Author's Note: Hey everybody. Just wanted to let you know I went back and edited some parts of the previous chapters; should help with the flow of the story a little better. Enjoy and peace!
P.S. I know Coral wasn't glassed till later, but, as I mentioned in the intro, my timeline is a little off the regular one.
Chapter Five: Check Up or Checking Me Out?
I hiked back to the lines, angry, bitter, and hot as hell. I took another drink of water from my canteen before reaching the others, and found it was getting close to empty. I'd have to fill up soon.
First, though, I relayed the news that we were being relieved to first platoon. Had we not been under strict rules about loud noises, they would have burst into cheers; as it was, they were all grinning widely. Seeing my troops happy brought my spirits back up.
Crouching back down into my foxhole, however, sent them plunging again. The cover I'd placed on my package did little to keep the food inside warm and sand-free. Hungry soldiers couldn't complain, but let's just say my meal was a lot crunchier than it should have been. At least the candy bar and self-cooling carton of milk that came in the meal packet were sealed individually; combat soldiers needed calorie-rich foods, both for simple functioning and because meals were eaten irregularly.
With my stomach full, I was in a much better mood. I picked up my rifle, which was again propped on its usual place, and went down the line to each foxhole. I spoke some to my platoon members, as much to keep morale up as to get to know them. When I walked back to my hole, Beesner was sitting in it; I'd rotated him out to the observation post for a few hours.
"How was it out there?" I asked, jumping into the hole with him. With two Marines and two rifles, it was a lot more crowded in here now.
"Quiet," Private Beesner said, looking away.
I gave him a nudge with my boot. "What's wrong?"
It was while Beesner looked out at the heat waves rolling across the desert that I noticed that tell-tale twinkle in his eyes; he didn't want me to see the tears rolling silently down his red cheeks.
I saw him swallow hard. "I, uh, I got a letter chip from the UNSC Marine Corps this afternoon, Lieutenant." He started speaking faster, getting it all out quick so he could control his emotions. "Coral was glassed by the Covies. My family's all dead."
The shock nearly took the wind out of me. What a horrible thing for such a young kid to experience. For anyone. "Jesus Christ, Beesner," I whispered slowly. "I don't even know what to say…"
"Don't," Beesner said, voice trembling. He was hanging on by a thread, and he knew it. "Just…let me…sit here for a while."
I listened to what the young private said and gave him the space he needed…well, as much space as you can give someone when you're both cramped in a small foxhole. I kept quiet and tried not to look at him too much, but sometimes I stole glances at him. For the better part of two hours, all he did was stare out at the desert, stony-faced, the clear white streaks on his crimson face the only remnants of dried tears. He didn't cry anymore, but gone was his youthful enthusiasm and innocence. Like me, trauma had caused him to grow up too fast; I suddenly felt a greater connection to the young private, and I knew poor Beesner would never be the same.
A short while later, my eyes started getting droopy. I'd been awake since two that morning, and it was now nearing evening on this side of Heath. I'd gone days without sleep before, but when the opportunity presented itself, I slept all I could. Soon after I'd first spotted signs of my fatigue, I was dozing.
What seemed like only minutes later, I felt something nudging my shoulder. Still half-asleep at first, I thought nothing of it until I was nudged harder. Acting out of pure reflex, I unholstered my silenced pistol and aimed it at whatever was touching me as I was still waking up.
"Whoa!" the figure in the dark stepped back and threw his hands up as if surrendering. "It's Doc, it's Doc!" he whispered frantically.
The adrenaline in my system winding down after the sharp spike, I lowered my weapon and sighed. "Ah, Christ," I said. I switched my contact lenses to night vision so I could make sure the figure standing above me was who he said he was.
"Sorry to wake you, ma'am. But I've been going around checking everyone for problems with the heat. Captain's orders, Lieutenant," Petty Officer Reynolds told me, voice low. I thought it strange he was whispering now that he'd woken me up, but then I glanced at Beesner; he was snoring lightly on the other side of the foxhole. "Other side" simply meant opposite me because of the hole's size.
Oh, God, poor Beesner…I thought, suddenly remembering what he'd told me.
"Ma'am?"
"Huh? Yeah, it's fine. I'm coming," I said, trying to shake the drowsiness I still felt. I checked my watch as I picked up my rifle and carefully eased myself out of the hole; it was nighttime now, and I'd been asleep for four hours.
"So are these heat checks always going to be at midday and at night?" I asked the medic once we started walking.
"Yes, ma'am. Makes sure you're good to go in the morning and the afternoon. They're not needed overnight because the desert tends to get a whole lot cooler. Also, the Covenant like to probe our lines at night as well."
It didn't take long for us to reach the medic's tent, although it was just as invisible at night as it was during the day. I'd have to remember where all the hidden tents were so that I didn't accidentally stumble into one some time.
"Have a seat on the cot if you will, Lieutenant," Reynolds said, pulling on a fresh set of gloves and grabbing his stethoscope. "I'll want to check how your wound is doing, as well."
I sat down where he'd indicated, and waited for his exam to began.
"I'm going to check your skin first," the medic said, placing the back of his hand against mine.
"What're you looking for?" I asked, curious.
"Seeing if the skin feels hot. That's a bad sign. Beyond that, I'm looking for any other abnormalities: seeing if your skin is especially pale, or wet, or dry, or anything out of the ordinary." He looked at me, barely concealing his grin. "Lucky for you, your skin is perfect. No problems with the heat."
Except for the fact that I felt my cheeks flush.
"Ever feel light-headed during the day, have any muscle cramps, or anything?" Doc Reynolds asked, getting serious once again as he checked my pupils with a penlight.
"No," I answered. "Well, maybe a little light-headed, when I walked to the platoon tent. It was 157 outside."
"Hmm. Diaphoresis during the day, El-Tee?"
"Are you kidding me? That's all I did the whole day."
"The extreme temperatures tend to do that. But believe it or not, it's a good thing. It's when it stops that you're in deep trouble and risk heat stroke."
He set the penlight onto the tiny desk beside him, and proceeded to check my vital signs, paying special attention to my temperature and blood pressure.
"Good news, El-Tee," he said. "Everything checks out. When you came in this morning, I was worried that you might have been going into shock from the wound. Several signs were present, although you were still conscious and thinking clearly. Nausea or vomiting today?"
"None."
"That settles it. Now I want to check out that shrapnel wound, ma'am. I'm going to clean it, insert new biofoam, and wrap it in some fresh dressings."
After lifting my shirt again, the medic started to gently remove the bandages he had placed this morning. Although the medic had explained that the shrapnel had not gone deep enough to crack my ribs, it had essentially cut into two of them on the superficial bone layer. Consequently, my right side had ached all day, and the spot was sore to the touch. I tried hard not to let my pain and discomfort show while the medic inspected the wound.
"Does it hurt to breathe?" he asked, glancing up at me to listen to my answer.
"Every friggin' time, Doc," I answered, wincing.
"Well, the biofoam's starting to work, at least. It looks like the wound bled only minimally after application of the dressing. You'll have to remove the scar on your side from when the metal punctured your skin, though."
Reynolds cleaned my wound again and injected biofoam before wrapping fresh bandages around it. When he was done, he removed his gloves and washed his hands at the small sink built into his desk. Battlefield medical technology had certainly improved over the centuries.
"All done here, Lieutenant. Make sure you drink lots of water, and check with an equipment tech if you think you're having issues with your uniform systems. It's bad news if your cooling mechanisms fail out here." He looked up from documenting the visit on his datapad and smiled. "See you tomorrow, ma'am."