LeVelle S. McCallum
The Third Day-Bell.
Commander Rook.
Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Third day-bell.
Location: Northern Lamathlenlendari.
Strength: 7,500
Combat ready: 6,950
Wounded: 440
Missing: 110
Death count: 11,984
Supply status: Yellow
Morale: Surprisingly high.
Summary:
King, the air hangs hot and humid in this hellish bog. Reth’Karae’s followers have been engaging in a display of berserker-like behavior at random. Though it feels very well thought out. Though our intelligence has been moved to a higher security, I cannot help but feel we are still expected. This feeling leaves little to be desired and with communications to you being delayed it frankly makes me uneasy. White Knight, Black Bishop, the Pawns and I have been working tirelessly on the report delay since the death of Black Queen. We are marching through the northern part of Lamathlenlendari. Although as I write, we are at hold momentarily, just south of Moraera.
The healers currently are making their way through the ranks passing out water and cooling them with frost magic as their armor has grown hot enough to burn into their flesh where the plate touches the skin. Several officers have had to be taken back to the Bishop’s infirmary camp due east of our position instead of our own due to the severity of their burns. We will be advancing deeper into Lamathlenlendari today and will be reaching The Mire by this evening. I have reached out to the White Knight, and he expects to rendezvous with our forces in the south. At this point we are contemplating leaving the plate and arming ourselves in chain and leather as the plate will continue to burn and potentially cause problems within the mire. The smiths are working out how to solve the problem of heat and weight. However, there are only a few of them left after the last several battles and it has left us wanting for repairs and now armament.
I have sent several scouts to Felalumdorin in the east and have yet to hear back about provisions or a smith. White Knight has in turn sent his own envoys to Telthalandalas. From correspondence with White Knight the lord there has been inclined to acquiesce to our requests. We will be receiving a few battle mages for camp guard, along with a textile smith tasked with making these uniforms less sweltering. Many of us have expended much magic to keep the heat out. As you are aware that magic can be used elsewhere for more tactical reasons. However today we have discovered what happens when prudence is exercised. This place is infuriating to say the least. Honestly, it’s no wonder Reth’Karae picked this inferno, it’s the closest place to Ra’Mora in Avharin’enan. As I write this, the ink runs from the wetness of the air. Absolutely foul. Nothing here dries and foot rot has run rampant amongst our ground division along with other such unpleasantries.
The enemy, being especially foul, has been targeting our healers on the field as of late. This forces us to leave them at the forward camps instead of bringing them to the front. It has been costing us hundreds. Though not having any healers at our disposal, especially after such grisly battles would cost us thousands.
The morsunae vherani, have become quite a horde of screaming devils since the Siege of Moraera Arahir’thal. Morale seems high amongst the soldiers at the opportunity to face the wyvern riders again, possibly tonight. Even with their…unfortunate circumstances. I do not share that sentiment. The wyvern riders are a strange and fearless people who on sight seem to loosen my bowels. Though White Knight is of the firm belief that what is best for the soldiers should outweigh the dignity of my breeches.
Rook
P.S. I have received word that my sena is direly ill, please confirm on correspondence.
Bishops’ Brigade (Hunting Party):
20Km due E of Rook’s division. 5Km due E of Infirmary camp.
“Get down!” I hear from behind me as one of the wyvern rider glides past spraying acid over our battalion. Frozen I watch as the others push and scramble trying to get out of the line of fire. The battle mages shield the healers best they can, but it is no match for the wyvern’s spew. I leap into the trees getting out of the way as another behind me screams. The wyvern glides over me and I see it land in the clearing in the line of our travel. Glancing back, my eyes find the others that were left in its wake, their flesh blistered sloughing off their bones in heavy wet sheets. The sound of gurgling screams and wet flesh hitting the rocks jars me and I begin fumbling over the rocky terrain.
My legs shake as I begin to scale the short cliffside muttering frantic curses under my breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I wheeze as the fumes begin to burn my lungs. “Oh, gods please not like this…” I choke out as my legs move on their own, my body in tow.
“Callavhen!” I hear from behind me. I turn quickly to see my platoon leader waving me to come down and fight. I shake my head listening to the wailing cries of my comrades.
“No!” I call shaking my head as I look down to him. He glares up at me with disdain. I don’t care, not anymore. I had, once about the first, then the second, by the fifth I decided it was best to not even remember their names. They all died anyway. “I’m a fucking healer not a warrior! You fight! You’re the soldier!” I call back choking on the burning sensation in my lungs. Then we both turn our heads hearing it, the high-pitched chirping of another wyvern and its rider as they descend upon our platoon.
“Move!” calls the leader. He turns back just in time to skewer a cultist as they charge forth through the fumes bone mask and all. I take the moment to turn towards the rock face pinpointing a nook in which I hide clasping my hands over my long-pointed ears as the wailing of my comrades continues below. There is no victory here. The platoon is too small against the morsunae vherani. Even though wyverns couldn’t fly the gliding and spews they provided the enemy were devastating to our numbers.
When the screaming stopped, I creep from the nook. Looking around. The enemy gone from the field, my platoon lay in the acid burnt grass and dirt. This is the worst part, finding survivors. I hear a choked groan and stand following the sounds to the body of our leader.
“You…Coward…” He groans and I cringe.
“An alive coward that’s going to —” I drop to my knees cutting the leather straps on his armor. “Heal…” I stare shocked. There is no healing I can do to save him. The shrieking must have been from him because he clearly has been crushed in the razor-sharp jaws of a wyvern.
“Don’t touch—” he wheezes. “Me—” another rasping breath as he glares into my eyes with the most disgusted look I had ever been given. “Coward,” I lower my head. Fine, a part of me still clung to care. How could I not? I was a healer of the nine trained in saving lives not in taking them.
“I made vows,” I murmur in hollow defense.
“You disgrace. Yourself…” the leader whispers. Then as if on cue his pupils blow and the leader’s bowels release indicating death. I lower my head standing solemnly. I grab his orders and wedding band. Then go searching for any survivors, I take their names and wedding bands. I now am tasked with collecting my fallen brothers and sisters’ orders or letters. Putting each in my satchel with grim ceremony.
“Fucking war,” I mutter taking the nine spires flag. I let it drag behind me as I limp back towards the infirmary camp.
The air burns my blistered lungs and throat as I march back alone. My feet drag a little more each mile and by the time I reach the Chevaux de frise and barely have it in me to wave the flag alerting the camp I am a healer and not a clever morsunae, which hasn’t happened yet but it could so we stay vigilant. A few moments later the officers stationed at the entrance apprehend me for questioning. I hate this part.
“What happened?” a woman says urgently. I shake my head opening my mouth to reveal the blistered skin on my gums, throat, and tongue. The fumes would have done worse had I stayed below. “Get him to infirmary, I want a full report upon healing,” the officer says. I nod looking down at my feet. The bottoms of my robes stained in blood and the mud made from it.
There’s something to be said of the more advanced healers. Like the handsome human man working on me now. No doubt one of the gentlemen from the college in Lumindalas. I watch his hands work, how he pulls the magic into his hands from the environment around us.
“That’s impressive,” I croak.
“Shhh. No speaking,” he murmurs at me. I look up at him then away without speaking. “I know how impulsive you elves can be after a battle—”
“What if I’m impulsive all the time?” I smirk my voice rough. He gives me a look that says stop talking. I close my mouth as he continues his speech.
“— So do not try to woo me. I do not tumble with my patients and frankly when it comes to the loose monogamy of elves, I am unimpressed,” He gives me a look that says he’s serious and I roll my eyes and nod in acknowledgment.
“That is ok I suppose, when it comes to the foolish naivety of humans and their absurdity, I find myself equally unimpressed,” I croak. He gives me a look of irritation.
“A word of advice—” I cut him off.
“Have you been in the field?” I ask.
“What?”
“Have you been in the field?”
“No—”
“Then I have some advice for you, how about before you run your mouth to a man who just watched the flesh melt off of his friends’ bones, you shut the fuck up about a culture you clearly know nothing about other than anatomy,” I snap my voice raw, painful, and gravely. The handsome man purses his lips scowling at me and stands up. The impressive magic that was soothing and healing me eviscerates into the air.
“I think we’re done here—” he looks down at the paper. “— Callavhen,”
“You’re going to leave me like this?” I croak. He turns paying me no mind and walks out. The tent flap hasn’t even fallen completely before the guards come back, stone faced and agitated. I let out a sigh. “Fuck,” I mutter.
Commander White Knight.
Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Fourth day-bell.
Location: West Lamathlenlendari.
Strength: 5,234
Combat ready: 5,030
Wounded: 190
Missing: 14
Death count: 12,146
Supply status: Green
Morale: High.
Summary:
King, I will be rendezvousing with Rook in the south of Lamathlenlendari by nightfall. Rook has pinpointed the location of Reth’Karae and his generals. We plan to face him head on tonight with the help of the Dwarves of the Southern hold and the Soldiers of Stormshore. This is it, everything we have been working up to. I am giddy with the thought of going home to see you ~~and mother ~~The White Queen.
I am worried about the decision to leave Bishop in charge of the healers. I don’t think he takes it seriously enough. Rook and I have stressed the fact that without them our forces will suffer mass casualties. I have heard from my scouts that he has been sending them out with soldiers to find cultists and suffering large losses as if there is a surplus of qualified healers just waiting back in Lumindalas to be recruited. He is a phenomenal battle strategist, but when it comes to defense, I find him lacking. Rook and I want to petition with Lord Straig and General Mott to move the healers under our banner and then keep the second battalion with him.
Rook taking the lead has been our saving grace. No one has figured out yet how his espionage has been so clean and informative. I must say it makes him look very heroic. I may also be ever so slightly envious of that fact and thus I have been ridiculing him about when he soiled his breeches while facing the wyvern riders. Granted to be honest we all shit ourselves. Nothing like having boiling tar sprayed at you from a gliding behemoth lizard. If Reth’Karae wasn’t a wyrm lord, I’d suggest contacting the keepers of Kar’Kirae’el or even Kar’Thalnirae to rid us of these bastards. They are doing significant damage.
White Knight
Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp):
15Km due E of Rook’s division.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hear the familiar voice come from behind the canvas wall. “Callavhen?” The Bishop himself emerges. I let out a doomed breath regretting not being in the line of fire earlier. “Another?” he asks with raised brows.
“I think this is number twelve this year,” I shrug. “Forty-five now all together,”
“Forty-five platoons? You can see where this is sounding less like you survived and more like you are a curse or an informant,” the commander says dragging up a chair and sitting across the table from me.
“I didn’t know fifth was going into wyvern territory or I would have told one of the uppity cunts to fuck off and ended up scrubbing latrines and healing foot rot instead of watching my platoon become melted like blacksmith smelt,” I reply still hoarse.
“At this point it may be safer for the poor bastards that I do keep you here. You are gaining ground as a curse amongst your peers. I practically had to pay your platoon leader to take you—”
“Little good that did him,” I mutter lifting my satchel and dropping it so the wedding bands and papers fall out of it. “For the wives and families,” I hand him the notebook of intelligence information and orders. “That’s for you—” I stand up and turn. “I’m going to go bathe. I shit myself earlier, at least the leader and I had that much in common,”
“Gods,” Bishop gasps. “Your foul mouth is horrendous,” I shrug as I walk out the door dismissively. The guard escorts me to the healers’ quarters casting sidelong glances at me failing to be inconspicuous.
“Are you trying to invite me to your bed or do you have something to say?” I ask sharply. He doesn’t look back and I smirk at the win. We continue to walk in silence for a while until I make it to the quarters. “Private?” I ask surprised at the single tent.
“Nobody else wanted to bunk with you,” I hear from behind me. I turn to see the handsome human healer from earlier.
“Because I’m cursed?” I ask sarcastically.
“Probably because you smell like shit,”
“Nobody’s perfect,”
“You’re disgusting,”
“Unfortunately, I’d have to agree for now,” I smirk at him. He lets out an exasperated breath of disbelief looking away and shaking his head. At this point the guard takes a step back uncomfortably and then walks away. I purse my lips after him as he disappears beyond the corner.
“You’re unbelievable,” the healer says. I smirk again.
“I bet I could have you screaming that by the end of the night,” I raise a brow. He rolls his eyes and walks past me.
“You should probably clean yourself before trying to seduce anyone,” he mutters giving me a wide berth. I smile after him.
“So, you are interested!” I call. He shakes his head and disappears into a tent. I stare for a moment after him pleased with myself and then head into my own tent. To find a pile of common healers’ robes, a towel, and a small bar of lye soap. “Thank the fucking gods, adequate room service,” I chuckle grabbing the bundle of fabrics and soap and heading to the baths.
The Fifth Day-Bell.
Commander Rook.
Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Fifth day-bell.
Location: Southern Lamathlenlendari.
Strength: 7,100
Combat ready: 6,520
Wounded: 350
Missing: 230
Death count: 12,611
Supply status: Orange
Morale: Wavering.
Summary:
Do not ever station me here again after this war has ended. My troops and I faced those fucking cultists. They used CHILDREN! 400 soldiers to CHILDREN! None of my men wanted to slay them. I didn’t even want to slay them when they came sprinting in screaming in the name of Reth’Karae. Gods. They took out 400 of us—well-trained warriors from the north—slain by children not even in their third century. We cut them down quickly once we had decided to excuse our morals for survival. There was no victory in their dispatch.
Among those four hundred, they took out about twenty of my best men and a noble healer when she rushed over to save a child we were planning on taking in for questioning. The moment her healing touched her skin the child exploded packed full of horseshoe nails. I am still shaken by the sight and beside myself in horror at what those poor children went through with in their faith.
We must be getting close to Reth’Karae’s encampment now if they are deciding to toss their morals aside for such a victory. White knight also encountered some resistance in the west of our location. The attack here has left my troops in a state of dismay and horror. I am unsure what to do. In 100 years, we never encountered such a display of absolute evil such as sending children.
I also have it on good authority that Bishop is sending “Hunting parties” out with healers searching for cultists in a reckless way that is costing us a finite and valuable resource. We have circled back and are waiting for him here 2Km north of the mire. I want an eyes on count of how many healers we have left. We will be taking the novice and field ready healers with us to the front. Maybe twenty and leaving the others at the forward camp guarded. Between Bishops’ battalion, White Knights’ command, what’s left of the Black Queens’ battle mages (which have been absorbed into White Bishops’ brigade) I believe we should be over 30 thousand strong by the time we reach Reth’Karae.
It is imperative we leave a heavy reinforcement at the forward camp as I am starting to wonder if Bishop is not actually the information leak. Though I am not sure and those are serious allegations. But I can’t help but wonder why he would be so careless with our healers otherwise.
I am bothered by this.
I have also managed to figure out that the delay is about two hours from my lips to your ears. Not including time to cipher and seal the messages. I am worried about this delay going into battle and have set a priority to fixing it prior. I’m thinking that I will have these delivered to Avharin’en arahir’thal and then having them translated to your scribe directly. Though I am trying to confirm with the High Queen’s scribes if that is possible or if a mage will have to do the translating.
This red tape is seriously hindering our ability to win this war.
Rook.
Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp):
2Km due N of Rook’s division.
“I see you’re finally bathed,” a voice says from behind me. I turn.
“What do you want?”
“What do you want…Sir,” Bishop says raising a disapproving brow. I cinch the belt to my robes. Then cross my arms. “So, it’s going to be like that then?”
“That depends,”
“On?”
“Are you taking me to the front?” I ask. Bishop snorts shaking his head.
“Boy, I couldn’t pay our forces enough money to make that happen at this point. No, you get exactly what you wanted. You’re staying behind,”
“Really?” I ask in disbelief. He nods.
“Yep,”
“What’s the catch?” I ask narrowing my eyes. He smirks. I suddenly feel suspicious.
“Latrine duty, curing foot rot, curing the ailments of the soldiers’ nether regions probably from their time at the village brothels. Exactly what you asked for. The experienced healers will need an understudy and assistant to do the tedious and non-emergency work needed while they work on our troops as they come in,” bishop smiles curtly.
“Punishment, you mean,” I say accusatorily.
“No boy, you had your chances to be the hero over forty times and instead you played the coward,” He pats me on the shoulder. “Now you’re the camp superstition and no one, including myself wants you at the front. Honestly Callavhen, you should’ve just died with the forty sixth,”
“Fifth,” I correct but it’s too late he is already gone leaving me there. I glare towards the flap. Letting out a long sigh, then, smile. My inexperience had always made me expendable and now surviving that expendability has made me safe while all the other expendable bastards such as myself go off to die. I chuckle
After a nap I report back to the master healer. She looks at me with a perturbed look. Her tongue jutting into her cheek.
“Arch-Healer,” I greet her.
“Callavhen,” Her tone flat and irritated.
“Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad to see me,” I smirk as she manages to look even more unimpressed.
“You are the boil on the ass of creation,” her second says appearing from around the corner.
“Ah, I was wondering when you would show your face Roach,” I counter.
“It’s Roich,” The man scowls.
“Is it? I was under the impression the shoe fit,”
“Coward,”
“Parasite,”
“Enough!” the Arch-healer steps between us with a deep sigh. “Callavhen, you will be under Second Roich’s command in the clinical tent. Play nice or I will have you scrubbing bed pans and latrines,”
“Why him?” I snort. “Why not Healer Marrix or Mage Haemin?”
“Because Bishop said this was a punishment and wanted you in the clinical tent.” she says matter of fact. “Clinical is under the directive of Second Roich,” the Arch-healer crosses her arms. “Play nice, understood?” I roll my eyes and look away. “Good,” She turns to look at Roich. “Thinar, please escort Callavhen to the rest of his war career,” she says almost too sweet. I watch her brush his hand as he walks past and I smirk turning and following him out the tent.
“Couldn’t climb the ladder on your own I see,” I mock.
“What are you going on about coward?” he says dismissively not even bothering to look back. That’s okay. I grin tucking my arms behind my back as I glide up behind his right shoulder with a sneer that could curdle soured cream.
“Do you think yourself clever? Sleeping with the Arch-healer. Tsk Roach that is very naughty. Imagine what the college would say,” Roich stops and turns to look at me with a scowl that should scare me, but after watching all the people you know die repeatedly the threat becomes somewhat moot.
“You like being a shitty person don’t you Callavhen? Too cowardly to die, too cowardly to save Aspvhen, you remember them, right? Of course you do, you were lovers,” He sneers back at me and I glower.
“Fuck you,” I growl.
“You wish,” He responds and goes back to walking. I follow biting my cheek so hard I can taste iron in my mouth.
As we approach the clinic, I sniff stilling and Roich turns to look at me just outside the flap. I inhale again as it hits me and I cough. The air is rancid with rot, bowel movements, and death. “Gods what is that?” I choke. Roich gestures to a handful of large canvas covered carts stationed just beyond the next tent.
“Today’s dead waiting to be identified and processed before being burned. The capital wants thorough numbers of our losses: soldiers, nobles, mages, healers… so we must wait till tomorrow to complete today’s numbers,”
“Why?” I interrupt him. “Why not just tally them all up and burn them as they go?”
“Discrepancies mostly, the capital realized we had under tallied the death of the Black Queens division so now we have to do it this way.” He shrugs. “Meanwhile they get to bake all day long in this foul wasteland. The rest of what you’re smelling is our friends in here. Don’t worry coward, I’m sure you’re used to the smell,” he says as he dips into the tent not bothering to look back. My eyes narrow as I follow him in. I am met with a tent full of cots. Each is filled with a disgruntled or pained soldier. “These cots over here are rot, mostly foot and pubic from soiled clothes and humidity. Over here we have venereal diseases, these are the people who thought sleeping around in the brothels was a good idea. Except for that one back there, that one fucked a goat supposedly, Though I hope they meant a pan, but I don’t know and I simply do not care. Over here are the boils and cysts, and over here are the others who have cholera from drinking the bog water. Do with that what you may. They get liquids, bed pans, fresh linens, and broth when applicable,” Roich looks back at me as I look around reconsidering going to the frontlines.
“Why can I not assist with triage? That is what I was trained to do—” I begin but Roich cuts me off.
“Because that may be what you’re trained for but this… this is what you’re suited for. Now if I were you, I’d start with lancing boils or changing bed pans and linens for the cholera patients,” he shrugs. He turns practically running out the side flap.
“Where are you going?” I call back to him.
“To do something actually important,” without another word he leaves me in a tent full of disgusting yet safe tedious ailments. Because no one had ever died from lancing boils and cysts.
Commander White Knight.
Day 36,515 of the war against Reth’Karae: Sixth Eve-bell.
Location: SW Lamathlenlendari.
Strength: 5,234
Combat ready: 4,907
Wounded: 290
Missing: 37
Death count: 12,884
Supply status: Yellow
Morale: Slightly discouraged.
Summary:
King, I regret to inform you we suffered just over 100 casualties on our way to rendezvous with Bishop and Rook at the infirmary camp after receiving the new help from Telthalandalas. We found ourselves at a river and were attacked by one of the lightning wyrms as we crossed. It was sudden and the wyrm flew away just after the attack. I am unsure where it came from though, I suspect that it probably came from Reth’Karae’s brood in Kar’Nithalan.
We now are only 5-10Km West of the infirmary camp and should arrive around the measure of the sixth bell maybe the seventh depending on terrain and resistance. We will be joining Rook’s division as well as many others. Currently there is not much to report. I will report back at the eighth eve-bell.
White Knight
Bishops’ Brigade (Infirmary Camp) and Rook’s Division:
4Km due E of White Knight’s Division.
Twelve bedpans, twenty linens changed, four cysts and fourteen boils lanced. Anyone else would have been furious to be put on such a blatantly disrespectful charge. I was elated as I looked at the third swollen scabby cock of the evening.
“Cough,” I say sterilely as I hold the soldier’s swollen testicles gently in my palm. The man coughs. Chashmere, the man who allegedly fucked a goat laughs at the blatant humiliation of the patient. “Shut up goatfucker,” I bark without looking over.
“She wasn’t a fucking goat!” he snaps back.
“She looked like a fucking goat!” one of the other soldiers calls from across the tent. I let out a short chuckle.
“Sounds like it was a goat, goatfucker,” I laugh.
“Can we please continue this after you release my balls?” the man says. I look down at my hand still cupping him and let go clearing my throat.
“Apologies, it’s definitely the itch,” I say solemnly. “I’ll mix you a tonic to take a few times a day. Don’t itch it, you don’t want it to become gangrenous. And for all the gods don’t stick your cock in anything for the next two weeks,” The man’s brows furrow.
“I could die tomorrow. I should be allowed to slick my cock daily!” he argues. I narrow my eyes.
“I am starting to understand how you got in this position. You and goatfucker over —”
“I’m not a fucking goat fucker!” Yells Chashmere. The other men start laughing and I smirk. I stand and move to the next cot.
“Oh, you’re a woman,” I say surprised as a beautiful willowy elven woman sits in front of me. “Battle mage?” I ask and she nods.
“Yes,” she murmurs.
“Why are you here? Why not just have one of your sisters heal you?” her eyes grow wide at my question. I look her over. “No, you didn’t,”
“It was only once… AND it was the first time I ever—” she whispers looking around. “You know,” I let out a sigh and look around to the men in the section.
“Who?” I ask. She looks to a handsome elven soldier just down the line. I look to him. “How many and where?” He looks away and I groan. I hold up a finger to her, standing I walk to him. “Show me,” I demand. He pulls out his genitals. I roll my eyes then go back to her. “Open,” I say then look behind me at all the men’s stares. I grab her knees gently stopping her. “Wait,” I say gesturing for her to follow me. The men in the galley start booing and complaining. “Fucking animals!” I call back to them as I escort her into the other storage room in the tent. I sit her on a chair and get down to examine her. I let out a sigh. “Good news or bad news?”
“Bad news…” she trails off worry carving lines into her forehead.
“It’s an infection of the urinary filtration from not drinking proper water, it will hurt like a bitch, burn while you piss, itch, and stink—”
“What could possibly be the good news?” she asks.
“It’s not what he has. You don’t want what he has,” I close her legs but remain knelt in front of her. “Lots of water, clean water, if the urination hurts too much come see me and I can make you a pain reliever, I’ll give you a potion and tonic to use a few times a day,” she lets out a relieved sigh. “And my dear… next time you have wild oats to sow you come find me, don’t go to these disgusting dirty heathens,” I give her a wink, and a cloth then step out.
As I step back into the main tent I feel it first, the slight rumbling. I freeze. The chatter in the tent quiets as the men still except for the one man with chronic cholera who continues to groan in the corner. “Shut up Devhen!” Barks one of the men. The battle mage woman walks up on my flank.
“They’re here,” she murmurs.
“Who?” I ask turning towards her.
“Commander Rook’s Division. Plus, whoever else he’s gathered.” Injects Chashmere.
“I should go greet my sisters,” The woman says.
“Wait—” I pause realizing I never got her name.
“They can help me, it’s ok…” she says drifting towards the flap like a moth to flame. Before she slips out, she looks back at me. “And it’s Talabo,”
“I love watching a woman leave,” Chashmere chuckles.
“I bet, is that why you like goats?” another patient asks. Chashmere glares.
“I—” he begins but is cut off by Baymehn, a foot rot patient and a man of few words.
“I prefer watching them come,” he smirks. We all look at him.
“Was that a double entendre?” I ask surprised. He and a few others look at me with dazed looks. “Never mind,” I say taking in a breath. “Stay here I’ll be right back,” I murmur slipping out the flap.
I look towards the central medical tent Roich emerges with the Arch-Healer. “How can I help?” I call hurrying over. They look at me like they had forgotten I was even here.
“You don’t,” Roich says. I look to the Arch-healer.
“You can’t be serious. You felt the ground shake right? I should be helping who knows the number of wounded!” I argue.
“Callavhen, do not argue right now, we have wounded coming in,”
“Which is exactly why—”
“Callavhen!” she snaps “Go back to clinical and prepare for intake. Unless you want to spend tomorrow sorting corpse carts and counting the new dead!” I flinch. “You will have new patients, possibly some triage. Go get ready,” she replies signaling to the others to follow her.
“Fine,” I glower after her. “My current patients are taken care of at the moment so I’m going to go gather new cots and supplies,” she waves me off dismissively.
Frustrated I begin to traverse into the camp to the surplus tent. People are rushing left and right as other tents are added into any open space available. Cots are added to tents where there is room and suddenly it occurs to me, they aren’t just stopping in our camps are converging. Someone bumps into me and I look up at the large man standing in front of me.
“For fucks sake why is it always you?” I say as Commander Bishop turns to lock eyes with me.
“Sir,” he adds. I shake my head.
“For fucks sake, sir—” I correct. He purses his lips and rolls his eyes.
“Where are your superiors?” he asks urgently.
“Somewhere over there being arseholes,” I nod towards the gates at the far side of the camp.
“You were trained in triage, yes?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Come on,” he says abruptly and quickly heads towards his tent. I pause behind him.
“Commander, I didn’t know you were into that. But hey I’m game,” I tease. He turns back walking up to me and grabbing the nape of my neck. “Hey! Get your fucking hands off me,” He tosses me through the flap, and I stumble in. There on the heavy wooden table is a man leaning back against a stack of books. His abdomen bleeding profusely. “Oh shit,” I murmur hurrying over.
LeVelle S. McCallum 