and Barnaby would triage the most wounded and take them on first. It was decided that the child and two of the most wounded Dorin soldiers would be on the trail helicopter.

"Go in, and then straight left at a ninety degree to the chopper!" Mar instructed a pair of OAG and Dorin soldiers holding the child's stretcher.

"Mar!" Gary screamed for him, "I need a-"

The crackling of laser cut Gary's sentence short as three rounds struck the side of the heavily armoured patrol vehicle. Mar lifted his rifle to take aim at the attackers. They were firing from the city. Mar squeezed the trigger twice to retaliate. The LMG-5 machine guns from the patrol vehicles opened up with a steady thumping. Another deeper, louder and slower thump exploded from the dust storm. The warbirds M2s was unleashing fifty calibre rounds into the city. Giant plasma hurled at the walls demolished the concrete like Lego pieces. While the Warbird was covering the four airmen, Mar grabbed hold of one of the stretchers and walked it into the dust storm. The three stretchers gave the four men just enough space to move around the patients.

Gary was the last on as the Warbird was about lift off. Mar slid the left door shut and gave the flight engineer a thumbs-up, jabbing the air and told him to lift off. The Warbird didn't and continued to sit on the ground as the right door gunner continued to hammer the enemy with his M2. Mar didn't wait, he immediately uncurled one of the five blood bags hanging from the communication lines running along the ceiling of the Warbird in preparation for Gary's command.

"Mar, you get the guy in the middle. Finn, the guy on the right," Gary yelled into microphone, "Barnaby and I will get the kid!"

"Check!" Finn screamed in reply.

Mar was spiking the blood pack's line into the IV of the Dorin man when Gary asked, "why the fuck aren't we dusting off?!"

"We have no comms with Pedro 3-1 or Command!" the left door gunner replied, "someone needs to go tell the ground commander to turn off his jammer until we get at least five miles out!"

Mar, being the closest to the door, volunteered.

"Barnaby," Mar tapped the rookie's shoulder, "take over for me!"

"You got it!" the young man said without hesitation.

Mar slammed the door open again to get a face full of dust, the air was moving fast and hard. The gale buffeted his body and tore at his uniform as he walked back out to the vehicles. Two men were still waiting for the second Warbird. Time was ticking down. Mar yelled at the Corporal to get his ground commander. One Captain ran out from the chaos of troopers returning fire. The only thing keeping the enemy from getting a clear shot on the soldiers and vice versa, was Mar's Warbird. The dust storm from the rotor blades obscured all vision.

"What is it soldier?" the Captain screamed.

"I need you to stop the jamming sir!" Mar replied, "We can't get a single transmission out to the hospitals or command. Your two soldiers there will die without it!"

"If we turn it off, the clankers will be able to coordinate their strikes!" the Captain rebuked.

"You have to turn it off sir! Your men. Will. Die. Mid-flight," Mar emphasized, the Captain took precious seconds to think.

"Alright," he finally said, "but as soon as that second bird gets in the air, we're turning it on."

"Roger that sir!" Mar nodded, finally some was being done.

The Senior Airmen got back onto the Warbird and lifted off not so soon after. There was a whine in the engines, the turbines roaring as the repulsers worked overtime to lift all eleven men inside into the air. Bellowing clouds of dust subsided as the aircraft skimmed low over the desert plains before ascending into the air, circling above the site to provide cover for the leading Warbird. Mar was hunched over the Dorin soldier, he was in a worse state than he had imagined. With two legs amputated and the bleeding still not stopped, he was going to die.

Pedro 3-2 banked left, giving the right flight engineer a break as the left M2 opened up on the enemies below. Mar was giving the Dorin soldier transfused blood but, it wasn't nearly enough. The soldier moaned in pain and rolled over. His right hand being held onto by the comrade next to him. Right then and there, he heaved all of his lunch onto the stretcher. Bits of whatever the Dorins ate covered the mans brown tunic.

Head trauma.

The man was fading fast.

"Ben!" Mar screamed at the top of his lung, "this guy's Tango One!"

Tango One or in critical need of surgery.

"The kid's also Tango One!" Gary screamed, "we need to get to Role 3 (OAG Field Hospital) immediately!"

"Pedro 3-1, Pedro 3-2, requesting we peel off and head for Hero (Dorin Hospital)," Ben asked the lead helicopter's pilot.

"Roger that, go for Hero," the radio transmission came.

The helicopter banked hard right, making the soldier roll back. Hume placed a hand on his heart. It was barely beating. By now, blood had speed everywhere on the deck. His pants, the black metal deck and the stretcher were all drenched in blood. The man alone had taken in two entire blood packs. Mar pulled out two more tourniquets from the back of the helicopter. He wrapped the black Velcro cloth around both of his amputated legs, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Why the fuck are we not going to Role 3?!" Gary screamed.

"Just give me a second dude," Ben replied, "I'm trying to get us to vector to Role 3. Sam, take over."

"Roger," the co-pilot replied.

Then, the inevitable happened. Mar saw no movement from the man's lung.

"He's not breathing!" Mar yelled out.

He placed his right index and middle finger on the man's neck.

No pulse, nothing.

Mar placed a breathing mask onto the Dorins face, and started to breathe air into the soldier. Blood welled from his mouth and made the lips slick with dripping liquid. CPR compressions came quickly after trying to restart his heart. Mar could feel the sternum bones cracking underneath his hands.

Still nothing.

His hands grabbed a portable defibrillator. Scrambling, he pulled out the two shock paddles, placing one near the left shoulder and the other right below his right chest muscle. Mar pushed the buttons. There was slight tensing of the man's muscles, but nothing. He tried again, waiting for the device to recharge. Another try. The man tensed, no jolting magic working medicine like in the movies here.

Nothing.

Two charges, it was time to give up, "he's gone."

"Package him up and switch with Barnaby!" Gary yelled, "Rich, go help Finn with the other guy!"

Mar wrapped a thermal blanket over him, making sure to leave his face open to air. Sometimes after people die, they do come back to life. He hoped that this was the same case. Mar then placed an open body back underneath before shifting his attention to the child. Gary was still trying to get an IV into the boy's thin veins. He switched to an IO, a blood transfusion device that would deliver blood straight into the bone marrow. It was mostly effective, but extremely agonizing and painful.

"We're green for Role 3," Ben reported.

"Great!" Gary screamed back in frustrated concentration.

The CRO jabbed the long needle into the boy's leg. Just as the needle touched the bone, the boy let out a blood curling scream. One that was filled solely with mind numbing pain. Gary eased off before trying again. Another agonizing scream came from the boy, he pushed the IO device away and latched his hand onto Mar's right medical gloved hand. The young boy held on tightly to the airmen. Mar looked up to Gary and shook his head. The pain was too much for the child to endure; he'd have to try an IV with the other arm.

"I'm going to try and spike his right arm!" Mar screamed.

"Do it fast," Gary replied, "we need to get hypertonic saline into him!"

Hypertonic Saline would help ease the pressure crushing the boy's head from the gunshot wound. He was bandaged up well and close to no blood was leaking from the bandages. Using both hands, Mar slowly positioned the needle over the boy's vein. The boy's right hand was gripped tightly to his rolled up sleeve. There was a pause before Mar jabbed the needle into his elbow. Some blood spilled out of the IV needle but not too much.

"I got it!" Mar said and inserted a tube from the Saline bag into the IV.

"We're close to Role 3!" Ben warned, "five mikes out!"

"Start packaging!" Gary screamed the order.

Mar helped Gary strap the boy into the stretcher and stroked his head gently with bloodied gloves. With a single nod, Mar communicated a thousand words in a short time span and reassured the child. He would grow up, maybe unable to work, unable to love a woman or have a child. But it was a life he would give to him no less. Every life was worth saving.

"Three mikes," Ben reported.

Mar shifted his focus to the dead soldier. Normally, if it was an OAG soldier, there would be rituals in place during the flight back. A flag would be given and last rites would be bestowed to the departing soldier. But here, to the Dorin soldier, no one knew what they had to do. The Dorin never gave them a procedure to follow. Mar could do nothing for him. He checked the man's pulse one last time.

Dead.

Out of respect as a fellow soldier and combatant, he zipped up the body bag covering his face and placed a hand on his chest. Under his breath, Mar a few words to send on his way and gave a minute of silence. As the Warbird neared the OAG hospital, Mar said his last words and turned around towards the door. The Warbird pitched up and slowed down while descending to land. There was a sudden jolt as the back wheel contacted the runway before both of the front wheels slammed into the tarmac. Gray flung the left door open and rushed the kid along with the wounded man towards the hands of the ambulance personnel. Mar waited patiently for the second ambulance to stop. Its occupants came rushing out from the back, ready to receive the wounded.

"He's KIA!" Mar screamed to the rushing men and women.

They nodded in reply, understanding that they didn't need to rush. While Gary and Finn whizzed away in their ambulance, Mar carried the dead soldier's stretcher personally. He wanted the man to be delivered to the hospital safely and back to his family for burial. Mar could hear the sirens of the other truck when they neared the OAG hospital. He got off with the stretcher. Another friendly face greeted him.

Green eyes and flowing red hair, this was Captain Claire Whitman's first tour to Dorin. At the age of twenty-four, just like Mar, she had just completed her medical degree with the Army and was shipped to Dorin to help with the OAG hospital. The parajumper had met her on his second batch of wounded. Nothing more than a friendly hello and thanks every now and then.

One day, the two met off shift. While Claire was waking up for her shift at five in the morning, John on the other hand, had to go to bed but couldn't sleep. He was having nightmares from pervious tours of duty. She invited him for a cup of coffee and from then on, things got serious for the two of them. Claire would visit John at the ready room after work, since the Senior Airmen had to stay until after midnight for his shift to be over.

"Rough day today?" Claire asked, trying to comfort him by rubbing his arm.

"You could say that…" Mar sighed and let the medical personnel take care of the body.

Mar gave a final salute as they carried the body into the hospital.

"Guy died on the flight here," Mar said with a grim smile.

"You can't save them all," Claire whispered.

"I know."

It was a few minutes before Jason's team brought in the two other wounded. Garbled transmissions made the mass casualties turn into five CAT Alpha wounded. Mar hung around the front with Claire, trying to catch whatever time he could with her. Even though there was a serious air hanging around the hospital personnel, Claire gave him a bottle of water and chatted with the slightly depressed Pararescuemen. If the helicopter could have landed sooner, if the ground forces weren't jamming their signal, if, if, if. Only ifs, his detachment commander, Kyle had told him to never second guess himself. But still, only if they had landed sooner.

"Thanks guys," Mar heard as the door open, his teammates coming out from the building.

"They Claire," they guys said to the female Army doctor.

"I better go," Mar said and gave her a quick peck to the lips.

"Take care," she replied.

"Claire, now you know public signs of affection are restricted…" Mar heard her friend scold her, the airmen chuckling as the truck drove away.

"The kid and dude will survive," Finn said with a large smile, "no thanks to your flirting with your girlfriend."

"Still wish we could have saved that other guy," Mar said with a sigh and brought a depressing tone over the team.

Back at the ready room, held up a single pair of dog tags to the bright fluorescent lights. It was from a soldier dying in the back of his Warbird. The man had survived from the flight and gave Mar his dog tags as a sign of thanks. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. He looked out the window to see the dark night sky and the flight line lit up by high powered stadium lights. There was a squeak from the door. Mar turned to see Claire with two plastic bags, just like in the Orion Arm.

"Hungry?" she asked the man confined to the ready room.

"Yeah," he said with a large smile, "famished."

"I've got fried rice and chicken," Claire replied.

"Really? Didn't know they had that sort of things here."

"It's a commodity, onetime thing by the base's guest chef," Claire said as she unpacked the plastic bags, "And I. Happened to get the last few boxes of it."

"Aw, and nothing for me?" Finn yelled from the computer room.

"Shut the fuck up and get back to your porn Finn, you'll die alone!" Mar yelled at the still single twenty-two-year-old airmen.

"Claire, he's being mean to me!" Finn screamed back.

"Don't mind him…"