Chapter 897: End of Days

Chapter 897: End of Days

After the war is when the military suffers the most losses. - General John Trautmint, Age of Paranoia

The room was nearly silent, just the ticking of the clock on the wall. The diagnostic equipment was missing, having served their function and been put away. The only thing remaining were the counters, the cabinets, the health and medical posters on the wall, a single chair, a 2.5D LCD low-rez display, and the examination table.

General NoDra'ak sat on the table, idly picking at the hospital gown he was wrapped in.

I don't really have obvious genitalia, which makes this tradition even sillier. Traditions are often silly, but sometimes we slavishly adhere to them anyway. Which is all right, but like P'Thok and Mi'Luki showed my people, traditions can sometimes be harmful. I wish I had a cigarette. I could use a cigarette and a fried sausage and vegetable stick from the commissary. I'll have my driver take me to the commissary. I wonder what my driver is doing? Probably counting the clouds. Cloud...

The medical bracelet on his wrist beeped and there was a hiss that cleared his head.

This is dumb. I just tripped. Sure, I went ass over teakettle, but I just tripped. You know, that's a weird saying. It's Terran, I know that, but why ass over teakettle? That's strange. But then, Terrans are strange. This whole war has been strange.

He could feel the tightness in his abdomen and deliberately took a deep breath, feeling the slightly painful pulling sensation in his left book lung.

I trip and knock myself out on the run, but at least I fell at the finish line, so I passed my PT test. This is dumb, I'll be fine. There was no reason to call an ambulance. Heh, the wah-bulance. Wah wah wah. Heh.

The door opened, pulling NoDra'ak from his musings.

He noted right off hand that the doctor looked serious as she entered. She was a worker Treana'ad, with good coloring.

I'll be she can chew through a head in 60 seconds. I wonder what her favorite type of ice cream is. I want some ice cream to go with my sausage stick, NoDra'aks thoughts had the dreamy, hazy feeling that they'd had since he'd been injured.

The wristband on his left arm beeped and he felt the cool sting of the autoinjector going off.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

"General," the doctor said sitting down.

"Doctor," NoDra'ak replied.

The doctor tapped on the dataslate with the thick red casing for a moment, then examined it.

"We've gone over your scans. It was a bad fall. You injured your left legs, arm, bladearm, book lung, and suffered a severe cerebral contusion on both your primary and secondary brains, as well as have some swelling in your thorax spinal cords," she said. She looked up. "I understand that you refuse in-patient admittance?"

"I just fell," NoDra'ak said. "Just a tumble. Just clonk bonk bonk. It wasn't that bad. I don't need in-patient therapy, just a little bit of rest and I can..."

"General," the doctor said, interrupting him.

"Yes?"

hiss

"Looking over the video, you were unconscious before you collapsed. You ran at least fifty meters unconscious before you took that tumble," the doctor said.

"That's not right," NoDra'ak said, frowning. "I can remember running across the line."

"Can you?" the doctor asked.

NoDra'ak frowned more.

I was running. The end of the course was coming up. I was light headed, my left lung had that crackling feeling when I inhaled. I'd put on the best end-run burst I could as soon as I saw the end zone. I was coming in three minutes under max time. I got close and then there were fireworks and matrons dancing at the finish line. P'Thok was there, waving me on and...

"Oh. Uh," NoDra'ak said.

"You suffered a severe head wound some time ago," she said.

NoDra'ak nodded. "Twenty years ago. Starship went left, I went right, cracked my skull," he thought for a moment. "Rough fight, that one. Not as rough as the Mar-gite or Mithril, but still tough. Not as tough as the beef jerky the nanoforge at the gym puts out. Have you ever been to the gym?"

The doctor nodded.

"You were advised to stay under medical care but instead discharged yourself to take command of the situation," the doctor said.

General NoDra'ak nodded, thinking about back then, finishing up with remembering how cool and satisfying the juice box he'd had yesterday was.

"There was a reason, General. Now that reason is starting to rear its head, compounded by your most recent injury," the doctor said. She sighed. "Once a male's skull is broken, it releases certain chemicals. If, and I mean if the male survives, there are permanent changes to the brain. Over time, those changes keep compounding. It's progressive."

General NoDra'ak nodded, thinking about how he could really go for a sausage...

hiss

The big Treana'ad looked at the doctor.

"...medication to assist with it, but I'm afraid that you will have to be put on profile and are moving to the front of the queue for medical boarding," the doctor said. "I'm sure you understand, General."

NoDra'ak nodded.

"I'll have the pharmacy give you a new injector band with the new medications," The doctor got up. "I'll write a script for some additional medication that will keep you focused and prevent the attention deficit disorder symptoms."

"Thank you," NoDra'ak said.

The doctor left the room and the General slowly got up, removed the gown, and got dressed.

-----

General NoDra'ak hated his dress blacks. Sure, he looked snazzy in them, but the sash with all the dress versions of his awards always felt ostentatious to him. His medals were polished and gleamed, his awards were correctly stacked, his badges shined brightly, and the creases in his uniform were immaculate.

But he still hated them. It made him feel like a fool.

The door opened and a kobold Staff Sergeant looked around.

"General NoDra'ak?" he asked.

The big Treana'ad stood up.

"The board is ready for you, sir," the kobold said.

NoDra'ak's lawyers got up with him.

The room was silent, somber. The chairs were all empty behind the separation bannister. He moved up and stood in front of the medical board.

They were mostly Colonels, with two Command Sergeant Majors.

He saluted the board, waited until the salute was returned, then waited at attention.

The board looked over his paperwork. There were medical datapads and even folders of medical hard copy. Several times the board members brought paperwork to the attention of others.

Finally, a Rigellian female Colonel fixed him with a stare.

"This medical board proceeding is to determine if you are fit for duty or must be separated due to medical issues," the Colonel said. "It is being recorded in both audio and visual formats, in high fidelity sound and 480p for the official record. A copy of the recording will be provided to you, your legal representation, and will entered into your official file. Do you understand?"

General NoDra'ak nodded. He wondered, briefly, what it was like to have all that muscle. Then imagined what a Treana'ad would look like with all that muscle. Which brought to mind the image of a cattle queen flexing all those muscles.

"Hey, sir, don't worry. No matter what, it'll work out. Either you're fit for duty or you're not," Bit.nek looked right and left, then took a smooth right. "Like I told Simz.ek when he got pinked, there isn't any shame in getting too banged up as long as it was a good time."

Vuxten chuckled. "Is it weird that a part of me wants to be found not fit for duty so I can go home to my wife, broodcarriers, and podlings?"

"No, sir," Bit.nek said. "It's been, what, twenty years relative for you since you saw your wife and broodmommies last?"

Vuxten nodded.

"Shit, I'd go AWOL," Bit.nek laughed. "You know, Major, because you want to go home and see your wife and broodmommies, they're going to probably keep you in service and slap you with a PDA (Present Duty Assignment) and stop-loss."

Vuxten snorted. "I'll stop-loss you," he mock threatened.

Bit.nek pulled into the Regimental Headquarters Company parking lot and killed the engine.

"Go ahead and go change. After that, get something to eat then wait out here in case I need you," Vuxten said.

"Roger that, sir," Bit.nek said. He picked up a clothing bag from the floorboards next to him. "Back into my work clothes."

Vuxten got out and made his way to his office. He got his ACU down and changed quickly, hanging the dress black uniform up and making sure it was in the anti-static/anti-wrinkle bag.

He sat back in his chair, booted up his comp on his desk, and started going through the maintenance requests.

After almost an hour there was a light knock on the door.

"Enter," Vuxten said, tabbing out the window and moving to the screensaver.

Bit.nek came in, somehow looking rumpled and disheveled even though the uniform was clean and just put on. The private shut the door and looked around carefully, then checked his watch.

Vuxten noted there was a green telltale lit up.

"Got that data you were asking me to get," Bit.nek said. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out the macroplas rectangle that was about an inch thick. He handed it to Vuxten, who just looked at it and shook his head.

"Miss the datacubes," Vuxten said. He moved his blotter slightly to expose the dataport and shoved the macroplas dataslate into the port. He heard the gears spool up and knew it was checking the data on the iron-oxide tape system.

"Don't want a shade jumping out and ripping your guts out," Bit.nek said.

Vuxten killed the screen saver and brought up the data.

Everyone who had been before the medical boards. It was mandatory across the entirety of 7th Army and nearly 8,000 troops had already been seen.

"Getting the awards data was the harder part. Lot of redacted stuff," Bit.nek said. "Got a friend who knows this guy whose dating this femmy in the PERSCOM detachment. She got most of the award data. Have a friend in MI who knows someone in MEDCOM who has access to the PRP (Personnel Reliability Program) who was able to pull unredacted."

Vuxten nodded, waiting for the dataslate to give up all the data. The computers were almost just as fast, the new molycirc designs only a little slower, but the computing power was the same.

"Big Mike had a friend in MILSOFCOM (MILitary SOFtware COMmand) make a quick sorting system for you," Bit.nek finished.

"Well, let's see what we're looking at," Vuxten said.

He began sorting the files by who was retained and who was put out on permanent disability and who was put on temporary disability.

"Yeah, it looks like the more awards you have, the faster they put you in front of the medical board and the faster you get put out," Bit.nek said. He shrugged. "Correlation does not equal causation."

Vuxten nodded. He pointed. "There's the one that pissed so many people off. CWO Melinvae, 19th Medical Group."

Bit.nek looked at the data. "Heard about her. The Warsteel Lady," he looked at the award section and whistled. "Damn, look at that. Three Confederate Cluster of Gallantry. First one she got when she was 27."

"You don't win that easy," Vuxten said.

"You'd know," Bit.nek shrugged. "Damn, over sixty years in the saddle. Fifteen wound stripes. Highest awarded Hesstlan. Longest Hesstlan in service. First Hesstlan to be awarded the Saint Doss Cross. Already got longevity treatment once."

Vuxten tapped the bottom. "Separated from service. Advanced age. Psychological injuries."

"Well, duh, no shit," Bit.nek said. He leaned a little closer. "Damn, she was part of P'Kank's crew as an air cavalry medic. I know a guy who was involved in that shit-show. Drinks himself stupid so he can sleep," Bit.nek leaned back. "She deserved to go home."

"Who else is rumor control pissed about?" Vuxten asked.

Each name brought up a litany of awards, time in service, time under temporal warfare protocols.

Vuxten accepted the fizzystim from Bit.nek as they looked over another set of records.

"Damn, this guy has his entire first three decades redacted even in PRP files," Bit.nek said. "Clownface," he leaned back. "Christ, what a shit-show."

"Clownface?" Vuxten asked. "I don't know anything about it."

"No. Just, most of these people should have been boarded out years ago," Bit.nek said. "This whole thing is a shitshow."

"Still feel like the boards are targeting guys with lots of combat medals and combat tours?" Vuxten asked.

Bit.nek shook his head. "Hell, if anything they should board anyone who got more than a Blue Starburst for Valor," Bit.nek said. "It looks that way, but most of these guys are so busted up they can't go to sick call."

Vuxten nodded. "All right, I think we've seen enough. Let me know if there's any egregious examples."

"Mind checking a friend? He says he's being put out for no reason other than he's patched," Bit.nek said.

"Sure," Vuxten said. He typed in the name and it popped up. Vuxten took a quick look. "Your friend mention that he fought in a warmek with blown reactor shielding for three years? That they literally had to glue his legs back on at one point?"

Bit.nek laughed. "No. Must have slipped his mind."

"It isn't because he's patched. It's because they've scraped him up with a squeegee twice," Vuxten said. He brought up the PT scores. "He can barely pass PT."

"And he failed his warmek recertification even after four tries," Bit.nek said. He shook his head. "Yeah. He needs to get it that it's time to go home."

"Like I said, let me know if there's any egregious cases," Vuxten said.

Bit.nek picked up his hat. "Will do, sir."

Vuxten stared at the data as his driver left.

Out of curiosity he checked for personnel on active duty, using graduating class number as the reference.

ONE RECORD FOUND blinked on the screen.

He opened it up.

It was his.

He clicked through to disconnect the storage device, then pulled the cartridge from the docking bay. He put it in a drawer, turned on the screen saver, then turned his chair around.

Out in the quad a group of brand new privates were cleaning their weapons.

Out of my entire Telkan Basic Training class, I'm the last one in service.