"Ezek."
Tarena's voice was stern, almost demanding. It was a low mezzo-soprano, somewhat deepened by age, enunciated clearly and projected from the entire chest - a voice that was meant to be heard and listened to, one tailored to giving orders, the voice of a high-ranking soldier and a commanding officer. At fifty-two, she had served for nearly thirty-three years - for almost as long as he had lived -, and it showed. It was astounding how much profession could become a part of you, and the way others saw you. He himself was probably none too different in that regard... That was what a person looking at him would most likely see: a soldier. He generally liked to believe himself a decent man and an understanding person, but it all had a tendency to fall in the background compared to being a member of some manner of warrior-caste, an untouchable part of the population designated for killing.
It had been almost shocking to learn, then, that
Tarena, the Officer Tarena Igna he had known for a dozen years, had a family of her own, a husband and three children. Whether they were children by blood or relationship, he did not know, but nevertheless the thought of that always-a-soldier being a mother and a wife was ... alienating. He himself had pretty much discarded the thought of intimate relationships and having a family when he became a part of the armed forces. It was a dangerous place to be; it could happen all too easily that whoever he bound himself to would wake up one morning and find herself no longer having a husband, children no longer having a father... He had come all too close to dying the last night night as it was - the difference between life and death was literally whether the barrel of someone's gun was or was not a millimeter off, whether an aircraft released its ammunition a millisecond later or earlier...
Some selfish part of him did not want to wake just yet. As all painkilling agents had worn off, he had a high suspicion that the dull throb in his right arm will turn into the acute sensation of it being sent through a grinder once his brain regains enough awareness, the stress of yesternight had left him overall weary and demoralized, and all that waited ahead was work and learning who of the people he considered friends and acquaintances were no more. Combat was easier, routine, even. No time to grieve, no time to ponder long-term consequences. The aftermath was always harder. It was perhaps understandable, then, that there was some kind of instinctive reluctance before dealing with things like that. Once again. No one was in high spirits at times like these. Nigh every victory was a bitter one.
"
Ezek Caendar." The voice was firmer now. He could feel a hand clasp his left shoulder, strong and somewhat rough-skinned, but also fairly sleek.
With a sigh, he opened his eyes, glancing first at the small screen next to his head, then at his own bandaged arm. There were no proper walls in the field hospital tent, so he could inevitably also see people moving about in the background, as well as a couple of other beds.
It had been the first time for him to actually take a bullet - a bit surprising, perhaps, given that he had actively served for a dozen years. He had watched his arm pieced together last night. It had been ... strange. The local anesthetic had numbed all sense of pain and most other feeling, and he had probably still been partly under the influence of combat supplements, which in combination somehow resulted in his brain quite not even perceiving that limb as part of his body. It had very much been like watching a video of someone else being operated on.
Soon after, the blockers - counter to the combat emergency aides - had kicked in, and at that point it was lights out. Not in the sense of him passing out in the literal sense - just coming down from being forced to function far beyond his limits and feeling all the exhaustion crashing down on him at once, and him then doing the next most logical thing and promptly falling asleep. Not all that different from coming off of adrenaline, only a notch more drastic. That, and adrenaline was a lot more short-lived and did not have the same nasty aftereffects these chemicals would have had if left not negated. Would probably wreck either body or mind or both in the long run, too, which was why they were mostly only used in this form if people managed to get hit... Considering that he had been hit in the earlier stages of the skirmish, and been on his feet for good four hours later, it was probably worth it.
He clenched his left hand into a fist, then relaxed it again (at least that worked again, now) and looked up into Tarena's thin, stern face. Cold, narrow dark brown eyes, long, straight black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, though now it had strands of grey mixed in (she had shrugged and remarked she thought it added authority one time, he recalled). Fairly strong jawline, which left her face almost rectangular. Her gun remained slung over her shoulder, and her torso was still encased in battle-armor, but her helmet and gauntlets were evidently gone. If the screen next to him were to be trusted, it was a few hours after sunrise now. Six hours from the last time he had looked at it. Well, he had gotten that, at least. Tarena and nigh anyone else who had not been injured had probably stayed on their feet since they had set out yesterday.
"How do you feel?" Almost official.
"Insufficiently rested," he commented dryly. "Like someone is trying to gnaw my arm off." Much like he had suspected, the latter statement was quickly becoming rather accurate. Briefly, he contemplated resorting to painkillers, but chances were that either these would be too weak to have much of an effect or far too strong to leave his thinking unaffected. "Otherwise I suppose as good as can be expected. What is the status?"
Officer Igna did not immediately respond, but rather sighed and took seat on the chair left of him. The sternness on her face diminished some as she leaned back, replaced by grim weariness.
"Could be better. By my last count, two thirds of our people are in various states of injured, thirty-seven are dead, and three are simply missing. The thirty-four soldiers who were left unharmed are mostly too tired to do much, so the less injured are forced to help out with what they can. Even the supports are taking shifts now. We requested aid from the outpost, but apparently the Ardeks've already managed to set up a bloody watch, so vehicles can't get through to here. Until they can send a force to break through, we're on our own. To make matters worse, static has begun to pick up again."
That could mean a
while of being completely on their own. Most mobile air defense and anti-vehicle forces had been recently distributed between the nearby civilian cities. ...After nearly a third of one of them - Angan Tirez - had been left in ruin before they had managed to put an end to the onslaught. It was cruel, but from their opponent's standpoint it made sense to target whatever essential part of them was the weakest, make them spread their forces, cut segments of their forces off, wear them thin. Most of their resources were not acquired by the military segment; the military only possessed a number of refineries and the war-factories. The Anderekian side, however, was almost purely militarized. By sheer head-count, there was nearly four times as many people on his side, but his faction's military numbered around a third of theirs.
And with most of their free forces defending cities, there was hardly enough left in the nearby outposts to escort supply and utility vehicles. By his last count, over here they had thirteen fully functional artillery units, two damaged artillery, one artillery wreck, four light anti-personnel vehicles, and twelve APCs (which now served primarily as places for people to sleep in), trailed by a mobile communications array (which was the only reason they could still even contact the outposts), two supply vehicles, three trucks carrying the field hospitals (one of which he was currently in), and one mobile command station. And then there were ... those things. Seven of their new "benefactor's" vehicles. As long as those were here, at least planes would not be a concern, he reckoned. Which was good. Air superiority had always been firmly the other side's.
But why had they received aid? It was not a charity; their new ally most likely had its own benefits in mind. This particular spot was furthermore very clearly detailed in the agreement - and since risking a small subset of their forces was objectively cheaper than taking another attack in one of the civilian fragments, those in command had agreed to the terms...
"'Simply missing'?" He repeated dully as the silence stretched on.
"Yeah. Nowhere within the area, at least. Either some scavenger beast managed to drag them off or they simply fled the scene, take your pick. No sign of them thus far, in any case, and to our knowledge, no Anderekian made it off the site, let alone while carrying one of our soldiers. Jerech Hayden Trent, Rayne Devien and Yan Terev. All Aidren's men."
"And Aidren himself?"
"Alive, but notably worse off than you. He was awake earlier, if just barely ... seemed as coherent as one can be in his condition, though. I did not want to press him with questions, so I don't know whether he knows anything. S'pose it's a good sign that at least his brain is mostly functional. We found one who
looked mostly fine hiding in the artillery wreck earlier. Did not know how he managed to get in there, or remember what was said just half a minute ago. Did not have enough balance to stand in his feet, either. Or enough mind left to make much sense, for the matter." Igna was reciting it grimly, her tone almost completely devoid of inflection.
"I see. What did you do with him?"
"What
can you do with someone like that? The med-people checked him for brain hemorrhage and gave him something against inflammation and vertigo, I believe. Left him in one of the APCs and tasked one of the moderately injured people with trying to keep an eye on him just in case he got something dumb in his head again, as it's rather obvious his thoughts aren't working correctly at the time being. There were still
bloody charred corpses in that wreck, for the sake of it."
Ezek stared at a spot on the fabric that currently formed the roof over his head. Of course he would be put in an APC with a person who would much rather just sleep, rather than one of the field hospital tents ... where they probably had more chances to bother people who absolutely did not need to be bothered, or worse, injure someone who was already gravely wounded further. There furthermore were not even enough spots in all three tents combined for everyone who was injured.
"Garen, Merina, Fairah, Damien, Rain, Akaš and Aigen-Ngai were among those fallen, by the last count... Five of my own people are dead, too."
He turned his head enough to look at Tarena again. She had leaned forward, resting an elbow on her knee. Slightly hunched. Her face was turned away, expression almost blank save for slightly furrowed eyebrows. She was at once actively avoiding looking at him, and looking at nothing particular.
Those she listed by name were all people under his command ... who had been under his command. People fell. That was almost inevitable, at least for open-field skirmishes. Yet he could not
not feel that he had failed those people. He knew when three of them had fallen, and how. The other four ... not even that. He had been responsible for them, and yet he heard of even their death only now, from someone else ... he had tried to make sure everyone who needed it more was tended to before him, to keep track of everyone, but his best had still been not enough.
Again, he had nothing to reply, so he just took a deeper breath that was not quite a sigh and resumed staring a spot overhead. He was vaguely aware that the woman beside him had ceased staring vacantly in front of herself and was now giving him a long look.
"Make no mistake; I'm glad you're alive," she remarked. "I merely have too many things on my mind and am too tired to properly express it. And while there is no saving the dead, those who live still need you. Now more than any other time. You're going to have to act" There was a short pause. "There is no one else. And I'm not going anywhere until you're up and about, either."
Objectively speaking, she was most likely right. Not his fault. It had been a high-risk mission to undertake. Everyone had lost someone - or died themselves. And Igna had just told him how many of them had gone down. Did not help the feeling that there probably
could have been something further he could have done. ...He could act in the face of imminent danger, but in the face of being let known everything was over - for some of them, at least - he just tended to mentally seize up. The fact that his thought was further inhibited by him unceasingly trying to either repress or ignore the pain in his arm did not help matters, either.
Tarena had never been one to ease people into things, and perhaps for the best. If not now, he would have had to face the reality in ten minutes, or in an hour, or two. Better if he manages to accept things for what they were now than shut down later on, amid everything. He persisted to stare at the cover overhead, only occasionally blinking. Officer Igna waited. Patiently or with growing irritation, who knew. Her face was an impassionate mask.
"I'll have to rest soon. For a few hours, at least, though I'd hope for the nominal six. You'll be in full charge of both your own, my and Aidren's people. Edrik will have the other half, as much as he is able, the sergeants have been informed to report to, and take orders from, either you or him. Uwe will have the same shift off as I. Aidren, as noted, is not capable of taking charge. Eris has fallen. Go, take a look the exact status of things yourself. And report to the command."
Yeah. Get up. Take a look at things. Report in. All simple enough things. Just do these. He sighed, slowly moving the light blanket covering him aside and getting up to a seated position, careful not to put his weight on his injured arm. His upper body was naked, but he was still wearing the lower half of the same set of armor Tarena displayed (though naturally a version of it fitted for him specifically; convenience and ease of movement were of utmost importance in combat). The air felt unpleasantly cool against his bare skin.
More mechanically than anything, Ezek pressed the right ring finger against the IV entry point in his left arm and used his index finger and thumb to pull it out. The sensor on his neck was next to come off, inciting an annoyed beep from the screen next to him. Since it had read him being awake and mostly within the norms (if at a bit higher stress levels), it just insisted he signed himself out. He leaned over and, somewhat awkwardly twisting his body and using his left, non-dominant hand, complied with its demands and watched it go blank in all except the time reading.
Now removing the IV-patch (which left just the bandages covering his upper left arm in place) and absentmindedly rubbing the spot, he turned back to Tarena, who seemingly still had not moved a notch. Or changed expression, for the matter. He had not said a word for a while, he only now truly realized.
"Thank you," he noted.
"I do what is my duty," Officer Igna affirmed, in an oddly measured tone. He could not help but figure whether there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, even as the woman had already turned behind himself to pick his replacement attire off the back-rest of the seat and gotten up to help him don it (something which could have proven rather painful - or at least even
more painful than simply enduring the injury - to do on his own with his freshly-reassembled arm).
The Lone Survivor
They were persistent, these birds. He had moved by a kilometer at least, yet they did not leave him alone. And he could never actually
see any of them anymore, no matter how much he stared into the canopy above, not with normal sight, not with infrared, with
nothing. Only hear them.
"Here, here, here..." It was as if they were mocking him, announcing his presence to everyone. Yes, he had shot at one of them. It had been a mistake. He had not managed to correctly identify what it was before he pulled the trigger. Not his fault. Had he stopped to analyze what he was seeing, and it
had been an actual drone, he would most likely be dead now.
Were they even following him, or were they just playing some manner of telephone-game? Sitting scattered in trees, starting to yell at him as soon as they could see what the previous watchposts were alerting them off. A ways off, towards east and roughly where he was heading, one of the birds let out a different call.
"Korrah, korrah, korrah." A longer pause.
"Korrah, korrah, korrah." And silence from that side again. (This one was seemingly right above the woman not far off, exceedingly loud and close enough for her to seemingly hear the bird take a deep breath during the longer pause, but much like others nearby, this one remained completely unseen unless she sent a drone after it.)
For a moment he halted, contemplating, but then decided to ignore it. He was almost certain he had heard one ask
"Why?" in a distinctively hollow, rasped male voice earlier. It had been oddly perturbing. It did not seem like a coincidence anymore, the similarity to human voices. The sooner he gets away from them, the sooner he will have his peace back. They would not be following him through the entire damn forest, however far it spanned, would they?
The fallen needles beneath his feet made little sound as he paced on; mostly he just heard his own breathing. Or perhaps his helmet made it appear so. He did not know. Wisps of the water kind of fog still hung in the air. Where was he even going? Where
could he go? "Away from the feathered harassers" seemed to be as good a specification as any for the time being. (What could he do to appease them, offer them food? He did not even have any on him.)
The IR picked up a faint signature - one that matched a human more than anything - and he darted behind the closest tree, pressing his gun to his chest.
Damn. If they did not have any enhanced detection mechanisms, they probably had not noticed him yet, but still...
Probably. Trenian? Anderekian? One of those machine-folks? No, the latter ones did not wander around being as, well, bare. Either they had vehicles or they were encased in enough metal to barely register as human in anything but the general shape. Those fragments from further north were unlikely this far south. Trenian was a definite possibility.
"Here!" The birds insisted. If the person did not know something was going on over here, then they were either dumb or utterly oblivious. Did it also mean preparedness for combat?
If they did not have anything capable of punching through about a meter of solid wood, he was relatively safe over here. He will need to contact another living person sooner or later. Okay. If he steps out to full sight ready to fire, and the other does not have a gun lowered and pointed at his exact tree, he most likely would have the first shot. They had seemed to be alone. Time tricked by as he readied his gun and waited, listened.
"Here. Here! He-ere!" Please, just stop that... There was some kind of faint crunching and rustle... Like wheels, not only footfalls. Now or never, he supposed.
With one abrupt motion, he was standing next to the tree, rather than being hidden behind it, gun poised. No bullets tearing through him or impacting his armor during the first half-second, which was ... positive.
"Hey!" he shouted at the person, who appeared still alone and was pushing some kind of cart or apparatus before her. Odd. He side-stepped twice, gun still steadily pointed at her - as it appeared the figure was both a woman and fairly unarmored - center of mass. Not anyone of theirs. Trenian? He did not know. Did Trenians require all of their civilians to be marked? She had something... A metal thing embedded in her skull? Was she even a human? No ... not some freaky human-shaped machine. Did not read as such. Flesh and blood, at least for the most part. Some manner of cyborg-thing? "Are you human? Who are you? From where do you hail?" He was evidently nervous; his voice betrayed such.
He was armored from head to toe, his face and eyes hidden behind helmet and visor. All besides his voice the other person had to go by was his slightly lowered posture, sideways movement and, perhaps more alarmingly, the fact that he was still aiming his gun at her. The accursed birds had finally shut up, but he could still almost feel them staring at him from above.
Noctis
Izurich
sandstorm
Alfhedil
Tuujaimaa