Lightning Strike (Damned of the 2/19th Short Story) - FINISHED

What Cromwell Did

I rolled over, coughing from the smoke, the dust in the air, and from being knocked ass over tea kettle until I'd rolled to the bottom of the hill. I'd lost my weapon, but the flaming debris all over the upper part of Upper Helipad Hill kept me from looking for it. I got to my hands and knees, gagging and choking as the stench of roasting human meat mixed with jet fuel rolled over me. There had been 24 Rangers on those helicopters, as well as a full trauma medical team and their security, and now they were part of the flaming debris that had finished crashing to the ground.

It was partly my fault, from kicking off that flare and thinking I was guiding them to the helipad, but they should have been told that the whole area was a hazard zone. Pilot error, bad conditions, and piss poor communications had killed upwards of thirty people in an instant.

My legs were shaky when I got to my feet. From my waist down was pins and needles, painful and throbbing. It didn't matter, I needed to get moving, people were depending on me. Even with Comrade Doctor poor Cromwell would be overwhelmed with the wounded. She was a normal medic, hadn't even gone through the Special Weapons class so she could receive field surgery training, and now she had people with penetrated abdominal injuries, multiple broken bones, and Lord only knew what kind of organ damage.

Pulling my training close I opened my thumb and forefinger, then bit down hard on the muscle in between the two. The pain was intense, but I bit harder, not stopping till I tasted blood. Agony throbbed from the muscle, but I felt better than I had before I'd bitten. I spit blood and started staggering forward, my knees buckling with each step.

Thank God for all the drinking I'd done over the years. If I could stagger home from the bar missing my panties and balance, I sure as hell could walk back to the Fort under my own power.

Don't fall in the mud. Don't fall in the mud. One foot in front of the other, soldier. Yer left, yer left, yer left right left, four to yer left, two three four, four to yer left, two three four.

Where I'd left Little Bit came into the sight. The woman had rolled over onto her side and vomited, and from the marks in the mud, had tried to get up.

Delirium? I checked my pocket chem and rad detectors real quick, levels were Atlas normal, no spikes.

Sorry, Little Bit, I thought to myself, bending down and grabbing the stocky woman's arm. I'd checked it, she didn't have any breaks, none of her ribs had been shifting, so hopefully I wasn't about to cause more trauma to her already abused body. I pulled her over my shoulders, grunting at her weight. Holy crap, for a girl that had barely broken a buck when she'd arrived at Atlas last year, she'd packed on the weight in muscle for work and brown fat for energy. My knees shook from the effort, and I cursed to myself when I realized she'd wrapped the sling of her precious anti-material rifle around her forearm, probably while she was half-conscious. The broken weapon kept hitting my legs as I staggered toward the berm that separated down-range from up-range. I thought I saw headlights across the 1K Zone, but wrote it off as to the fact my head was starting to swim and exertion sparkles had started appearing in my vision.

My ribs hurt, my chest felt tight, Little Bit's weight was compressing my spine and making my ass hurt, everything from my hips down was fiery pins and needles with throbbing, and I was pretty sure that I'd pissed myself at some point. I cursed the fact I was starting to get old. The old break in my leg was throbbing even over the pins and needles, and my knees were screaming as I struggled up the berm until The Fort was in sight.

The ZSU was parked out front, the troops hatches open, and I could see one of the troops out front of The Fort, bent over at the waist, and I knew they were puking their guts out at what was going on inside.