Comments are always welcome at April
Fool
kblue@co.wake.nc.us
Amadon
by
April Fool
The mission had been a balls up from
the beginning, thought Anne Gordon.
Amadon was a frozen chunk of rock;
hardly worth anyone's effort. Definitely not worth dying for, she thought
as she knelt over her two med techs. She had no feelings at all as she
looked at their mangled bodies. These were my friends, and I can't
even grieve.
"Don't touch them," ordered
a young lieutenant, touching her shoulder. "There may be more booby
traps we haven't found."
Anne turned her attention to Captain
Sam Miller, the other doctor on her team. He was still alive, and the
most badly hurt of the casualties. The three injured Marines from the
58th were not hurt so bad that they needed immediate attention, but she
could see that Sam was hurt bad.
The mission had been simple. That's
probably why it got screwed up so badly. The 58th and her medical team
were to extract the 79th, that had reported catastrophic injuries. Intelligence
showed the Chigs had left the planet, the system actually, but her dead
team mates would get little comfort from that information.
Their ISSCV had taken a hit during
insertion, so the medical team and the 58th hit the ground running. The
wind had nearly knocked them off their feet as they jumped out of the
ship, and the blowing snow hissed as it met the hot metal of the ISSCV.
Belle Baker and Ray Watson had gotten
to the 79th's position first. It had been beaten into their heads that
Chigs sometimes booby-trap bodies, but their medical training had taken
over. Anne hadn't seen what happened, she'd been behind a burly tank the
others called Hawkes. The heavy med bag slowed her down and was awkward.
She momentarily stooped to reseat the bag on her shoulder, which saved
her life.
A flash, a loud bang, and the concussion
of warmer wind signalled the fact that something had occurred. Anne stood
up and saw that Sam Miller, who had been directly behind her, had a large
piece of metal embedded in his upper chest. It took her only a second
to decide that his wounds were fatal.
The med techs, Belle and Ray, were
nearly unrecognizable as people. Their bodies were badly mutilated and
burned. The smell of charred flesh and hair turned her stomach, but she
turned her attention to the living. Anne examined the wounded Marines
swiftly. Colonel McQueen had shrapnel in both legs, but only one wound
was deep. Captain Vansen appeared to have sustained a concussion, but
was not obviously bleeding. Her signs were stable, so Anne turned to the
third injury. The tank who had been in front of her had a gash in his
forehead which would require fusing, but was not life threatening. She
ordered a young Asian lieutenant to put a pressure bandage on Colonel
McQueen's left leg, and handed Hawkes a pad for his forehead.
Anne sat down on the frozen ground
next to Sam Miller. His lips and fingers had already turned blueish, indicating
to her that the blood loss and cold were deadly. The jagged metal had
severed the aorta, and he was close to bleeding out. Anne raised his head
into her lap. She could feel Sam's warm life seeping into her khakis,
but she needed the physical connection with him. His eyelids fluttered,
then opened a little. "Hurts," he said. "Cold, so cold,
too."
"I know," Anne said gently.
"You have a message for Candy?"
"Tell her I always loved her,
and that I'm waiting for her." Sam reached for Anne's hand, but couldn't
make his arm work. It flopped against her leg, where she reached for it.
"I'll tell her," promised
Anne. Tears seeped out and ran down her cheeks. Some of the shock had
worn off and she now could process the deaths of her friends. She felt
Sam shudder, and then was still.
"Doctor?" intruded a young
female marine, "We have to leave this area now. We're too exposed,
both from cold and the Chigs'll be here soon if they're out there . What
do we have to do to get everyone moved?"
Anne reluctantly got up and checked
the unconscious Marine. Vansen's pupils remained normal and her vital
signs strong. Anne called, "Captain Vansen? Wake up." There
was no response.
"Let me try," offered a
thin young man. "Shane. Shane. Wake up, Shane."
Slowly the dark-haired woman began
to rouse. "Watch her eyes." Ordered Anne. "If her pupils
become dilated - open wider than normal - call me. Also, ask her questions
to see if she's got any memory lapses. You know, who's the president,
what year is it, who's the Saratoga's commander. Stuff like that."
Anne abandoned Vansen in the care of Lieutenant West.
Hawkes squatted beside the remains
of the 79th and her med techs. "You okay?" asked Anne, pulling
the bandage away from the seeping wound.
"Yea, Doc. Hurts like hell, though."
He gestured toward the stiffening bodies. "We gonna bury them?"
"I'd like to," she replied,
"but I'm not sure its prudent to disturb anything else here. There
may be more explosives."
"Okay." Hawkes turned his
shaggy head back to look at the devastation. "Hell of a way to go."
"Yea," Anne agreed. "They
were my friends. I'm sorry to see anyone die. But it's really bad when
they're your friends."
"And its worse when you can't
do anything about it," Hawkes said, holding her eye.
She smiled grimly, realizing how close
to the target he had hit. This one's smarter than your average tank, she
thought. "I'll fuse your cut when we get settled in. I can give you
some aspirins right now," she offered.
"No! Nothing! I don't want anything
to ease the pain," he said sharply.
Anne got up and moved over to the
Colonel, her surprise at Hawkes' refusal of pain medication, filed away
to examine at a later date.
"How you feeling?" she asked
the Colonel. The white-haired man was propped up, both legs out in front
in a "V." She noted that McQueen was actually a young man, late
thirties, maybe 40, rather than the 50 she had first saddled him with.
"Fine," he grunted. "Ready for a 10-mile march. Your team?"
"All gone." She loosened
the pressure pads to check the wounds. The right leg would probably be
okay without further attention. He'd been peppered good with shrapnel,
maybe 10 small punctures, but none deep. She cut his left pants leg to
allow better examination of the worse wound. A jagged tear in his thigh
barely missed the femoral artery. "You got a nice little scar-maker
here," she noted. This wound needed some fusing, but she didn't want
to do it here if she could help it. "When's extraction?" She
gave herself a couple of hours before she had to permanently fuse the
wound.
"'Phousse! Get extraction time
and place," yelled McQueen into Annes' ear as she sprayed aznocaine
into the wound. While Damphousse checked with the Saratoga, Anne
put on a temporary skin patch. It would hold the gaping wound together
better than a bandage, and would dissolve in a few hours if no permanent
fusing was done.
"Colonel, I'm not getting any
transmission. I'll need to set up the com equipment and get voice confirmation,"
said Damphousse after a long pause.
"Can we go yet?" asked Colonel
McQueen impatiently. "I don't like sitting out here in the open."
"We can move now, but not far,
and not fast. I've put skin on your leg, but it could come loose. If you
feel it bleeding, call me. If you feel too much pain, call me. Your leg's
in bad shape, and I don't want it to get worse." I don't want
you to die, too, said Anne's inner voice.
"Alright, listen up," McQueen
ordered. "Let's move up that hill. It has better cover. Hawkes and
Wang, I need you here. Damphousse, you and the Doctor help Vansen. West,
you're point."
"I'm all right," objected
Vansen.
"That's an order, Captain,"
said McQueen.
Slowly, painfully slowly, they made
their way up the slope. Anne watched McQueen out of the corner of her
eye. His face was ashen and sweat glistened off his brow, even as the
cold wind buffeted them. The hill was difficult to negotiate and small
scrubby plants made numerous obstacles to avoid. When they had gone a
quarter of a mile, they came to a rocky overhang which provided a good
place to rest.
Anne checked McQueen's wound, then
sprayed them again with topical analgesic. "This will help with the
pain until I can get you permanently fused," she said. "Are
you allergic to antibiotics?"
"No. Just to green meanies."
McQueen leaned against the rocks, obviously spent.
Anne looked at him, surprised. "You're
a tank, too?" She'd never known an in-vitro to have risen so high
in rank.
"Yea, you have a problem with
it?"
Anne heard the bitterness in his voice,
but knew this was not the time or place to deal with his emotional baggage.
"Colonel, I don't give a shit if you're a green tree monkey, you're
my patient and I'm gonna keep you alive. That's what I do. And while we're
visiting this subject, you don't know me well enough to accuse me of prejudice!"
Anne got up and moved over against
the stone cliff face a dozen yard away. She bristled at McQueen's question,
but as she sat absorbing the wan sunshine, she realized that he was probably
so used to people who viewed IVs as an inferior life form that it was
a defense mechanism. Well screw you, McQueen, she thought. I'm
not prejudiced against tanks. Can't afford to be.
While she rested, she watched Damphousse
and Wang assemble the communications equipment. They moved purposefully
and efficiently, not talking. After the equipment was erected, Damphousse
fiddled with the controls, her handsome face creased in concentration.
Finally she walked over to the Colonel and she reported to him. Anne strained
to hear them but finally gave up. If they wanted her to know, they'd
tell her, she reasoned.
"Wang! West!" called McQueen.
"Scout around and find us a place to camp. This is better than nothing,
but I'd like more cover, because this cold is going to be hell tonight."
Tonight! thought Anne. She'd assumed
the Saratoga would be picking them up soon. She got up and stood
over McQueen. "How long are we going to be here?" she asked.
"You need to be fused soon."
"Well, Major, you might as well
get started, because we aren't going anywhere for the time being."
Anne fetched the heavy medical bag, dropping on the ground beside the
Colonel. Anne disinfected her hands, and cut the right pants leg from
calf to groin. She disinfected the smaller wounds, then put spot bandages
on them. She enlarged the cut she had made in the left pant, mirroring
the one she had made on the right pants leg. She removed the skin patch,
then disinfected the leg and probed the wound, finding only a small sliver
of metal still embedded in the wound. She took out her CO2 dispenser and
shot three shots of aznocaine around the wound. When the area was numb,
she pulled out the fuser and carefully fused the edges of the wound together.
It was not the most beautiful job she'd ever done, and he'd be left with
a large y-shaped scar, but he would get back to the Saratoga alive,
if she had anything to do with it. "All done," she said finally.
"You were lucky. Two inches over and you'd have bled to death from
the femoral artery."
McQueen shifted slightly, and then
asked, "Now that you've cut my pants to shreds, how am I going to
stay warm?"
Anne paused, taken aback, then realized
this was his attempt at humor. With his deadpan delivery, she'd almost
missed it.
"Well now you won't have to unzip
to piss, will you?" she shot back, pleased at her quick response.
Then she realized that she sounded like her dad, General Mike Gordon.
For the past 4 years she'd struggled to make her own way in the Marines
without his assistance, but now his words came out of her mouth. Oh
well, she thought, you can't fight your upbringing. Reaching
into her bag, she pulled out a roll of adhesive tape, deftly taping the
cloth back into a semblance of its original form. 'I hear this is all
the rage in Paris," she added.
The sun was only a few degrees over
the horizon when Wang and West returned. "We found a cave up the
hill a ways," reported West breathlessly.
"And there's plenty of deadfall
for a fire," added Wang.
"Let's move then, people,"
ordered McQueen.
Again they made their way up the hill,
trying to hurry, but making worse time than ever, since McQueen's leg
was giving him more pain than before. In the waning light they would have
missed the cave, but Wang had tied a handkerchief to a shrub.
The cave was dry, with two small chambers.
The smaller chamber was in front with a rocky irregular floor. The second
chamber was larger about ten by fifteen at the largest dimension, and
luckily had a flat floor, which was very nearly level. It was obvious
that the larger chamber would allow them to sleep and the fire could be
built in the narrow passage between the chambers. Predators, if any, on
this planet, would have to come around the fire before getting to them.
Anne, Wang, West, and Damphousse went
out to gather deadfall. As Wang had said, there was plenty of small sticks
and vegetation, but little of any substance. It would not burn very hot
or very long. The wood would burn down long before the night was over.
Cold MREs in a cold cave is not very
conducive to chatting. The 58th and Anne sat glumly eating their cold
meals in the dim cave. After supper, they inventoried equipment. Anne
had two blankets in her med bag, and she wished for the two she'd left
behind in Sam's kit. The members of the 58th had insulated ponchos, so
she knew she'd be the cold one tonight. Well, there was nothing to do
about it, except pray that tomorrow they'd be extracted.
After the women took their call to
nature, Anne spread one of the blankets down under her. She called McQueen
over to her, and inspected her handiwork. She gave him an antibiotic,
then gave him a booster in the arm, just to make sure. "This all
you have in your pack?" He asked, gesturing at her thermal blankets.
"Yea, we were given about 15
minutes warning before the mission, and we were told this was an in-and-out,
so we just grabbed our parkas and bags. We never thought it would be like
this." She pulled the hood of her parka into a knot behind her head.
It wasn't a pillow, but it was better than nothing. "How's your leg
feeling?"
"Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.
What have you got that's not addictive?" McQueen gingerly spread
his poncho out beside her. Even though she could have done it for him,
she got the feeling that McQueen wouldn't want her help. She also decided
not to acknowledge their previous discussion of green meanies. If he was
asking for pain medicine, he was in real pain.
Anne gave him a couple of pills, "Guaranteed
not to be addictive, but it won't completely block pain, either. It'll
take the edge off, but that's about it."
Damphousse spread out her pallet on
Anne's other side. Gradually they all settled in, except Wang, who had
the first watch. It was cold, brutally cold. Anne slept fitfully, waking
often, hearing strange sounds, but mostly from cold. The last few hours
she sank into an exhausted sleep.
When she awoke, she was warmer, but
that was because she had snuggled up against McQueen. She opened her eyes
but it was still dark.
"I didn't realize we were on
such good terms," he whispered.
"Don't joke with me," said
Anne. "You're warm. I'm cold."
McQueen put his poncho over the both
of them. "Better?"
"Um-hum," she said. She
dozed momentarily, then realized how long it had been since she had been
this close anyone. Strange, she hadn't even looked at the Colonel as a
man yesterday. He was her patient yesterday, but today she was acutely
aware of McQueen as a man. And then she also thought of how much she wanted
this man in particular. She wanted to kiss him, but wondered if he would
rebuff her. She wasn't sure if she should take the chance, but it was
really too simple. She turned her face up to his and found that he'd pretty
much been thinking the same thought.
After a few moments Anne heart a noise
and lifted her head to see Shane Vansen squatting across the cave from
her beside the coals of last night's fire. Even in the dim light she could
feel a malevolent stare and knew that Vansen had been watching McQueen
kissing her. Well that was tough wasn't it? Putting her head back down,
she snuggled back into McQueen's neck, hoping that it would be a while
before the others awoke. McQueen's mouth met hers again, but this time
for only a brief moment; a loud snapping noise startled them. McQueen
sat up, pulling the covers from over Anne's head, and revealing Shane
Vansen, stoking the fire.
"Good morning," Shane said
as she added sticks to the fire. "Rise and shine, it's oh-five-hundred."
Anne groaned and pulled the covers
back over her head, but it was too late. Around her she heard the sound
of sleepers awakening. Anne got up and wrapping a blanket around her like
a buffalo hide, went out to take her morning potty break. The sun had
not risen yet, and the wind was stronger than she remembered. Her breath
made a frosty rime on the blanket where her damp breath had touched the
cloth. While the cave was cold, there was no wind to freeze dry her fingers
and toes. She did her business quickly, both because of the awkwardness
of peeing, and from the cold. With what she suddenly had on her mind,
she decided that she didn't want anything useful to freeze off.
"Fuck that bitch anyway,"
she muttered to herself, still angry with Vansen. Anne knew she woke everyone
up to keep Anne away from McQueen. But Vansen should know she couldn't
get anything going with McQueen - he was her commander. So what was her
motivation? Anne decided she didn't care. If she and McQueen were attracted
to one another, what business of Vansen's was it?
Another cold breakfast followed. The
cold soldiers huddled around the fire and discussed what to do. Anne was
bracketed by Wang and Hawkes, and was not sure if they had been directed
to keep her away from McQueen. She decided not, and realized that it was
probably a good idea anyway. After all, he was their commanding officer,
and he needed to stay detatched. He couldn't afford to have Anne hanging
on him. She remembered her dad never mixed his personal affairs, and there
had been plenty, with his military business.
"I want you to keep trying to
get through to the Saratoga," directed McQueen to Damphousse.
"Yes, sir," she said shortly.
Damphousse didn't ask or add anything more to the order. It was apparent
that extraction orders were paramount to the 58th.
"We need to find more substantial
firewood," offered Paul Wang. "I have a hand axe, but that won't
cut much or fast."
"Do the best you can," said
McQueen.
"Colonel," said Anne tentatively.
A nod said he was glad for the formal honorific. "I'd like to go
back to the insertion point and get Sam's - Dr. Miller's - med kit, and
the tech's bags if they weren't destroyed. If we're here much longer we
may need the drugs and the blankets will come in handy against this cold."
The colonel nodded again, then turned
to West and said, "You go with her."
"I'll go," offered Shane
Vansen. "West is stronger than I am, and he'll be of more use cutting
firewood. I'll do guard duty."
Anne opened her mouth to object, but
McQueen cut her off before she could make a sound. "That's an order,
Major."
When the sun came up enough to see
clearly, Shane Vansen and Anne Gordon made their way down the bluff. They
walked at about the same speed the sun rose, the valley below them darker
than their path. It was much easier and faster going down the hill. They
didn't have a wounded McQueen to slow them down, and they had the benefit
of gravity, even if it was only .84 of Earth normal. It took them only
about an hour and a half to reach the cliff face where they'd stopped
to rest yesterday. Shane stopped and rested against the rocks, not speaking
to Anne. Anne was a little surprised at how long they had gone without
a word passing between them, but she was determined not to be the one
to break the silence. After a short break, Shane got up and hoisted her
rifle, so Anne stood up and followed her. The second leg to the insertion
point was mercifully close. Anne had remembered it as having been a long
walk, but the events of the previous day seemed jumbled and confused.
Vansen prodded Miller's pack with a long stick, motioning Anne to stay
down. Since no explosion followed they assumed it had not been booby-trapped.
Anne picked it up and rifled through it, noting that he also had two thermal
blankets in his bag. Finally, Vansen spoke. "Are the tech bags the
same as this one?"
"No, they're smaller and have
hard sides. Black like this, but with a chrome trim around the edges."
Shane grunted a reply and began looking
around for the tech's bags. While Anne repacked Miller's case, Shane called
out, "This one?"
Anne stood and saw that Shane held
a charred plastic lump. "Yea, looks like it. Looks like it's damaged
too badly to open."
Shane took out her K-bar and used
it to pry into the bag. With a twist, it popped open. The insides were
covered in goo from one of the creams or unguents that had once been in
a tube. The heat from the explosion must have cooked it off, causing it
to explode in the bag. "Not worth keeping," said Anne.
Shane dropped the kit and they resumed
their search. After a few minutes it was apparent that it had either been
destroyed by the explosion or tossed far from the site.
"At least we got this one,"
said Anne. The doctor's bag was far more valuable to her because it contained
the blankets and also stronger drugs if they needed them.
"Before we go, I got something
I want to say to you," said Shane.
"I had a feeling you did,"
said Anne, sounding calmer than she felt. She had never experienced a
jealous confrontation, but she knew she wasn't going to like it.
"Look," began Shane in a
voice that reminded Anne of a teacher telling a student why one didn't
wear microskirts without panties, "McQueen is off-limits."
"And who decided that?"
asked Anne. "Are you his mommy?" She hoisted Miller's bag onto
her shoulder and took a step away from Vansen. Then, she was no longer
walking, but was spinning around to face Vansen, and just as quickly a
fist struck her on the cheek, twisting Anne the other direction. She hit
the ground with a painful jolt, Miller's bag grinding into her ribs below
her left breast. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and rolled her
onto her face, painfully giving her a taste of the frozen sand of Amadon.
A rough pair of hands rolled her over and Anne saw Vansen getting closer,
coming to rest on her chest.
"Ptth," she said, spitting
dirt and blood out of her mouth. "Can't breathe."
Vansen moved down, sitting on Anne's
belly, her k-bar in her right hand.
"Now listen here, bitch. I tried
to tell you nice. Now I'm telling you straight. Leave McQueen alone. He
doesn't need you fucking around with his head. He's had a tough life.
He's lost everything he ever loved. Now he's got us, and he has the Marines.
He doesn't need you, Navy."
Anne felt her mouth swelling against
her teeth, and she couldn't open one eye very well. Probably got one hell
of a shiner coming on, said the doctor inside her. "What makes you
think I'm gonna hurt him?" she asked, not terribly plainly.
"Look, he's a tank. Doctors make
tanks. They make them so they can ship them off to the mines. The make
them sterile. When this war is over, you're going to go off to your private
practice and make millions, and McQueen is going to be a tank Marine Colonel.
That's the way it is. I can't take a chance you're going to screw with
his head!"
As Vansen was speaking, Anne could
feel her knees relaxing against Anne's ribs. Just as suddenly as Vansen
had pinned Anne, she reached up, grabbed Vansen by the hair, and pushed
her face-down into the ground. Anne now held the k-bar against Vansen's
throat and with one of Vansen's arms behind her back. Anne leaned over
with her face up next to Vansen's, her face almost in the dirt with Vansen's.
"Okay, you had your say, now I get mine. I'm in this for the long
haul, Vansen. I may be a Navy doctor, but I went to my first Marine Corps
Birthday Ball when I was three years old. My father took me the year after
my mom killed herself. Does the surname Gordon sound familiar?"
Vansen asked through a split lip,
"General Mike Gordon? That's your dad?"
Anne nodded grimly. "That's the
one. I wanted to be a doctor, he wanted me to be a Marine. We compromised.
As for McQueen, he's a big boy, I'm a big girl. Whatever we choose to
do, we'll do. A few kisses doesn't mean anything." Anne got up from
Shane's back without releasing the arm pinioned behind Vansen's back.
When she was certain Vansen couldn't reach her, she let go.
Vansen pushed up from the frozen ground
and wiped blood and dirt off the scraped side of her face. "That
was a good move," she said grudgingly.
Anne smiled even though it hurt. "Learned
that from a gunny sergeant in Lejuene. I'll teach you my other tricks
if you let me live." She held a hand to Vansen, making sure she was
ready to roll if Shane wasn't ready to forgive and forget, but Vansen
just pulled up on it.
They trudged up the hill, the wind
occasionally dying down enough so that the cold was only moderate. When
they reached the rest stop, Shane sat down and took a big drink out of
her water bottle, then passed it to Anne. "Thanks," Anne said.
They sat for a few moments, glad to be out of the wind. "What made
you think I'd hurt McQueen?"
Shane looked at Anne a moment as if
she didn't know herself, "I guess I just feel like I have to protect
him. I don't know why. I guess I always had to protect everyone, so it's
my natural response."
Anne nodded, hoping Shane would continue.
She felt like her life was whizzing around her. This morning she and Shane
hated each other, now they're buddies. In the past day she'd lost three
of her best friends, found a potential friend, and then there was McQueen.
She wasn't sure what that was.
"I'm a Marine brat too. Both
parents were Marines, but they were killed by the sillies. I was responsible
for my sisters, and I always felt like I had to make everything right
for them. When they no longer wanted and needed my help, I joined up."
"And now you're responsible for
the 58th," said Anne.
"I guess so."
"Well, you've come clean, so
will I. I'm not prejudiced against tanks. I'm always trying to figure
out In-vitro psychology." Anne paused, wondering if she should tell
this part of her past. "Want to know why my mom killed herself? She
couldn't deal with the Marine wives. It's a closed society, one a tank
never could fit in with. No one but dad knew that she was a tank, but
she was mortified that she'd embarrass him. She figured it'd be safer
for him to be the husband of a suicide than the husband of a tank."
"No shit?" asked Shane.
"Mike Gordon was married to a tank? I've always respected him as
a soldier, but he must've been brave to marry a tank. There's a lot of
prejudice now, but 30 years ago it must've been brutal."
"No shit. I never heard him say
anything negative about my mom, or complain. He just doesn't talk about
that part of his life. I don't think that's the way he's made, anyway.
He lives in the present anyway. The past just isn't important to him like
it is to the rest of us."
"Sometimes I wish I could just
live in the present," said Shane almost wistfully.
"Me too," agreed Anne. She
stood, signaling the end of their interlude.
"Wait," said Shane.
"What?"
"I'm sorry I hit you. You can
file charges if you like. I deserve it," Shane said earnestly.
"You couldn't help it if I clumsily
fell," replied Anne. "By the way, how do I look?"
"You look like warmed over shit,"
laughed Shane.
"Well, you wanted McQueen to
stay away. If I look as bad as I feel, you don't have to worry, he'll
stay away."
When they walked into the camp, there
was an air of joyous anticipation. "Hey Shane, they're extracting
us first thing tomorrow! Holy Shit! What happened to you?"
Tripped over a rock," said Shane.
Every face present evinced doubt that both Anne and Shane had somehow
managed to trip over rocks, but there were no vocal expressions.
After supper Anne spread her blanket
in the corner, away from where McQueen stood talking with West. She told
herself she was not about to pursue McQueen, but she couldn't keep her
eyes off of him. Well make that her one eye, the other had swollen closed.
He moved well for having had a 5 inch fusing on his leg. He limped a bit,
but had not taken anything but analgesics, so she was sure he'd be back
to normal in a day or so. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he
turned and walked over.
"You okay? I've seen shiners
before, but that one's a beauty." This was the first time he'd spoken
to her alone since this morning, and she felt a little uncomfortable.
"I think I'll live." What
else could she say?
"Mind if I move in beside you?"
"I'd like that," she managed.
McQueen settled down beside her, and
she wondered what Vansen thought. He's gotta be crazy to still be interested
in a woman with a black eye and a sore mouth, she thought.
That night she snuggled against him,
but he did not kiss her, nor pull her close the way he had the previous
morning. Oh well, she thought, it was really nice while it lasted.
The ISSCV picked up the 58th, Anne,
and the bodies of the 79th and the medical team with little fanfare and
no explanation.
Back aboard the Saratoga, the
58th hurried off to be debriefed, and Anne checked in with Colonel Walters,
head of Medicine. She didn't have a chance to speak to McQueen alone before
they separated. Actually Anne wasn't really sure what to say anyway.
Colonel Walters looked at her eye,
then told her to rest up a couple of days. She argued for effect, but
knew he was probably right. She did need a couple of days for the bruising
to go away. How long it would take for the experience on Amadon to go
away, she wasn't sure.
When she got back to her quarters,
she was appalled by the sight of her face in the mirror. Shane had certainly
ensured that McQueen would not look at Anne again. The eye was partially
open, but the skin around it was puffy and eggplant colored.
She dropped a gown over her head and
crawled into bed, sure she couldn't sleep. The alarm woke her the next
morning after 14 hours of sleep. She dressed in her sloppiest comfortable
clothes and set about straightening her room. She was a haphazard housekeeper,
but she found that she was feeling claustrophobic in the mess. About 1400
one of the med techs stopped in and checked on her, informing her that
the memorial service for Dr. Miller, Ray Watson, and Belle Baker would
be at 1800.
In her dress blacks, and with 14 hours
of sleep, the bruise under her eye didn't look quite as bad. She stood
with the other medical staff awaiting the chaplain. Out of the corner
of her eye she saw a flash of navy blue and looked beside her to see Shane
Vansen standing there in her dress blues. Anne was floored.
Vansen reached one white-gloved hand
over and squeezed Anne's hand. "Needed to pay my respects,"
she whispered. As she spoke Wang, West, Damphousse, and Hawkes filed in.
When she didn't see McQueen, Anne allowed herself to breathe. She hadn't
realized how bad she wanted to see him.
The Chaplain came in, and behind him
Commodore Ross. The Chaplain began his speech, and Anne studied her shiny
black dress shoes; she'd never heard anything the Chaplain say that remotely
interested her. She looked up again when "Boss" Ross began to
speak. Over his shoulder stood a tall white-haired figure in dress blues.
McQueen. Anne felt an inaudible gasp gather in her throat and the blood
rushed to her face. Careful girl, came the voice of her internal caretaker,
don't make a fool of yourself. You're acting like a sixteen-year-old with
an excess of hormones.
Mercifully the ritual ended. The bodies
of her friends were ejected into the deep of space. She shook hands with
the Chaplain, Boss Ross, and various members of the 58th. McQueen was
not there when she was finally able to leave.
She walked glumly to her cabin, realizing
that if McQueen had wanted to speak to her, that would've been the easiest
place. It was a formal situation which would dictate the forms of speech.
He could end it without it being a rejection by giving her a formal indefinite
farewell. Or he could start it up again by inquiring about her health
or anything personal. Instead he had done neither. He hadn't kissed or,
or kissed her off.
In her room she poured herself a large
gin and tonic, then took off her topcoat. "To you, my friends,"
she said, hefting her drink into the air. "I'll miss you." Damn
how smarmy can you get? You can't even toast your friends profoundly.
Anne was startled by a rap at her
door. She called out, "Come."
McQueen, still in his blues, stuck
his head in the door. "Care for some company?" He held a quart
of scotch in his hand.
"Sure, come in," Anne said.
McQueen put the scotch down and said, "Looks like you've already
started drinking. Got another glass?"
Anne handed him the glass, not really
knowing what to say. Finally she blurted out a question she'd been meaning
to ask for the past few days. "Colonel, what's your first name? I
think it's time I knew."
"That's a fair question. TC.
Ty. Tyrus Cassius McQueen. I guess some whitecoat got a laugh at sticking
some poor tank with a moniker like that." He took a drink of the
neat scotch.
"Better than my mom's,"
said Anne. She'd never told anyone but Vansen about her mother. If there
was anyone else in the world she wanted to know, it was McQueen. TC. "Her
name was Denver Experimental. Nothing else. Soon as she served her hitch
with the USO, she changed it to Kathryn Denver."
"A tank? Your mother was a tank?"
McQueen sat down heavily on the bed, as if the Saratoga had lurched.
Anne came over and sat beside him.
"Yes. No one else knows."
"That's a helluva secret."
TC put an arm around her and pulled her close in was a comforting gesture,
but there was more to it than comfort, if Anne wanted it. She decided
she did and turned her face up to his.
A knock at the door woke Anne from
her post-coital drowsing. She grabbed a robe and put a finger to her lips,
as if McQueen would say anything to bring attention to the fact that he
was there. Buttoning three buttons and clutching the top together, she
opened the door.
It was Shane Vansen. "Uh, I just
wanted to know if you wanted to go down to the Tuntavern and get a beer."
"Thanks, Shane, I'd like that,
but not tonight." Anne was touched by her thoughtfulness.
"Look, I know you feel bad, but
you can't hide away and mope. That place where I hit you doesn't look
that bad, and you never know who else might be there," she added
meaningfully.
"I really can't."
"Come on. I can't promise McQueen
will be there, but we can talk." Vansen was really insistent.
Anne didn't know what to do, she wanted
to be friends with Shane, but she couldn't go. As she debated over what
to do, there came a loud cough from inside the room. It was an obviously
male cough.
Vansen was quick. It didn't take her
but a second, and a lop-sided grin grew on her face. "Well, another
time, then," she said with a wink.
Anne closed the door and dropped the
robe to the floor. She slid into the bed next to TC. "I knew she
gave you that shiner," said McQueen.
"I aint saying nothing,"
said Anne. "Now come over here and curl my toes again." He complied.
The End
April
Fool
kblue@co.wake.nc.us © 1997
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