The Cresperian Alliance (33 page)

Suddenly an armored personnel carrier roared up, and Peggy Nunez leaped out. “You guys okay in there?” she called.

"NO!” Piki wailed. “The others are hurt badly. Jan was hit in the head, John has several broken bones, and Bang-bang... oh, Peggy, Bang-bang..."

By this time Peggy had hoisted herself atop the overturned tank and peered in. “Oh, dear Lord God in heaven,” she whispered. Then she turned toward the personnel carrier. “I need several big men to chunk masonry around!” she ordered. “Get on the horn and tell the docs to be ready. We've got serious wounded in White Horse. And I do mean serious. As in critical. And I need three immobilization stretchers, with men to carry ‘em."

Immediately the others in the vehicle started scrambling to obey.

The starships had entered atmosphere. They didn't operate as well there, but they were still the ultimate high ground. Crew members remote-controlled the cannons to take out large Snapper emplacements wherever they found them, all over the planet. Then the Space Marines took the point, other military units filling in.

The hovertanks took on the Snapper runabouts, their disintegrator beams cutting through them like butter; word had come down about the PEP cannons’ ability to cause damage via sheer concussive force, so anything suspected of containing one was first eliminated by starship air support. Meanwhile, the snapper lasers were stopped by the quantum shielding on virtually all human fighting equipment.

Soon the ground troops were learning to use the teleforce beams at long range; they functioned as artillery to take out entrenched Snapper units as effectively as the starships could. Concussion guns took out entire platoons of the inimical aliens, liquefying brains and internal organs within seconds. Disintegrators, whether hand held or mounted on tanks, the Earth troops discovered, could be used as shotguns with adjustable chokes, widening or narrowing the beam focus as needed.

Gradually the humans forced back the Snapper infantry wherever they were found. But they fought to the last being. The final groups were taken out by tank cannons in a remote area of Siberia near the Chinese border.

Aboard the
USSS Lady Liberty
, Admiral Wayne Terhune sighed with relief. The battle for Earth was over. And Earth had won.

"One planet down, one to go,” he muttered to himself.

Mop up was literal as well as figurative. Every field of battle was filled with the stench of Snapper guts. Finally the disgusted containment teams decided it couldn't be any worse, so they simply began cremating the alien bodies in huge pyres. Since the areas where these fires were lit didn't show signs of growing much plant life for awhile, they were careful—after the first few—to choose waste land. Damaged or destroyed buildings were bulldozed and used as the cairns over what few remains were left after the pyres.

All units and craft not involved in containment were recalled to base. There, repair and patch work commenced, moving as fast as the personnel involved could manage.

But in the infirmary of the Group, three seriously injured men were receiving more Crispy attention than anyone else.

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In the sickbay at the Brider Enclave, three Space Marines were in critical condition. Corporal Jan Wersky had suffered a severe concussion and a fractured skull. Master Sergeant John Tomlinson had multiple fractures of the legs and pelvis, as well as internal injuries to the bladder, small intestine, and part of the descending colon, consisting principally of severe bruising; some hemorrhaging was in evidence.

But by far the worst injured was Gunnery Sergeant Edward Bangler, who had a sharp shard of tank armor penetrating his abdomen. It had severed his small intestine and lacerated it in several other places. One edge had sliced into his ascending colon. The multiple injuries to his lower digestive tract had filled his abdominal cavity with potentially infectious material, in addition to allowing it to enter his bloodstream. The tip of the shrapnel had narrowly missed his vena cava, and was abrading the descending aorta with every beat of his heart. Should it succeed in perforating that artery, it would produce a massive hemorrhage that had the potential of rapidly bleeding him out.

The only reason he had not died on the battlefield was due to the continual presence of his wife. Piki had done everything she could to minimize the damage, including temporarily sealing the wounds around the hunk of metal to slow blood loss, and decreasing his pulse to lessen aortal abrasion.

Those three men were not the only wounded, of course. But with just over eighty Crispies, the Space Marines, at least, were in better shape for medical aid than much of the rest of the planet. They decided to divide themselves into teams of “doctors” and travel around to assist the most critically wounded, wherever possible.

Before she left Cresperia, Mai Le Trung had been on the verge of developing a genetic engineering technique that would enable humans to heal wounds faster, inducing local bone marrow, red blood, and even skin cells to convert into pluripotent stem cells in the area of the wound. So now she and Gordon bent their minds to it with Jeri Leverson's and Sira Tomlinson's advice and knowledge—often communicated to Gordon via perception, as they were both very busy in the infirmary. In a few hours they had generated an inoculation that would initiate the regeneration process for lesser wounds, at least. More serious wounds would still require surgical intervention.

So Mai and Gordon, as well as Gordon's four cousins, took the Cresperian teams and equipped them with the serum and replicators. Then the teams left the Enclave, intent on helping heal as many wounded as possible—as well as giving local doctors the ability to heal minor wounds such as cuts, bruises, and simple broken bones.

"It'll partly give away the Cresperian healing ability,” Gordon sighed, “but we cannot leave things as they are."

"Well, maybe not, honey,” Mai pointed out. “If everyone's careful to attribute it to the new serum, we'll still have our asses covered."

"That's the cover,” General Washington had ordered. “Send the teams out on that plan. Converted Crispies will pose as humans, and non-converted Crispies will not disclose their perception."

"Yes, sir,” Gordon acknowledged.

Meanwhile, Dalunith, who'd had to deal with his own head injury, and his closest friend Frstiminith, who had been the principal coordinator in Dalunith's healing, took on Jan Wersky's concussion and skull fracture. Given the amount of damage Dalunith had had to deal with, it proved relatively simple, and in a few hours Wersky was healed, though still unconscious, sleeping off the aftereffects.

Tomlinson's wife Sira, assisted by Chris Roberts and Jeri Leverson, worked on John. Physician Stephen Mallory helped them set the bones in Tomlinson's legs, then dosed him with Mai's gene therapy. Together the three Crispies speeded the process, knitting together multiple breaks as well as stanching the bruising and mild hemorrhage. Tomlinson, unlike the others, had regained consciousness on the rapid trip back to the Enclave. And though she had tried, Piki had been unable to do very much to ease his pain—she was simply overloaded, using her perceptive sense in a valiant effort to help all three men at once. So as his wife and friends worked on him, John sighed in relief.

"That feels good, hon,” he murmured after awhile. “That's a hell of a lot better."

"Good,” Sira responded, giving him a weary smile. “Because you scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry. We didn't know they had one of those damn plasma projectile cannon things."

"I know,” she whispered. “Lie still, now. We'll be done soon, and then you need to rest."

"How are the others? I know Piki was okay..."

"Not good,” Jeri remarked. “Well, I think Jan Wersky is doing all right now. He had a severe concussion and skull fracture. But Dalunith and Frstiminith jumped on that first thing."

"Perfect team,” Tomlinson agreed. “What about Bang?"

Sira, Jeri, and Chris glanced at each other. “I don't need a perceptive sense to get that,” Tomlinson said quietly. “Is he alive?"

"He's alive, sweetheart,” Sira said. “But he..."

"He has a hunk of metal stuck almost completely through his belly,” Jeri said bluntly. “Severed intestines, and it's sawing on his aorta. Piki, Peter, and Karen, the three British Crispies, are all working on him, along with Dr. Honeywell."

"Oh shit,” John whispered, blanching.

"Hush,” Sira ordered. “Lie back and rest. We're done with you now, and we're joining them to help. I think Dalunith and Frstiminith have already gone in there."

"Okay,” Tomlinson said. “Sira—they're like you and me. Only... only they're even newer to this part of their relationship. You've got to..."

"I know,” Sira soothed. “I know, John. We'll do everything we can.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Your men may think you're a tough bastard, but I know better,” she grinned, and he blushed.

"Let me know?” he asked.

"As soon as we know something ourselves, Sergeant Tomlinson,” Jeri promised.

The three Crispies left Tomlinson in bed to rest, and headed for the operating room.

Piki, Peter Murphy, Karen Townshend, Dalunith, and Frstiminith were already in the room when they arrived. Dr. Honeywell and several medics, including Peggy Nunez, were there as well. Bang lay nude on the operating table, strapped down, his lower body covered with a sheet. Piki stood at his head with the anesthesiologist, her palms lightly on his head, helping to keep the pain at bay and his pulse rate low. The others concentrated on stanching the bleeding as Honeywell carefully cut down through layers of muscle to more easily extract the large hunk of shrapnel.

Jeri, Sira, and Chris merged their perceptions with their colleagues and assisted. Sira moved to Bangler's head and eased into Piki's position. They looked at each other, and communicated with one glance, scarcely even needing perception:
You move to help with the abdomen, it's easier. I'll do this; you need a break.

"Suction,” Honeywell murmured as he reached the abdominal cavity. “Aw, blast. This is a mess."

"Is he torn up badly?” Peggy asked softly.

"Some,” Honeywell answered. “But the intestinal contents have contaminated the entire area. Clamp off the duodenum and the area of the ileocecal valve; that should at least slow down the mess. I'll clean it out the best I can, and you guys,” he nodded a masked head at the Crispies as his surgical team clamped each end of the small intestine, “will have to help make sure nothing gets infected. Add a bag of Cipro to that drip, Chuck,” he told the anesthesiologist.

"On it, Bill."

"Speaking of infection, it occurs to me to wonder if we have a possible pandemic with which to concern ourselves,” Piki commented as she worked on destroying the bacteria spread through Bang's abdominal cavity. Catching an infiltration of her husband's bloodstream, she focused her consciousness, and within moments that potential infection was eradicated.

"Aw, damn,” Honeywell muttered. “Alien species, alien buggums."

"Precisely."

"I doubt it, Piki,” Jeri interrupted. “After all, many of the
Zeng Wu
and
Galactic
crews were in close contact with the Snappers —-especially the diplomats. And nobody caught anything."

"Oh,” Piki murmured.

"Still, our soldiers and many of our civilians got extensive contact with body fluids, planet wide,” Honeywell pointed out. “Better safe than sorry."

Jeri nodded. “Agreed. This is your home world, after all, and you don't possess perceptive senses to clean up such things. I'm sure you'd rather be certain."

"Peggy,” Honeywell ordered, “call forward and have that notion passed up to General Washington. We need to know as soon as possible if we've got a pandemic."

"Yes sir.” Peggy moved to the intercom and murmured into it for a few moments, then returned. “In work, sir."

"Okay, did you get contaminated making the call?"

"No sir."

"Good, because I need another set of hands here. Come hold this blasted chunk of tank while I try to get it loose without slicing him apart. Crispy team, keep on the bleeders. Human team, I want suction, lavage, and more suction, then—will I need sutures, guys?” he asked the Crispies.

"For the large perforation, and for the main incision and puncture wound, yes,” Piki answered. “But it does not have to be as sophisticated as you would usually do. Merely hold it together until we can close it."

"Got it,” Honeywell agreed with a nod. “Nurse, forehead."

A nurse stepped forward with a disposable towel and mopped Honeywell's perspiring forehead.

"Suction,” Honeywell ordered.

"Suction.” A medic suited action to word.

"Flush it all out,” Honeywell declared.

Several medics directed streams of sterile saline over the lacerated intestines.

"Suck it out,” Honeywell finished.

The medic applied the suction cannula until the abdominal cavity appeared clear.

"Okay, everyone, here we go,” Dr. Honeywell declared. “If we've done our stuff and we're careful, this will slip right out and we can start closing up. If we've missed something, we're gonna have blood everywhere. Keep that suction cannula ready, and have a couple liters of blood handy.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone ready?"

"Ready, Bill."

"Yes sir."

"We have him, doctor."

"Peggy, just hold the weight of the metal, and let me manipulate it, all right?” Honeywell verified.

"Got it,” Peggy nodded.

With delicate, rubber gloved hands, Honeywell eased aside Bang's small intestine. A gloved medic took over that task. Then Honeywell reached in and grasped the sharp end of the metal fragment, where it rested between the descending aorta and the vena cava. Working carefully, he shifted it back and forth until it was loose from the surrounding tissue—which was abraded, but not perforated, and merely held the fragment in place via weight—and pulled it straight back along the path it had entered. Peggy supported its weight, and within seconds it was free of Bangler's body.

Several points oozed blood, but nothing gushed, to everyone's relief. Moments later even those had stopped, as the Crispies applied their every skill on this man one of their own loved so dearly.