Marsh Silas II: Bloody Platoon

Chapter 32

The field Medicae was very dark. For fear of attracting enemy artillery, none of the bright electrical lights were running. Every firing port and slit was covered by a sliding, metal blast shield. Larger ports were covered by similar mechanisms. Only candles and low-burning lamp packs, strung along the rockcrete columns throughout the wards, illuminated the wounded.

Cots were arrayed in long rows. Black slates hung on the rungs at the bottom of each bed; the occupant's name, rank, unit, and medical situation were written in chalk. Many appeared as lumps under brown and white blankets, trying to sleep through the pain. Others, too injured to find a comfortable position, sat upright. Bandages laced across their faces or around their arms. Some were missing hands, arms, and legs. Some didn't have their faces covered and lho-sticks hung from their scarred lips. Quite a number simply stared at the dark walls. Aside from the occasional cough, pitiful moan, choked snore, and the murmurings between Medicae staff, it was very silent.

Outside, Earthshaker Cannons thundered. Marsh Silas felt the vibrations in the rockcrete underneath his feet. Soot covered his face and bags hung under his empty violet eyes. His head hung over Lieutenant Hyram's cot. They were in a ward separate from enlisted men; the volume of casualties was still high but at least there was more privacy. Each officer was afforded a folding screen on either side of his bed.

Hyram was asleep, shirtless, and the right side of his chest was covered in bandages. According to the surgeon, they had to rebuild much of his chest via bionics. The right side of breast consisted of a metal plate which was fused to his flesh. Marsh Silas heard him screaming during the surgery. Aside from the reconstruction, they had to remove the fragments from the explosive round which struck him as well as the pieces of his flak armor which were dragged into his flesh. Part of his upper lung required treatment as well. After he was deposited in the cot, the surgeon who operated on him did not guarantee his recovery or his survival.

"My Emperor, I ask of Thee who grants life and taketh it away, spare this man." Marsh clutched his hands together. "He has done good and will continue to spread Your light in the darkest depths of these battlefields. In his stead punish me, for it is for my sins that he has been wounded. I asketh Thee, my Creator, my Guidance..." his lips quivered. Tears coursed down his cheeks. Unable to bear it, he leaned forward and rested his cheek on Hyram's chest. His ear was right over his heart. He could feel and hear the weak heartbeat. "...please do not take him. He is my brother."

His hands broke and he covered his eyes. "Let him not suffer for mine-own failures. Let him live." He broke down and started to cry again. "Please...please..." A hand fell on his back.

"My love." Marsh Silas looked up at Carstensen, who was ashen-faced. Her orange locks had grown longer in the days since the surgery. "Isenhour calls upon you."

"I'm not going on another of his missions," Marsh Silas said. "I'm not leaving Seathan."

"I will look after him. It will take but a moment. See what the man has to say, walk to clear your head, get something to eat, and then return." Before Marsh could continue his protest, Carstensen took him by the cheek. "You are no good to him if you are haggard and hungry. Go. I will fetch you when he wakes."

When, she said, not if. By the Emperor, Marsh Silas thought, what a woman. Her faith was so steadfast she would not even entertain the possibility of losing their friend. What strength, what courage. How he admired her—how he loved her. Such fortitude seemed otherworldly; how he wished to possess even a shred of it. Relenting, he stood up and nodded. Carstensen smiled, kissed him on his cheek, and took his seat.

Passing through the dimly lit wards and throngs of orderlies and Sisters Hospitaller, Marsh pushed through the entrance. He didn't realize how badly the facility stank of rot and death. The night air was crisp and clear, revitalizing him somewhat. But he could feel the cold season departing; soon, the rains would be upon them. So for a few moments, he stood in the snow merely drawing breath and expelling it, making little white clouds, taking in the last of winter.