GWOT VI - Epilogue - Californication
Dec. 24th, 2020 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGWOT VI - Epilogue - Californication
Running and hiding. It was all they could do. So many Xtians with their rifles and machetes and worse. Sometimes a crackle at a distance, and screams without gender. Sometimes up close and personal, faces twisted with hate and crosses and splatters as you run and hope that they are too busy killing others to bother with you.
Now there was a man stumbling out of the bushes in front of them, wildly waving his pistol back and forth.
"California! I am a California officer!"
He wore some sort of uniform, which had no markings. He could barely keep his feet, stumbling. But his eyes were sharp and his hands soon steady.
They stopped. What else could they do?
"Follow me," he commanded. They did.
Four people, all in the same no-uniform uniform. One strapped down to what looked like the top half of an airplane seat. Two with broken legs, splinted with duct tape and sticks.
"Carry them and I will protect you," the soldier ordered.
They had no choice. Men with guns told them what to do, and they did what they were told so they weren't shot.
###
He held up his hand to signal a halt.
They heard screaming and crying, and rustling, and hoarse anger and bitter laughter.
"I'll be right back."
They froze, terrified.
The woman with the broken back had a pistol in her working hand. But she was different somehow.
"It'll be OK. Just wait," she soothed.
The noise quieted down. Then there was a gurgling and hacking. Then gunfire, long uncontrolled bursts answered by single pistol shots. Then silence.
"Come on up," the soldier ordered.
More refugees. More hurt people to do quick first aid on, and carry.
A lot of dead. Xtian warriors, bandits, anonymous splayed corpses festooned with weapons and dead none the less.
Jackals whose last sight had been of a lion.
###
The 747-300 landed smoothly on the tiny runway. It idled past the terminal, the Iowa technicals and the American armor, and turned to be ready for immediate take-off.
On its fuselage was the Golden Bear.
The ground crew brought up the stairs and the California crew deplaned and took over. Calmly, so calmly, but armed and brooking no resistance.
Soon the ground APU - Auxiliary Power Unit - was plugged in, and the engines spun down.
A stream of hard faced women and men in brown and green fatigues came down the stairs. Every single one of them had a visible brassard - armband - white in color, with a red cross on the white field. They carried a small personal pack and huge rucksacks of medical equipment and supplies.
"What is this?" the Iowa delegate asked. They were expecting something. But not...
"3044th Combat Field Hospital, Atascadero. We've been assigned to augment California medical resources forward deployed. I'm Colonel-Surgeon Jasper. What is the fastest means of travel to ..." ... he read from a note, "North Fork, Iowa?"
###
As soon as the field hospital was off the plane, the injured refugees started boarding. A few medical staff would go back with them, to care for them during the flight.
The five California aviators were lost in the shuffle. By design. But once aboard the plane, they were moved up front.
"Report," someone whispered in his ear, and added a few words.
"Sanitized," he said. Just the one word. It was what they needed to know now. The rest could wait until they got home.
###
_RCS Panoptes_, final log entry
Fuel status 4%. Battery status 11% on two of six cells. Enemy radar detection threshold increasing, projected to rise to detection values prior to daybreak. Valved remaining helium at 0245 hours. Glide path west at 7 knots and 600m/min attempted. Instrumentation failure at 0307 hours, last known altitude 3000m. Fired emergency chute at 1000m. Partial chute failure observed. Impact at 0324 hours. Secure equipment destroyed successfully.
Note:
All crew of _RCS Panoptes_ awarded Bear Cross, award not to be worn and to be kept in classified section of personnel file.
Running and hiding. It was all they could do. So many Xtians with their rifles and machetes and worse. Sometimes a crackle at a distance, and screams without gender. Sometimes up close and personal, faces twisted with hate and crosses and splatters as you run and hope that they are too busy killing others to bother with you.
Now there was a man stumbling out of the bushes in front of them, wildly waving his pistol back and forth.
"California! I am a California officer!"
He wore some sort of uniform, which had no markings. He could barely keep his feet, stumbling. But his eyes were sharp and his hands soon steady.
They stopped. What else could they do?
"Follow me," he commanded. They did.
Four people, all in the same no-uniform uniform. One strapped down to what looked like the top half of an airplane seat. Two with broken legs, splinted with duct tape and sticks.
"Carry them and I will protect you," the soldier ordered.
They had no choice. Men with guns told them what to do, and they did what they were told so they weren't shot.
###
He held up his hand to signal a halt.
They heard screaming and crying, and rustling, and hoarse anger and bitter laughter.
"I'll be right back."
They froze, terrified.
The woman with the broken back had a pistol in her working hand. But she was different somehow.
"It'll be OK. Just wait," she soothed.
The noise quieted down. Then there was a gurgling and hacking. Then gunfire, long uncontrolled bursts answered by single pistol shots. Then silence.
"Come on up," the soldier ordered.
More refugees. More hurt people to do quick first aid on, and carry.
A lot of dead. Xtian warriors, bandits, anonymous splayed corpses festooned with weapons and dead none the less.
Jackals whose last sight had been of a lion.
###
The 747-300 landed smoothly on the tiny runway. It idled past the terminal, the Iowa technicals and the American armor, and turned to be ready for immediate take-off.
On its fuselage was the Golden Bear.
The ground crew brought up the stairs and the California crew deplaned and took over. Calmly, so calmly, but armed and brooking no resistance.
Soon the ground APU - Auxiliary Power Unit - was plugged in, and the engines spun down.
A stream of hard faced women and men in brown and green fatigues came down the stairs. Every single one of them had a visible brassard - armband - white in color, with a red cross on the white field. They carried a small personal pack and huge rucksacks of medical equipment and supplies.
"What is this?" the Iowa delegate asked. They were expecting something. But not...
"3044th Combat Field Hospital, Atascadero. We've been assigned to augment California medical resources forward deployed. I'm Colonel-Surgeon Jasper. What is the fastest means of travel to ..." ... he read from a note, "North Fork, Iowa?"
###
As soon as the field hospital was off the plane, the injured refugees started boarding. A few medical staff would go back with them, to care for them during the flight.
The five California aviators were lost in the shuffle. By design. But once aboard the plane, they were moved up front.
"Report," someone whispered in his ear, and added a few words.
"Sanitized," he said. Just the one word. It was what they needed to know now. The rest could wait until they got home.
###
_RCS Panoptes_, final log entry
Fuel status 4%. Battery status 11% on two of six cells. Enemy radar detection threshold increasing, projected to rise to detection values prior to daybreak. Valved remaining helium at 0245 hours. Glide path west at 7 knots and 600m/min attempted. Instrumentation failure at 0307 hours, last known altitude 3000m. Fired emergency chute at 1000m. Partial chute failure observed. Impact at 0324 hours. Secure equipment destroyed successfully.
Note:
All crew of _RCS Panoptes_ awarded Bear Cross, award not to be worn and to be kept in classified section of personnel file.
