InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Someday . . ."

She'd never seen natural lightning or heard the crash of thunder once before in her life, but she imagined that this is what it was like to be directly underneath a storm. Of course, this barrage upon their outpost was far more deadly than that, more a hurricane or a tornado than a downpour and several flashes of electricity cutting through the sky. The earth beyond the old concrete she was crouched behind as a defense was being kicked up by the shelling, the vibrations from impact and subsequent explosion spreading up harshly from ground and through her bones. Her platoon was pinned down, no questions or doubts about it, and at this point, she could barely see or hear them between the brilliant flashes of light and the sounds of the world being torn apart. There was shouting, of course, but none of it intelligible, and hardly loud enough to give a clear order.

It was this part she hated the most; waiting, helplessly, trapped between a crumbled wall and an impenetrable hail of explosives. To fight back would've been preferable, but at this point in the game, it would've been a waste of ammo to fire any rounds. Her legs were getting cramped from all of the tension and lack of movement, her youthful impatience adding an extra burden. Even three years of combat wasn't enough to make her any less restless. "Where's the ruttin' air support?" she hissed under her breath to the person beside her, who gruffly responded with a "don't gorram know" that was entirely expected. No one knew what was going on, and that was their biggest problem.

Much as she hated them, she had to admit that the Alliance knew what they were doing, and they certainly had the upperhand on this battlefield. From the start, they'd had numbers and technology on their side in the War, but that didn't mean the Independents couldn't at least try to fight back, and didn't have quite a lot of brilliant minds to overcome their disadvantages. But communications between sky and land had been jammed hours ago, and with the infantry scattered, it was likely difficult to try to bomb the enemy without too many casualties on their own side. And that wasn't their only problem -- the Alliance had some damn good pilots of their own, and while much of their forces had been reportedly redirected to Du-Khang, there was still enough of an air force to cause trouble here.

The bombing seemed to be slowing down, at least for a brief enough moment that the night sky wasn't entirely blotted out by patches of light, and there was the clear echo of a machine gun going off to her far left and its return fire from a distance. Limbs growing stiff and painful, she decided to shift around a bit, and for a moment, considered to even dare take a look at what had gone on behind her. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, a loud whistle came from above and she felt hands press down on her body as she was tackled sideways, all wind thrown out of her lungs. "GET DOWN!" the corporal barely had time to shout at her before there was a deafening roar that filled her ears from where they'd both been sitting only seconds ago.

Even with a helmet, her head hit the ground hard enough to cause her to black out. She wasn't sure how long it took for her to try to open her eyes again, but she found it difficult, face caked in dirt and something hot, wet, and sticky. There was a salty iron taste on her tongue and the heavy stench of burnt cloth, hair and flesh overwhelming her nose. It caused her to cough, but she found herself choking instead, and nearly incapable of breathing, at all. The weight of a fully armored man bearing down on her chest was bound to have cracked a rib somewhere, but the pain all over her body made it hard to pinpoint what was wrong. Still rattled, all she could think to do was tell him to move. "Sir...sir...crushin' me..." No response, and she had strong feeling about what that meant. She wiggled her fingers, all still in tact and not paralyzed, and moved her arms to shove him off. It took more strength than she thought she had left in her, but with the additional help of her legs (perhaps one of the benefits of being a petite woman), his limp form was pushed up and rolled off to the side.

He was dead, all right, two blank eyes staring at, and yet past, her. She'd seen death before, many times, but it had never been so close as this. She'd never had a man knowingly give up his life for hers. But the time to mourn was later. There was something sharp sticking out of his abdomen, and as she slowly moved her hands over her body to figure out what was still functioning, she realized it had passed through him, his body armor, and her own. There was a hole somewhere, not too deep, but enough to cause blood to start pooling out of the wound. "Wong ba duhn..." she managed to curse, clamping her hands down on the spot as she struggled to right herself and lean against the makeshift fortifications. Again, she was stuck in the part she hated the most; waiting, helplessly, until she either bled out or a medic found her and she was brought to safety. It was a terrible idea to close her eyes, but everything felt so heavy, and she just couldn't keep them open.

---

Though it wasn't the first time she'd woken up between those last lucid moments in the combat zone and now, with the faint rhythm of beeps from a monitor beside her bed, it was certainly the only time that she could've called herself conscious and alert. She recalled several flashes of coherence when the medics and their red crosses finally shook her back to reality, asking her name (to which she thought she shouted, "Dunyazad, Soheila, sir!", but her voice came out as a breathless, dry mumble), and when she had her body lifted into a waiting transport shuttle, and finally when she watched a blood transfusion drip steadily into a tube in her arm before succumbing to the other drugs in her system again. But she was awake now. Drowsy, but far more aware of what was going on than she'd been in a long time.

Her abdomen was still sore and the bandage over the area was itchy, but considering that she wasn't dead, Sohei didn't mind that she was facing some discomfort. The rest of her body ached, as well, more from stiffness than anything else, and she slowly began to prop herself up in the sterile white bed, careful not to knock any wires or tubes out of place. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought she was in a real hospital, but the dull buzzing undercurrent from the engines in a lower deck was an easy giveaway. Considering her background, however, it was a greater comfort to still be in the skies than it would've been to be on land.

Even though there were plenty of people -- nurses and doctors alike -- milling about, checking on row upon row of patients with various needles and instruments in hand, it still seemed oddly quiet in this room. Then again, everything was quiet in comparison to being in the middle of a battlefield. But thinking about what had happened, how Samuels had saved her life, how painfully useless she'd been... Sohei didn't want to think about it, let alone feel the sorrow that was beginning to creep upon her, not here and not now. The curtain was drawn between her bed and the one to her right, but she could see the man in the bed to her left. Much as it would've been nice to see a familiar face right now, he was a stranger to her, and while she didn't want to seem like she was staring, she took a good side glance over at him with curiosity.